Reunion - Chapter Three

Chapter 3
Aftermath

After the initial euphoria of having survived the crash there was no time for celebration and the thick black smoke started to engulf the passenger compartment. There was a flurry of activity as people scrambled for the exits, climbing over the seats and in some instances each other to get out. Red flames could be seen licking under the planes fractured wings as, in ones and twos, the group got out of the shattered fuselage. Gouts of flame began to shoot up into the dawn air.

Having exited the plane the group split in several different directions trying to get away from the fireball that would surely culminate in an explosion. Stephan found himself with Stuart Walker and Subbu Esacam getting away from the wreck by heading down the beach headland where the plane had come to rest. They scrabbled through the sand initially before feeling confident enough to stand and start at first a rapid walk then an out and out run along the foreshore and out of site of the fire. There were a number of loud cracks and pops as they went causing them to adopt a cautious bent over run at time as items seems to whizz over their head.

After a minute or two, tired and breathless, they dropped on the sand and looked back over to the crash site, hidden from direct view but clearly marked by a large plume of black smoke and a red glow discernible even against the ever brightening morning sky.

For a few moments no-one said anything and they sat or lay there catching their breath and listening to the occasional pop and crackle from wreck which still caused them to tense and flinch involuntarily.

“Do you think everyone got out ok?” asked Stuart. Before he could answer there was a massive boom from the crash site followed by two more, slightly smaller. The three looked at each other without saying anything. They all knew that anyone left in the wreckage or even its near vicinity would have had little chance of surviving blasts like that.

“I’m sure they did,” said Stephan without any real certainty in either his voice or his mind. A truer case of wishful thinking there never was.

“Should we go back and check do you think?” Stuart asked.

“It’s too soon. It would be too dangerous,” responded Subbu, “we need to let the flames die down and risks of any further explosions reduce. It’ll burn itself out in time. There’s nothing we could do now anyway.”

It made sense to the other two and so for a few moments more they sat watching the flames and smoke rise. There were no more explosions but the conflagration showed little sign of abating.

After a few more minutes, Stuart grunted and shifted his weight.

“I just realised I’ve been sitting on something uncomfortable,” he said as he shuffled to one side to reveal a short stub of white plastic sticking a couple of inches out of the soft sand of the beach. He reached over and with a little effort pulled it from under him.

“Ha, it’s a plastic fork. Must have been scattered from the plane as we came in.”

“But we came in over the trees and rocks from that headland,” Stephan said pointing further inland behind the smoke and flames.

“And technically I think that is a ‘spork’” added Subbu, ever a stickler for accuracy however irrelevant the detail.

“A what?”

“ A ‘spork’ “ repeated Esacam, “ a cross between a spoon and a fork. See how the bowl of the spoon separates into points?”

“Right ok” said Stuart, “well anyway I’ve had the broken handle of a…spork sticking in my arse for last 15 minutes and only just noticed”.

“That’ll be the shock, “ said Stephan “the initial shock will be wearing off now. We should probably get up and check we are ok.”

Given the circumstances, the general consensus was they were ok. They had black smudges from smoke on their hands and face, the odd scratch on their forearms and lower legs and one sporking but no real injuries.

As they checked themselves and each other over, Stephan looked away from the still burning crash and towards the direction they had been travelling as they made their escape.

A few feet away a half circle of plastic protruded from slightly damp sand. There were a couple more further along the beach as well as more white plastic handles and some sporks and plastic knives lying un-embedded around them.

Stephan pulled the half circle nearest him out of the sand and as expected it was plastic plate similar to the ones they’d had with their self-service tray meal as part of their flight from Bankgok. It must have come from the plane but why was it over here? The cutlery was trailed in a broad ribbon along the beach heading away from them.

Stephan looked at the plate once or twice as if some clue was going to come from it then shrugged, tossed it aside and looked at Stuart and Subbu.

“Shall we follow the trail? ”

The other two nodded in agreement and they began to walk further along the beach and round another, smaller, rocky headland.

*

The scatter of cutlery and plates remained fairly even but also seemingly random like it had been scattered from a trailing object but they were all now fairly convinced the plane hadn’t come in this way as it had crashed. Though there was that much chaos at the time and the plane had been spiralling from some time and it was possible it had been shedding debris all that time.

“It’s only cutlery and plates though,how is that” said Subbu giving voice to the question that had been lurking at the back of Stephan’s mind, “Why is there no other sorts of debris? No bits of plane or luggage?”

They rounded the headland and saw, a few meters in front of them a figure, a child, standing halfway up the beach towards an inlet to a small stream. It was facing away from them and wearing a backpack over a brown leather jacket that reached almost to the ground. They shouted and waved as they quickened their pace towards the child but it did not turn round or indeed move at all.

They reached the figure and saw that in fact it was not a child, it was Guy, the pilot. He was embedded to his knees in the sand, one lens of his mirrored Aviator sunglasses missing, his brow was furrowed in confusion and his mouth hung open. In his right hand he clutched a D ring that matched a similar on on the side of the pack he was wearing. The back of the pack was ripped open on one side and in the bottom of it they could just see a couple of plates and handful of sporks.

“Ha!”, exclaimed Stuart Walker. “Stupid fucker took the catering supplies instead of a parachute.” Stating the obvious with his usual eloquence.
“He’s up to his knees in the sand, “ said Stephan , “quite an impact.”

Subbu looked forward and saw a pair of flying boots sticking out from underneath the front of Guy’s jacket.

“Not his knees exactly I think”, said Esacam and reached forward to unzip the jacket. Guy’s blue cotton shirt was strained a deep red and his abdomen was distorted by two odd bulges leading down to the boots making him look like a tacky Talouse Lautrec impersonation from the Eric and Ernie Christmas special circa 1974.

“The force of the impact pushed his thigh bones up through his body whilst also pinning him in the sand,” explained Subbu and then as the intellectual satisfaction of what he had worked out gave way to the realisation of what he had just said, he slumped over in a brief faint before being violently sick on the sand along side Guy.

Stephan reached down and put a hand on Subbu’s shoulder.
“He was probably already dead from shock and the free fall. It was a long drop” he said hoping it would give some comfort to the quietly wretching Subbu.

“Looks kinda like E.T.” said Stuart rather unfazed by the explanation of what they were looking at. It was true with his wrinkled brown face and foreshortened body he did look a little like the famous alien. Stephan suppressed an involuntary snort of laughter.

Totally inappropriate to the circumstances he thought but even so he could not stop himself from hearing the words “phone home” in his head. A coping mechanism, more shock he told himself as he giggled again. Stuart was smiling broadly too.

“Can you image how he felt when he pulled that D ring and saw a succession of plastic plates and cutlery whizz past him?”

“I don’t think you have to imagine,” said Subbu pulling round slightly, “It’s still there in his expression.” He even forced a small smile from his lips.
“Stupid fucker, indeed.” Esacam echoed Stuart’s earlier phrase but coming from his more cultured tones it sounded far funnier and soon the three of them were doubled up with laughter there on the beach. The body of Guy their former pilot a silent, puzzled witness to their mirth. After a couple of attempts they pulled themselves round.

“Shouldn’t we bury him or something. Do the decent thing?” asked Stephan when they had finally settled down.

Before anyone could answer, their musings were interrupted by a faint chant in the distance, the only other human sounds they had heard aside from themselves since the crash. It was quiet at first and hard to locate but it came from further along the wooded sides of the inlet stream running down from the interior of the island. It grew louder with each passing moment.

“BGSB…Broadway Grammar School For boys, BGSB is best !” came the refrain and then in signal file and headed by the slightly portly figure of Ian Prince the former members of the Rugby First XV trotted slowly into view along the sands.

They came down onto the beach following the edge of the stream inlet in single file as the vegetation was overgrown right up to the edge of the water.

Ian Prince led the way his shoulders still making him look the typical rugby type and his small but noticeable pot belly making him typical of the forty year old occasional rugby player he now was. Behind him came his ever present side kick Gareth Laney , he still had the short squat build of a scrum half and though he had inevitably put on a few pounds and his hair was thinning he hadn’t changed that much in the intervening years.

Next came Roger Benedict, tall, rangy and now almost completely bald. He was of course known as “Dicty” it being the rule that all sportsmen must have a nickname that ended in “y”. Gareth Laney’s was built in but at times even he was referred to as Laney-ey the sporting brain seemingly unable to stop adding the suffix. Following a short distance behind and standing out with his thick mane of bright copper coloured hair was the broad beamed, pale Irish complexioned, former prop, Sean Rourke or “Rourkey” . Though at times also known as “Duracel” and “Copperknob”.

Bringing up the rear and almost managing to trot in side by side were the Speke “twins”. Technically they weren’t true identical twins in the sense of an egg being split but rather two separate eggs had been fertilised in their mother’s womb at the same time making then fraternal twins. However in a cruel twist of nature they looked if anything, more identical than some true twins, but for one notable exception. One had blond hair and the other black.

Peter and Paul Speke, no one at school could ever remember or rather be bothered to remember which was which despite the obvious difference. Peter was the blond and Paul the black haired brother. They were largely treated as a single unit for most practical purposes. They had played inside and outside centres on the Rugby pitch and were frequently interchanged. If it was necessary to differentiate between them they were known as “Spekey1” and “Spekey2” but such occasions were rare.

At school the two had been inseparable in all areas and that included academic performance. It’s not that they weren’t reasonably bright. They had both passed the entrance exam to Broadway Grammar school but it was all relative and someone had to be at the bottom of the class even at a Grammar school and for the 6Sc1 it was the Speke twins.

They were, in every subject 30th and 31st , they sometimes swapped positions with Paul being ahead of Peter but they were never separated and never outside the bottom two. Had they gone to the local comprehensive they would almost have certainly performed better in relative terms but at Broadway Grammar they were generally regarded as “thick”.

The Rugger buggers trotted and then ambled down the beach to join Subbu, Stephan and Stuart next to the body of Guy. They all appeared to be in good condition merely bearing the same black smudges, occasional bruise or scratch but largely unharmed from the crash.

“Courty!” called out Ian Prince clearly pleased to see other survivors. “Camy, Walky!” He added.

They all nodded and smiled in return.

“You made it safely out then? Have you seen Mougal?” asked “Camy”, Subbu Esacam, concerned for the safety of his friend who was not known for the strongest of constitutions.

“Nah not seem him I’m afraid. Nor Wilts but I’m sure they made it out. Who’s that there?” asked Ian Prince as he approached the group and saw Guy still embedded in the sand.

“Eww gross!”, he exclaimed as he worked out what had happened. This was the cue for the rest of the rugby team to cluster round and get a good look at Guy. Anything gross to a rugby team was by the same token cool and this apparently extended to the foreshortened corpses of Vietnamese former bomber pilots. There was a general round of “cool”, “gross” and other epithets.

“He jumped out with a back pack of cutlery instead of a parachute” Stephan explained, “we were just debating how we should handle the matter of burial”

“Well he’s halfway there already,” said Laney to a few chuckles from the group. Even though he had been laughing about the situation himself a few minutes before, this casual reaction to the death of their former pilot annoyed Stephan and at first he wasn’t sure why but he suspected it was more because Laney seemed to be able to take in the situation and deal with it more easily than he had. The protection of the group perhaps, the old ties helping make light of situations.

“Seriously, we need to do something.”

“He’s going to become a health hazard if nothing else” added Subbu ever the pragmatist now he had got over his initial shock at the site.
The group was thoughtful for a while and then Ian Prince decided the time had come for action.

“Give us a hand Laney, “ said Prince moving forward to take hold of Guy under the arms. Laney ever responding to his master’s voice moved forward and between them with a little grunting and some sickening crunching noises they pulled Guy of the sand and lay him down on his back at something approaching his normal height or in this case now, length. The sight made Subbu vomit again and a couple of the others had to look away.

“Well that’s a start” said Ian Prince “but to bury him we’re gonna need tools , shovels and that and a place to do it as well”

“How about cremation? That’s an equally valid option, “ suggested Subbu regaining his composure, and possibly easier to arrange” he added moving his head in the direction of the smoke and orange glow still going strong round the corner of the other arm of the bay they were in.

“Still too dangerous to go back I’d say” said Stephan, “but the idea is sound. We’re going to need a fire anyway to help us survive.” It was the first time someone had voiced the concept of surviving.

“Food, water, shelter, fire, those are the basics.” Stuart Walker said with authority.

“‘ark at Ray Mears there,” retorted Gareth Laney to a few chortles from the Rugger Buggers.

“I was in the TA for a bit, did a couple of survival days with them” explained Walker, “Brecon Beacons, but same principle”

“OK well Stuart why don’t you take a couple of the rugby team and see what you can find further inland from the islet, the rest of us should explore the the foreshore see what we have here and then…..” said Stephan. It seemed a logical and reasonable statement.

“Whoa there Courty. Who died and made you emperor of the world?” Prince challenged, drawing himself up a little taller and puffing out his chest slightly. He was former captain of the first XV remember and now senior sales executive ( Midland Region ) for Lakey Plastics. He was a natural born leader as far as he was concerned and he should be making the decisions , not this outsider.

“Well look Prince, I was just saying. It seems reasonable”

“I think I should decide what is reasonable round here.” Ian Prince stepped closer to Stephan who rather than stepping back as Prince has expected rather surprised himself by stepping forward also to present a physical challenge to him. There was an awkward silence for a couple of seconds suddenly broken by a cultured, sloan square accent.

“Ok looks like I got here, just in time. We have a classic challenge to authority here and I’m clearly going to have to facilitate some mediation”.

The group looked round and then up to the imposing figure of Romney White who had come from the direction of the crash and joined the group without anyone noticing. He pushed forward through the throng that was now clustered round the central figures of Stephan Court and Ian Prince.
“Ok guys. Now let’s take a step back and breath. There’s a role for each of us here, we just need to workshop the options and then….” he paused as he saw the body of Nguyen laid out on the sand.

“Is that the pilot? Dead?” he asked. There was confirmation from the group.

“OK,” Romney White reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black oblong, he pushed a button at the side and held it to his mouth.

“Item: Dead pilot on beach. Add to do list” he said into the dictaphone.

“Now where were, oh yes workshopping” he continued casually as if he had just made a note to call someone back after the current business of the day. This intervention had at least for the moment relieved the tension between Prince and Court and they both took a step back.

“I suggest we all take a few moments to think of the pros and cons of having Ian or Stephan, can I call you that? Ian or Stephan as leader and then we can work on those themes as part of an ongoing dialogue to decide…..”

“Have you seen Mougal?” interrupted Subbu still keen for news of his friend.

“Or Wilts”, added Prince.

“Err no sorry I haven’t seen anyone else since I made my way out of the crash.”

Just at that moment there was a crashing sound from the forest further inland and emerging from the undergrowth came Leonard Wiltshire stripped to the waist with a bandana round his head made from his black polo neck. His tanned body glinted in the heightening sun and on his back, getting a piggy back was Nalesh Mougal.

The group was complete, everyone had survived the crash.