Congratulations !
You have been awarded points.
Thank you for !
- Story Listed as: Fiction For Teens
- Theme: Science Fiction
- Subject: Culture / Heritage / Lifestyles
- Published: 06/11/2011
THE FLIGHT OF THE GREY EAGLE
Born 1957, M, from Oregon, United StatesGREY EAGLE
July 1935, outside Roswell, New Mexico,...
Special agents of the FBI, under direct orders from J. Edger Hoover himself, stared in disbelief. Leading off in front of them was a single file line of child sized foot prints. It lead from what was once the dormitory of the Ignatius Indian School out into the desert. After about three quarters of a mile the foot prints just stopped. The agents walked for over a mile in all directions, but were never able to find where the trail picked up again. It appeared that the trail just vanished, along with 82 Native American children. The school officials had all been drugged, bound, hand and foot, and their heads covered with burlap sacks. They were all alive, unharmed and were found about 1000 yards away from the schools main office and kitchen. What remained of it. Near as anyone could figure out, during a huge electrical storm, the church, the main buildings, the kitchen, the staff residence and the children's dormitory had all been rocked by massive explosions, and burnt to the ground. The remains of each sitting at the bottom of their separate craters.
The FBI arson unit, brought in from Denver, had determined that in some places the fire burned hotter than 10,000 degrees. So hot, it had melted not only all the plumbing, but it had melted the schools safes, and all records and cash had been destroyed. It was as if the school never existed.
Agent Myers kicked a chunk of burnt wood, "Damn Crawford, somebody knows how to use and has possession of a huge stock pile of dynamite!" Indeed the shockwaves from the multiple explosions shattered windows some five miles away in downtown Roswell. Agent Crawford looked at his notes, and the hastily handwritten orders they had been given. "Says here that we are to restore the profitable operation of the school as quickly as possible."
1899, Colorado Springs...
The sudden electrical storm had now reached its full force. So powerful was the electrical charge in the air, that some of the residents of Colorado Springs, especially those unlucky enough to get caught out in the storm and doubly unfortunate to be standing next to one of the all metal street lamps, had huge sparks of static electricity shooting out of their feet and hands. Horribly frightened, residents ran wildly through the streets, only increasing the fear and pandemonium.
It took all his strength. With sweat pouring out of every pore, his left hand finally managed to grip the brass handle. With teeth clenched, muscles bulging and popping, he squeezed the release lever and pulled back on the handle. Immediately the raging electrical storm outside began to quickly die down. Inside, however was another matter. Giant arcs of electrical current leapt from every one of the giant metal supports. Even the air in the room was supercharged with a bright blue-white glow. Then there was that hum. Sounding not mechanical, like a motor or an engine, and not electrical as if a live wire were discharging current, it was as if the air, and the wood and the metal were all vibrating at a low but clearly audible pitch.
He was exhausted. The machine had only been running for thirty minutes, and yet he knew that he was only seconds away from blowing up the entire house, or perhaps even all of Colorado Springs. Blinking and wiping the sweat from his face he let his monogrammed handkerchief fall to the ground. Closing his eyes he slept. The handkerchief, with the initials NT, landed next to one of the leather straps that had helped secure Nikola Tesla in to his throne-like experimental chair.
Tesla was abruptly awakened by the sound of a cannon. Bolting upright, still strapped into his chair, it felt like the cannon was inside him, and it had just blown through the top of his head. Reaching up, he removed the crown shaped device from his head, letting it freely bounce on the floor. His ears rang and his spine vibrated. Quite dizzy, it seemed to take forever to remove the leather straps holding his feet to the chair. Managing to stand, but only just, he staggered a few steps forward. Head throbbing, hot and cold flashes of electrical energy flowed aggressively up and down his spine. Nikola Tesla, was losing his most prized possession. His mind.
Burning up inside, due to a high fever he surmised, he stumbled quickly out into the cool night air. Managing only a few steps, grabbing his head with both hands, in and attempt to quell the pain, he stumbled in the dark and fell. There was a voice in his head, "Wait," it said, "not yet." Tesla had apparently ran much farther than he thought, for he was lying face down, in a muddy side street, just off the main thoroughfare of Downtown Colorado Springs. The storm had mostly died down, but his body was still pulsing. He felt his own heartbeat. He listened for a few moments and felt calmed by the experience. Then strangely, there was another heartbeat. Slower, softer, yet larger than his own heart.
There was the sound of a deep female voice, and she was humming. Nikola opened his eyes, and even though it was still very dark, he saw many rainbow-like swirls of energy. Frightened at first, but the humming voice seemed to calm him, and he felt comfortable enough to stand. It was then he understood the voice and the heartbeat to be the earth itself. How could this be possible, his mind now reeling at what this might mean.
Nikola shouted at the man passing by. "Drunken in-jun," and the man shoved Nikola to the ground. Tesla shouted back, but no longer recognized his words. He spoke to a woman who stopped to help him. More kind than the first man, she looked him straight in the eyes, as if trying to understand him. "I-don't-speak-no-Indian," she said very slowly. "Go back to your people," and she gently pointed him towards the shanty town at the outskirts of the city. The voice in his head grew louder and the colors became more intense. Finally he gave into the voice. Speaking very quickly he began to speak in several Native American languages all at once. Scared and now running wildly, he crashed into a woman and collapsed in her arms.
Her name was Laughing Creek, and she quickly called out to those nearby to run and find her father and some of the other tribal elders. Unconscious, Nikola was carried into the heart of the shanty village. A small fire was built and he was carefully placed nearby. Tribal leaders smudged him with sage and painted symbols on his forehead and hands. Laughing Creek's father spoke to her. "This white man has traveled too far too fast. The earth speaks to him and is trying to awaken him, but his white man's mind refuses to let go. I fear he will be dead in a day or two."
Laughing Creek was used to seeing men die in front of her. Two summers ago her husband of three days was shot in the back, by a white army officer. She held Nikola's head in her lap, the same way she held her husband's as he too once lay dying in her arms, and she began to sing. After about an hour, Tesla seemed to recover. Over the next week, Laughing Creek continued to sing to Nikola. Each time it brought him back, but always in a few hours he would drift off again, mumbling in Cherokee. After another week, Laughing Creek and several other members of the tribe helped Nikola back to his house. He would never be the same again. Laughing Creek stayed with Tesla, and in December of 1899, they were married at a secret ceremony officiated by tribal elders.
---
After nearly a year Nikola Tesla was much improved, but he still drifted off, and only his new wife's singing could bring him back. It was during this time that Nikola Tesla was at his most productive. Each time he returned from one of his trances, he had new ideas. These marvelous visions, as he would later call them, showed an ever increasing harmony with the earth. Weather especially, but also fluid dynamics and advanced magnetics using rare earth magnets. It was also during this time that Laughing Creek, would give birth to their two children. Twins. A boy and a girl, both born only minutes apart during one of Nikola's weather experiments.
---
Cuba, New Mexico, 1935
Sitting on the edge of her bed, sister Margret was just about to take her nap. She rubbed her knees, hoping the pain from today's arthritis flare up would pass. It was about three in the afternoon, and hot. She had been up since 2 am helping one of the prized mares give birth to a difficult foal. Seems that only sister Margret had the stomach to shove her arm, clean up to the shoulder, into the privates of the mare to help the new foal into this world. But as usual, all the difficult tasks fell to her. The birthing of foals and heifers, and the grizzly process of turning stallions into geldings, and bulls to steers. She sighed, closed her eyes, when, "Coal wants to see you!" There at the edge of her bed, standing and smiling, were her two newest initiates, Sister Angela and sister Roselyn.
Sister Margret opened her eyes, smiled, rubbed her sore knees again, rising slowly off her bed. "Remember," looking sternly at both of them, "you are never, ever, to be alone with Coal. N-E-V-E-R," spelling it out for them. Bowing in unison, "yes we know, the reverend, 'is the sorriest, good-for-nothing excuse of a man or preacher that the good Lord has ever spit out on to this green earth,'" the two repeating word-for-word the description that sister Margaret had made them memorize on their first day here at the Russell School for Indians.
Sister Margret, "call me Maggie" she would say, was the second in command at the school. After Coal. The Russell school for Indians was a working farm, and thanks in no small part to Maggie's efforts, it was highly profitable. Of course, like nearly all the Indian boarding and residential schools in the US and Canada, none of that profit was spent on the Native American children who lived there. This one fact, caused sister Margret to curse the system that allowed for this to happen, nearly every day. It was her efforts, demands actually, and her skill at keeping the farm highly profitable that had finally put an end to the daily beatings.
That She grew up on a large family farm made her the most valuable person at the school. It was also the principle sore point between her and Coal. That, and the Rev. Coal's penchant for getting novice nuns pregnant.
"What does that cantankerous old bastard want now," she thought to herself. She stood silently for a moment, steeled herself for the half mile walk to to the main building and the three flights of stairs that awaited her.
Coal, was his nickname. His full name was, Chester Osgood Augustus Lassiter. He insisted on being called Reverend. Only sister Margret could get away with calling him Coal. To those that knew the reverend, Coal was an apt nickname, for his heart was black, black as coal. Oddly, even though he knew what people thought of him, he still signed all official documents with his initials. C.O.A.L., with a flourish of a circle around them. No one knew the delight he took in signing his initials, and how he silently would say, "kiss my ass," each time he signed something. His duties at the Russell school were punishment for getting one too many nuns pregnant, and his superiors had decided to make an example of him. The Russell school was 20 miles north and east of Cuba New Mexico. One of Coal's superiors, upon returning to Chicago from an inspection remarked, "It's not hell, but you can see it from Coal's window. Coal is evil and ruthless, still, no one is better at breaking those savages than him. Wish I had a hundred more like him.”
Maggie's knees ached as she climbed the last few stairs to Coal's office. She stopped, listened at the door, and waited to regain her composure, as she would not show any weakness in front of the Reverend Coal. Then, without pause, or knocking, she burst through the door, "Why good afternoon Reverend Lassiter."
---
Baron Graph Von Zeppelin's Factory, Dusseldorf, Germany 1934
Reginald Stillwater was pedaling his test bicycle. Brightly polished gears connected to a chain drive system that raised a set of balanced counterweights, that in turn, drove an electrical generator. "Are you ready?" his hand on the speed control for the giant fan blade inside the wind tunnel. None other than Herr Von Zeppelin himself, was supervising this final test of Reginald's new power generator. In his fur lined leather pants and jacket, Reginald looked more like he was ready to face an arctic winter. Instead it was the middle of summer, and the fan blade was about to push winds of 100 mph or more, past several tons of block-ice. It was important to test this new system with all the fury one could expect to experience, while flying at high altitudes. Reginald adjusted his goggles one last time, "Ready Baron." The fan blades turned slowly at first, but soon the familiar whump-whump sound was replaced with a nearly silent whine as the wind tunnel was filled with cold, fierce winds. Reginald gritted his teeth against the cold, as he pushed himself and his invention to the limit. After an exhausting two hour ride, he was helped down off the apparatus and had to be carried out of the wind tunnel. Sitting in the lab, attached to the wind tunnel was the Baron Graph Von Zeppelin, drinking coffee. "Ever-e-sing is most vun-du-bar!"
The Baron motioned for tea to be brought to Reginald, who smiled, still shivering, "I'm glad, what were the results?"
---
Penelope Stillwater stood over her drafting table on the second floor of the design studio. Her studio overlooked the massive interior of the final construction hanger. After making a few notes on her drawing, she tucked the pencil behind her left ear, and walked over to the railing to get a better look at the enormous airframe that was under construction. Over 400 feet long and nearly 100 feet wide, and when completed, able to lift more than ten tons, it was the most radical design to ever come out of the Zeppelin factory. She lit her pipe. Tobacco smoke wound around her head and, silhouetted by the neon-argon worklights, she took on an other worldly glow. Lost in her thoughts, she wondered what was happening back home. "Can we get there in time ..." Her thoughts trailing off, as the noise of people ascending the stairs pulled her back into the present moment.
Reginald, giving his sister a big hug, "The tests went splendidly. Everything, all readings were spot on, just as we predicted." Penelope, taking a long pull on her pipe, "we're on shed-yule then?" Both Penelope's and Reginald's strong British accents, a product of their Cambridge educations, were a sharp contrast to the high German spoken in the Baron's Zeppelin factory. "None of my engineers understand anything about what you are building, Frauline Stillwater," as Von Zeppelin peered more closely at her drawings. "Und, z-neither do I," scratching his balding head. Penelope looked sternly at the Baron, "we need to add another shift, tonight! We're behind schedule!"
---
Penelope was on the phone. She looked up at Reginald and cupped her hand over the telephone's mouthpiece, "Mother's on the other end, ... transatlantic trunkline, ... I can barely hear her." "I see, yes mother, I understand. We'll meet you in New York City, ... in twenty days at the New Yorker Hotel,..." (the line went dead)
Reginald looked at his sister, "twenty days? Are you mad?!" "Of course I'm mad, dear brother. Not only did I build your airship, but I'm going to fly it too!" They both laughed. "But?" Reginald, looking still quite puzzled, "we are still months away from completion." "No worries Reg, I've got it all worked out." She went on about all that needed doing was to skin the airframe, install the last pieces of navigational equipment. "The rest we can do stateside. Father said he has completed the devices we asked for, but he is concerned. Lot's of strange people hanging out at the warehouse in Long Island. He doesn't want important stuff to disappear." Leaning back in his chair, Reginald seemed to feel comfortable with the idea. "You know Pen, we could sail with the Zeppelin fleet leaving for Lakehurst New Jersey in two weeks. Flying together we would not need to even worry about fine tuning the navigational controls until after we got stateside." "Perfect. I'll inform the Baron," as she walked out of the studio.
---
The trip across the Atlantic was uneventful. Flying in the midst of Baron Von Zeppelin's massive fleet of airships proved to be an excellent idea. Hidden in the middle of air ships nearly twice her size, the unique profile and features of the Grey Eagle remained well hidden. Also landing at Lakehurst meant that the locals were used seeing the massive air ships and again, the Grey Eagle went unnoticed. This also gave Reginald and Penelope full access to the Zeppelin workshops. After a happy reunion with their mother, Laughing Creek, and their father, Nikola Tesla, the twins set to work on completing the final outfitting of the Grey Eagle. The final steps of which were installing the devices that Nikola had made for them. The contents of the five, huge, wooden packing crates, each labeled, Christmas Lights, were quickly installed onto the Grey Eagles airframe. Wiping the grease off his hands, Reginald stepped into the forward cabin, "Well, the easy part’s done."
---
They easily climbed to 1700 feet. The Grey Eagle moved along at a brisk pace. Reginald's brilliant design, combined with Penelope's engineering skills, the Grey Eagle was like no other airship ever built. All other airships were designed to fly with massive outboard diesel aircraft engines. Standard aircraft engines were quite loud, required tons of fuel, and made flying, and especially changing altitudes, much more complicated. Numerous refueling stops for both diesel aviation fuel and helium meant that only prearranged flight plans that were stocked well in advance, could be flown. This would not be possible for what Reginald and Penelope wished to accomplish. They needed to travel silently, for long distances without the need for constant refueling.
Though much smaller than her German cousins, The Gray Eagle was still a massive airship. 400 feet long, 100 feet wide, its semi rigid airframe and gondola were made from burnished aluminum. The gondola, unlike the Baron's famous zeppelins, was not attached directly to the bottom of the airframe. Instead it was suspended some 25 feet underneath by a perforated aluminum superstructure. The Grey Eagle had out board wings. Each wing supported a high output electric motor with opposing bladed propellors. Adorning the prow of the gondola was a magnificent eagles head that had been hand carved from a solid block of aluminum. Some 25 feet high its powerful features and gaze made it clear that this was no mere pleasure craft. The Grey Eagle looked every bit the part of the fearsome warship she was designed to be.
Reginald was an avid sailor, and the Grey Eagle was designed to sail with or perpendicular to the wind. In the same fashion as a two masted sail boat, the Grey Eagle also had twin outboard sails. All of this careful engineering made possible by Penelope's brilliant ability to turn her brother's wild imaginings into an air ship that could easily fly at over 5000 feet, and at speeds of over 200 knots. The Grey Eagle could accommodate 250 people, had hot and cold running baths and showers and flush toilets. Penelope often remarked, "The Baron does build a great bathroom!" Penelope's light hearted comments seemed to make the other passengers more comfortable. This, despite the fact that outside the forward picture window, in full view of everyone, was the Grey Eagles main weapon. A huge and as yet, untested lightening cannon.
There were seven passengers aboard the Grey Eagle for her maiden voyage. Six were seated around the large conference table in the forward lounge, and the seventh, Reginald, was just now descending the ladder-way from the bridge.
Laughing Creek stood up, "now that Reginald is here, I believe some introductions are in order. On my right is my husband, Nikola Tesla, and next to him is my daughter Penelope. Nikola, Penelope, Reginald, seated here on my left are Silent Wolf, Standing Crow and Roaring Bear. As you know, together we have worked for almost two years to see this great plan come into being." Laughing Creek sat down, but continued to speak.
"The plan is a simple one. Rescue the children of our People, and destroy the infrastructure that makes it possible for the US Government to abuse and profit from our children and grandchildren. Much planning has gone into how best to bring about this victory, and as I think we can all see, much much planning has gone into the creation of this magnificent flying machine. The Grey Eagle is the instrument that will bring our victory to all indigenous and First Nations Peoples. So that we all know what is at stake here, I'd like my daughter to say a few words."
Penelope quietly stood up. "Wow mother! I have never heard you speak so formally like this. I suppose, given what we are about, it is time for a few serious words. This is a difficult and extremely dangerous undertaking. Not only are we flying nearly a mile high over the surface of the earth, but we are doing so in the first craft of its kind. The Grey Eagle was designed to work in harmony with nature. To fly swiftly and silently riding the back of the wind. While our airship is designed to fly for months without resupply, our mission to rescue our nations children will likely take a year or more to accomplish. As Silent Wolf will tell you, gathering a years supply of helium, food and fresh water for an airship of this size, and keeping it all secret is no small undertaking. It is secrecy and surprise that will allow us to be not just victorious, but to do so without the loss of any more lives. Further, I am no longer Miss Penelope Stillwater. I will use my given name of Storm Hunter from now on." Storm Hunter sat down. Reginald stood up and began to speak.
"I too will abandon my name as Mr. Reginald Stillwater. Please call me Grey Feather from now on." At these announcements everyone applauded. Storm Hunter and Grey Feather felt very grateful to finally be able to shed their western styled names, and return to their true identities.
Standing Crow rose slowly and began to speak. Her soft voice contrasting with the seriousness of her words. "My dear family, brothers and sisters, today we become warriors. We bind ourselves together to save our children and our way of life from destruction. As you know, for over 50 years, the US Government has sought to eliminate us, to eradicate us, and in short, wipe the memory of our Nations and its peoples from the face of the earth. They have done this with the most heinous and aggressive methods possible. From openly murdering our families, to biological warfare and now in order to finally crush our culture and way of life, they abduct our children. For three generations now, our children have been beaten and abused. The US has sought to destroy even our language by forbidding our children to speak their native and natural languages. US businesses profit from the forced labor of our children. It is our mission, our duty to put a stop to this. This is our task as warriors."
Standing Crow picked up her drum and invited everyone to pick up the drums in front of them. As she began to sing and play, the others, including Nikola joined in with her. As the Grey Eagle sailed on, far above the clouds, the seven warriors sang and drummed through the night.
---
Roswell, New Mexico,...
Meyers, throwing his favorite fedora into the red New Mexico desert clay, "I don't,... I don't give a shit about those God damned fat cat, business types back in D.C. They can kiss my ass! It's the children I'm worried about. I don't care if the Freaking Bureau of Freaking Investigation calls them savages. We're talking about children. Nine and ten years old, most of them. For all we know, they’re all buried out there somewhere," waving his hand towards the open desert.
"Unless," interrupted Crawford, "Unless they were carried off,... by, ... hell I don't know, some kind'a flying bus, or sumthin'."
Agent Myers kicked another piece of charred lumber. "Oh hell Crawford, let's get back to Albuquerque, and call this one in. How many is this now, three? Four?
---
Out here, in the vast New Mexico desert with no moonlight, and far from the lights of the city, it was as though a dark blanket of thick India ink had covered the landscape. This suited the crew and passengers of the Grey Eagle just fine. Had agents Myers and Crawford bothered to look up, they perhaps would have caught a glimpse of the Grey Eagle. Had they known that the children they were looking for were less than a mile away, a mile, straight up in the air, they likely would not have driven off so fast to Albuquerque.
But this was the brilliance of the plan created by the crew of the Grey Eagle. To rescue their nations children from the violence of both cultural and physical abuse, without the brightest minds in the US government having even the slightest clue as to what was happening. There was no one, not the President, nor even the great J. Edgar Hoover himself that could have conceived that what they believed were ignorant savages, could create, possess and use such a powerful technologically advanced weapon as the Grey Eagle.
All 82 children from the Ignatius school were safely aboard the Grey Eagle. The crew, save for Grey feather and Storm Hunter, were helping the children get, what for many, was their first hot bath in months. Other children were getting into fresh clean clothes, while others were eating in the galley.
Grey feather smiled as the intensity of the last two hours finally faded. "I think we had better dial back the intensity of the lightening cannon. That last explosion was way too close for comfort."
Storm Hunter, returning from a damage control check, "all systems check out fine and there is no damage to the airframe. I agree the lightening cannon needs fine tuning. Even at 15% it is still far too powerful. Had those buildings been any closer together,..."
The Grey Eagle sailed its wandering path northward and west for several days and nights. Heading towards the four corners region and the Navajo nation. There, the Grey Eagle would be hidden in the deep canyons, and safe from prying eyes. The children would remain for the week or so that it took to repair and resupply the Grey Eagle. In a few weeks time, each child would be returned to their home nations. Some as far as northern Canada.
A little over a month had passed since the rescue at the Ignatius school and the Grey Eagle was now hovering over Cuba New Mexico. Through three large telescopes, Silent Wolf, Standing Crow and Roaring Bear were watching the various activities of the Russell School for Indians, some 5000 feet below them. After each had made several pages of detailed notes, they joined the rest of the crew on the bridge. After a long discussion, it was determined that this rescue at the Russell school was going to be the most dangerous yet.
Storm Hunter looked down at the school from the bridge, "Reverend Lassiter, we are coming for you," she whispered, as the Grey Eagle silently sailed into a bank of high clouds. In two days the rescue of the 143 children at the school below would begin. Grey Feather turned to his sister, "time for for you to find us a big storm." Storm Hunter steered the Grey Eagle across the wind, and headed east.
The wind blew at her long black hair, her pipe clenched tightly in her teeth, "A big storm Indeed."
THE FLIGHT OF THE GREY EAGLE(William York)
GREY EAGLE
July 1935, outside Roswell, New Mexico,...
Special agents of the FBI, under direct orders from J. Edger Hoover himself, stared in disbelief. Leading off in front of them was a single file line of child sized foot prints. It lead from what was once the dormitory of the Ignatius Indian School out into the desert. After about three quarters of a mile the foot prints just stopped. The agents walked for over a mile in all directions, but were never able to find where the trail picked up again. It appeared that the trail just vanished, along with 82 Native American children. The school officials had all been drugged, bound, hand and foot, and their heads covered with burlap sacks. They were all alive, unharmed and were found about 1000 yards away from the schools main office and kitchen. What remained of it. Near as anyone could figure out, during a huge electrical storm, the church, the main buildings, the kitchen, the staff residence and the children's dormitory had all been rocked by massive explosions, and burnt to the ground. The remains of each sitting at the bottom of their separate craters.
The FBI arson unit, brought in from Denver, had determined that in some places the fire burned hotter than 10,000 degrees. So hot, it had melted not only all the plumbing, but it had melted the schools safes, and all records and cash had been destroyed. It was as if the school never existed.
Agent Myers kicked a chunk of burnt wood, "Damn Crawford, somebody knows how to use and has possession of a huge stock pile of dynamite!" Indeed the shockwaves from the multiple explosions shattered windows some five miles away in downtown Roswell. Agent Crawford looked at his notes, and the hastily handwritten orders they had been given. "Says here that we are to restore the profitable operation of the school as quickly as possible."
1899, Colorado Springs...
The sudden electrical storm had now reached its full force. So powerful was the electrical charge in the air, that some of the residents of Colorado Springs, especially those unlucky enough to get caught out in the storm and doubly unfortunate to be standing next to one of the all metal street lamps, had huge sparks of static electricity shooting out of their feet and hands. Horribly frightened, residents ran wildly through the streets, only increasing the fear and pandemonium.
It took all his strength. With sweat pouring out of every pore, his left hand finally managed to grip the brass handle. With teeth clenched, muscles bulging and popping, he squeezed the release lever and pulled back on the handle. Immediately the raging electrical storm outside began to quickly die down. Inside, however was another matter. Giant arcs of electrical current leapt from every one of the giant metal supports. Even the air in the room was supercharged with a bright blue-white glow. Then there was that hum. Sounding not mechanical, like a motor or an engine, and not electrical as if a live wire were discharging current, it was as if the air, and the wood and the metal were all vibrating at a low but clearly audible pitch.
He was exhausted. The machine had only been running for thirty minutes, and yet he knew that he was only seconds away from blowing up the entire house, or perhaps even all of Colorado Springs. Blinking and wiping the sweat from his face he let his monogrammed handkerchief fall to the ground. Closing his eyes he slept. The handkerchief, with the initials NT, landed next to one of the leather straps that had helped secure Nikola Tesla in to his throne-like experimental chair.
Tesla was abruptly awakened by the sound of a cannon. Bolting upright, still strapped into his chair, it felt like the cannon was inside him, and it had just blown through the top of his head. Reaching up, he removed the crown shaped device from his head, letting it freely bounce on the floor. His ears rang and his spine vibrated. Quite dizzy, it seemed to take forever to remove the leather straps holding his feet to the chair. Managing to stand, but only just, he staggered a few steps forward. Head throbbing, hot and cold flashes of electrical energy flowed aggressively up and down his spine. Nikola Tesla, was losing his most prized possession. His mind.
Burning up inside, due to a high fever he surmised, he stumbled quickly out into the cool night air. Managing only a few steps, grabbing his head with both hands, in and attempt to quell the pain, he stumbled in the dark and fell. There was a voice in his head, "Wait," it said, "not yet." Tesla had apparently ran much farther than he thought, for he was lying face down, in a muddy side street, just off the main thoroughfare of Downtown Colorado Springs. The storm had mostly died down, but his body was still pulsing. He felt his own heartbeat. He listened for a few moments and felt calmed by the experience. Then strangely, there was another heartbeat. Slower, softer, yet larger than his own heart.
There was the sound of a deep female voice, and she was humming. Nikola opened his eyes, and even though it was still very dark, he saw many rainbow-like swirls of energy. Frightened at first, but the humming voice seemed to calm him, and he felt comfortable enough to stand. It was then he understood the voice and the heartbeat to be the earth itself. How could this be possible, his mind now reeling at what this might mean.
Nikola shouted at the man passing by. "Drunken in-jun," and the man shoved Nikola to the ground. Tesla shouted back, but no longer recognized his words. He spoke to a woman who stopped to help him. More kind than the first man, she looked him straight in the eyes, as if trying to understand him. "I-don't-speak-no-Indian," she said very slowly. "Go back to your people," and she gently pointed him towards the shanty town at the outskirts of the city. The voice in his head grew louder and the colors became more intense. Finally he gave into the voice. Speaking very quickly he began to speak in several Native American languages all at once. Scared and now running wildly, he crashed into a woman and collapsed in her arms.
Her name was Laughing Creek, and she quickly called out to those nearby to run and find her father and some of the other tribal elders. Unconscious, Nikola was carried into the heart of the shanty village. A small fire was built and he was carefully placed nearby. Tribal leaders smudged him with sage and painted symbols on his forehead and hands. Laughing Creek's father spoke to her. "This white man has traveled too far too fast. The earth speaks to him and is trying to awaken him, but his white man's mind refuses to let go. I fear he will be dead in a day or two."
Laughing Creek was used to seeing men die in front of her. Two summers ago her husband of three days was shot in the back, by a white army officer. She held Nikola's head in her lap, the same way she held her husband's as he too once lay dying in her arms, and she began to sing. After about an hour, Tesla seemed to recover. Over the next week, Laughing Creek continued to sing to Nikola. Each time it brought him back, but always in a few hours he would drift off again, mumbling in Cherokee. After another week, Laughing Creek and several other members of the tribe helped Nikola back to his house. He would never be the same again. Laughing Creek stayed with Tesla, and in December of 1899, they were married at a secret ceremony officiated by tribal elders.
---
After nearly a year Nikola Tesla was much improved, but he still drifted off, and only his new wife's singing could bring him back. It was during this time that Nikola Tesla was at his most productive. Each time he returned from one of his trances, he had new ideas. These marvelous visions, as he would later call them, showed an ever increasing harmony with the earth. Weather especially, but also fluid dynamics and advanced magnetics using rare earth magnets. It was also during this time that Laughing Creek, would give birth to their two children. Twins. A boy and a girl, both born only minutes apart during one of Nikola's weather experiments.
---
Cuba, New Mexico, 1935
Sitting on the edge of her bed, sister Margret was just about to take her nap. She rubbed her knees, hoping the pain from today's arthritis flare up would pass. It was about three in the afternoon, and hot. She had been up since 2 am helping one of the prized mares give birth to a difficult foal. Seems that only sister Margret had the stomach to shove her arm, clean up to the shoulder, into the privates of the mare to help the new foal into this world. But as usual, all the difficult tasks fell to her. The birthing of foals and heifers, and the grizzly process of turning stallions into geldings, and bulls to steers. She sighed, closed her eyes, when, "Coal wants to see you!" There at the edge of her bed, standing and smiling, were her two newest initiates, Sister Angela and sister Roselyn.
Sister Margret opened her eyes, smiled, rubbed her sore knees again, rising slowly off her bed. "Remember," looking sternly at both of them, "you are never, ever, to be alone with Coal. N-E-V-E-R," spelling it out for them. Bowing in unison, "yes we know, the reverend, 'is the sorriest, good-for-nothing excuse of a man or preacher that the good Lord has ever spit out on to this green earth,'" the two repeating word-for-word the description that sister Margaret had made them memorize on their first day here at the Russell School for Indians.
Sister Margret, "call me Maggie" she would say, was the second in command at the school. After Coal. The Russell school for Indians was a working farm, and thanks in no small part to Maggie's efforts, it was highly profitable. Of course, like nearly all the Indian boarding and residential schools in the US and Canada, none of that profit was spent on the Native American children who lived there. This one fact, caused sister Margret to curse the system that allowed for this to happen, nearly every day. It was her efforts, demands actually, and her skill at keeping the farm highly profitable that had finally put an end to the daily beatings.
That She grew up on a large family farm made her the most valuable person at the school. It was also the principle sore point between her and Coal. That, and the Rev. Coal's penchant for getting novice nuns pregnant.
"What does that cantankerous old bastard want now," she thought to herself. She stood silently for a moment, steeled herself for the half mile walk to to the main building and the three flights of stairs that awaited her.
Coal, was his nickname. His full name was, Chester Osgood Augustus Lassiter. He insisted on being called Reverend. Only sister Margret could get away with calling him Coal. To those that knew the reverend, Coal was an apt nickname, for his heart was black, black as coal. Oddly, even though he knew what people thought of him, he still signed all official documents with his initials. C.O.A.L., with a flourish of a circle around them. No one knew the delight he took in signing his initials, and how he silently would say, "kiss my ass," each time he signed something. His duties at the Russell school were punishment for getting one too many nuns pregnant, and his superiors had decided to make an example of him. The Russell school was 20 miles north and east of Cuba New Mexico. One of Coal's superiors, upon returning to Chicago from an inspection remarked, "It's not hell, but you can see it from Coal's window. Coal is evil and ruthless, still, no one is better at breaking those savages than him. Wish I had a hundred more like him.”
Maggie's knees ached as she climbed the last few stairs to Coal's office. She stopped, listened at the door, and waited to regain her composure, as she would not show any weakness in front of the Reverend Coal. Then, without pause, or knocking, she burst through the door, "Why good afternoon Reverend Lassiter."
---
Baron Graph Von Zeppelin's Factory, Dusseldorf, Germany 1934
Reginald Stillwater was pedaling his test bicycle. Brightly polished gears connected to a chain drive system that raised a set of balanced counterweights, that in turn, drove an electrical generator. "Are you ready?" his hand on the speed control for the giant fan blade inside the wind tunnel. None other than Herr Von Zeppelin himself, was supervising this final test of Reginald's new power generator. In his fur lined leather pants and jacket, Reginald looked more like he was ready to face an arctic winter. Instead it was the middle of summer, and the fan blade was about to push winds of 100 mph or more, past several tons of block-ice. It was important to test this new system with all the fury one could expect to experience, while flying at high altitudes. Reginald adjusted his goggles one last time, "Ready Baron." The fan blades turned slowly at first, but soon the familiar whump-whump sound was replaced with a nearly silent whine as the wind tunnel was filled with cold, fierce winds. Reginald gritted his teeth against the cold, as he pushed himself and his invention to the limit. After an exhausting two hour ride, he was helped down off the apparatus and had to be carried out of the wind tunnel. Sitting in the lab, attached to the wind tunnel was the Baron Graph Von Zeppelin, drinking coffee. "Ever-e-sing is most vun-du-bar!"
The Baron motioned for tea to be brought to Reginald, who smiled, still shivering, "I'm glad, what were the results?"
---
Penelope Stillwater stood over her drafting table on the second floor of the design studio. Her studio overlooked the massive interior of the final construction hanger. After making a few notes on her drawing, she tucked the pencil behind her left ear, and walked over to the railing to get a better look at the enormous airframe that was under construction. Over 400 feet long and nearly 100 feet wide, and when completed, able to lift more than ten tons, it was the most radical design to ever come out of the Zeppelin factory. She lit her pipe. Tobacco smoke wound around her head and, silhouetted by the neon-argon worklights, she took on an other worldly glow. Lost in her thoughts, she wondered what was happening back home. "Can we get there in time ..." Her thoughts trailing off, as the noise of people ascending the stairs pulled her back into the present moment.
Reginald, giving his sister a big hug, "The tests went splendidly. Everything, all readings were spot on, just as we predicted." Penelope, taking a long pull on her pipe, "we're on shed-yule then?" Both Penelope's and Reginald's strong British accents, a product of their Cambridge educations, were a sharp contrast to the high German spoken in the Baron's Zeppelin factory. "None of my engineers understand anything about what you are building, Frauline Stillwater," as Von Zeppelin peered more closely at her drawings. "Und, z-neither do I," scratching his balding head. Penelope looked sternly at the Baron, "we need to add another shift, tonight! We're behind schedule!"
---
Penelope was on the phone. She looked up at Reginald and cupped her hand over the telephone's mouthpiece, "Mother's on the other end, ... transatlantic trunkline, ... I can barely hear her." "I see, yes mother, I understand. We'll meet you in New York City, ... in twenty days at the New Yorker Hotel,..." (the line went dead)
Reginald looked at his sister, "twenty days? Are you mad?!" "Of course I'm mad, dear brother. Not only did I build your airship, but I'm going to fly it too!" They both laughed. "But?" Reginald, looking still quite puzzled, "we are still months away from completion." "No worries Reg, I've got it all worked out." She went on about all that needed doing was to skin the airframe, install the last pieces of navigational equipment. "The rest we can do stateside. Father said he has completed the devices we asked for, but he is concerned. Lot's of strange people hanging out at the warehouse in Long Island. He doesn't want important stuff to disappear." Leaning back in his chair, Reginald seemed to feel comfortable with the idea. "You know Pen, we could sail with the Zeppelin fleet leaving for Lakehurst New Jersey in two weeks. Flying together we would not need to even worry about fine tuning the navigational controls until after we got stateside." "Perfect. I'll inform the Baron," as she walked out of the studio.
---
The trip across the Atlantic was uneventful. Flying in the midst of Baron Von Zeppelin's massive fleet of airships proved to be an excellent idea. Hidden in the middle of air ships nearly twice her size, the unique profile and features of the Grey Eagle remained well hidden. Also landing at Lakehurst meant that the locals were used seeing the massive air ships and again, the Grey Eagle went unnoticed. This also gave Reginald and Penelope full access to the Zeppelin workshops. After a happy reunion with their mother, Laughing Creek, and their father, Nikola Tesla, the twins set to work on completing the final outfitting of the Grey Eagle. The final steps of which were installing the devices that Nikola had made for them. The contents of the five, huge, wooden packing crates, each labeled, Christmas Lights, were quickly installed onto the Grey Eagles airframe. Wiping the grease off his hands, Reginald stepped into the forward cabin, "Well, the easy part’s done."
---
They easily climbed to 1700 feet. The Grey Eagle moved along at a brisk pace. Reginald's brilliant design, combined with Penelope's engineering skills, the Grey Eagle was like no other airship ever built. All other airships were designed to fly with massive outboard diesel aircraft engines. Standard aircraft engines were quite loud, required tons of fuel, and made flying, and especially changing altitudes, much more complicated. Numerous refueling stops for both diesel aviation fuel and helium meant that only prearranged flight plans that were stocked well in advance, could be flown. This would not be possible for what Reginald and Penelope wished to accomplish. They needed to travel silently, for long distances without the need for constant refueling.
Though much smaller than her German cousins, The Gray Eagle was still a massive airship. 400 feet long, 100 feet wide, its semi rigid airframe and gondola were made from burnished aluminum. The gondola, unlike the Baron's famous zeppelins, was not attached directly to the bottom of the airframe. Instead it was suspended some 25 feet underneath by a perforated aluminum superstructure. The Grey Eagle had out board wings. Each wing supported a high output electric motor with opposing bladed propellors. Adorning the prow of the gondola was a magnificent eagles head that had been hand carved from a solid block of aluminum. Some 25 feet high its powerful features and gaze made it clear that this was no mere pleasure craft. The Grey Eagle looked every bit the part of the fearsome warship she was designed to be.
Reginald was an avid sailor, and the Grey Eagle was designed to sail with or perpendicular to the wind. In the same fashion as a two masted sail boat, the Grey Eagle also had twin outboard sails. All of this careful engineering made possible by Penelope's brilliant ability to turn her brother's wild imaginings into an air ship that could easily fly at over 5000 feet, and at speeds of over 200 knots. The Grey Eagle could accommodate 250 people, had hot and cold running baths and showers and flush toilets. Penelope often remarked, "The Baron does build a great bathroom!" Penelope's light hearted comments seemed to make the other passengers more comfortable. This, despite the fact that outside the forward picture window, in full view of everyone, was the Grey Eagles main weapon. A huge and as yet, untested lightening cannon.
There were seven passengers aboard the Grey Eagle for her maiden voyage. Six were seated around the large conference table in the forward lounge, and the seventh, Reginald, was just now descending the ladder-way from the bridge.
Laughing Creek stood up, "now that Reginald is here, I believe some introductions are in order. On my right is my husband, Nikola Tesla, and next to him is my daughter Penelope. Nikola, Penelope, Reginald, seated here on my left are Silent Wolf, Standing Crow and Roaring Bear. As you know, together we have worked for almost two years to see this great plan come into being." Laughing Creek sat down, but continued to speak.
"The plan is a simple one. Rescue the children of our People, and destroy the infrastructure that makes it possible for the US Government to abuse and profit from our children and grandchildren. Much planning has gone into how best to bring about this victory, and as I think we can all see, much much planning has gone into the creation of this magnificent flying machine. The Grey Eagle is the instrument that will bring our victory to all indigenous and First Nations Peoples. So that we all know what is at stake here, I'd like my daughter to say a few words."
Penelope quietly stood up. "Wow mother! I have never heard you speak so formally like this. I suppose, given what we are about, it is time for a few serious words. This is a difficult and extremely dangerous undertaking. Not only are we flying nearly a mile high over the surface of the earth, but we are doing so in the first craft of its kind. The Grey Eagle was designed to work in harmony with nature. To fly swiftly and silently riding the back of the wind. While our airship is designed to fly for months without resupply, our mission to rescue our nations children will likely take a year or more to accomplish. As Silent Wolf will tell you, gathering a years supply of helium, food and fresh water for an airship of this size, and keeping it all secret is no small undertaking. It is secrecy and surprise that will allow us to be not just victorious, but to do so without the loss of any more lives. Further, I am no longer Miss Penelope Stillwater. I will use my given name of Storm Hunter from now on." Storm Hunter sat down. Reginald stood up and began to speak.
"I too will abandon my name as Mr. Reginald Stillwater. Please call me Grey Feather from now on." At these announcements everyone applauded. Storm Hunter and Grey Feather felt very grateful to finally be able to shed their western styled names, and return to their true identities.
Standing Crow rose slowly and began to speak. Her soft voice contrasting with the seriousness of her words. "My dear family, brothers and sisters, today we become warriors. We bind ourselves together to save our children and our way of life from destruction. As you know, for over 50 years, the US Government has sought to eliminate us, to eradicate us, and in short, wipe the memory of our Nations and its peoples from the face of the earth. They have done this with the most heinous and aggressive methods possible. From openly murdering our families, to biological warfare and now in order to finally crush our culture and way of life, they abduct our children. For three generations now, our children have been beaten and abused. The US has sought to destroy even our language by forbidding our children to speak their native and natural languages. US businesses profit from the forced labor of our children. It is our mission, our duty to put a stop to this. This is our task as warriors."
Standing Crow picked up her drum and invited everyone to pick up the drums in front of them. As she began to sing and play, the others, including Nikola joined in with her. As the Grey Eagle sailed on, far above the clouds, the seven warriors sang and drummed through the night.
---
Roswell, New Mexico,...
Meyers, throwing his favorite fedora into the red New Mexico desert clay, "I don't,... I don't give a shit about those God damned fat cat, business types back in D.C. They can kiss my ass! It's the children I'm worried about. I don't care if the Freaking Bureau of Freaking Investigation calls them savages. We're talking about children. Nine and ten years old, most of them. For all we know, they’re all buried out there somewhere," waving his hand towards the open desert.
"Unless," interrupted Crawford, "Unless they were carried off,... by, ... hell I don't know, some kind'a flying bus, or sumthin'."
Agent Myers kicked another piece of charred lumber. "Oh hell Crawford, let's get back to Albuquerque, and call this one in. How many is this now, three? Four?
---
Out here, in the vast New Mexico desert with no moonlight, and far from the lights of the city, it was as though a dark blanket of thick India ink had covered the landscape. This suited the crew and passengers of the Grey Eagle just fine. Had agents Myers and Crawford bothered to look up, they perhaps would have caught a glimpse of the Grey Eagle. Had they known that the children they were looking for were less than a mile away, a mile, straight up in the air, they likely would not have driven off so fast to Albuquerque.
But this was the brilliance of the plan created by the crew of the Grey Eagle. To rescue their nations children from the violence of both cultural and physical abuse, without the brightest minds in the US government having even the slightest clue as to what was happening. There was no one, not the President, nor even the great J. Edgar Hoover himself that could have conceived that what they believed were ignorant savages, could create, possess and use such a powerful technologically advanced weapon as the Grey Eagle.
All 82 children from the Ignatius school were safely aboard the Grey Eagle. The crew, save for Grey feather and Storm Hunter, were helping the children get, what for many, was their first hot bath in months. Other children were getting into fresh clean clothes, while others were eating in the galley.
Grey feather smiled as the intensity of the last two hours finally faded. "I think we had better dial back the intensity of the lightening cannon. That last explosion was way too close for comfort."
Storm Hunter, returning from a damage control check, "all systems check out fine and there is no damage to the airframe. I agree the lightening cannon needs fine tuning. Even at 15% it is still far too powerful. Had those buildings been any closer together,..."
The Grey Eagle sailed its wandering path northward and west for several days and nights. Heading towards the four corners region and the Navajo nation. There, the Grey Eagle would be hidden in the deep canyons, and safe from prying eyes. The children would remain for the week or so that it took to repair and resupply the Grey Eagle. In a few weeks time, each child would be returned to their home nations. Some as far as northern Canada.
A little over a month had passed since the rescue at the Ignatius school and the Grey Eagle was now hovering over Cuba New Mexico. Through three large telescopes, Silent Wolf, Standing Crow and Roaring Bear were watching the various activities of the Russell School for Indians, some 5000 feet below them. After each had made several pages of detailed notes, they joined the rest of the crew on the bridge. After a long discussion, it was determined that this rescue at the Russell school was going to be the most dangerous yet.
Storm Hunter looked down at the school from the bridge, "Reverend Lassiter, we are coming for you," she whispered, as the Grey Eagle silently sailed into a bank of high clouds. In two days the rescue of the 143 children at the school below would begin. Grey Feather turned to his sister, "time for for you to find us a big storm." Storm Hunter steered the Grey Eagle across the wind, and headed east.
The wind blew at her long black hair, her pipe clenched tightly in her teeth, "A big storm Indeed."
- Share this story on
- 7
COMMENTS (0)