Closed Tall Glass

[Ann Tickwittee]

"How soon can we enter?"

"Optimally? I believe we'll be ready to pop it open in the evening." She took another long sip of water, observing some of the crew setting up portable spotlights around the dune, before elaborating on method. "We can remove the hatch and cover the doorway with a tarp. As soon as the sun hits the horizon, let me know if you're ready."

Spotting the medical assistant, @Constance, setting up shop, the archaeologist stalked over to the care tent, brown combat boots splashing in the sand. "Did you find everything in order?" Ann asked the younger woman. She motioned towards a plot in the ground outlined by bright orange marker flags: a rectangular area of approximately nine square meters. "If someone becomes dehydrated--and someone will, naturally--you may procure as many bottles of water as you need. They're all buried right there."

 

[Constance]

"Did you find everything in order?" Ann asked the younger woman. She motioned towards a plot in the ground outlined by bright orange marker flags: a rectangular area of approximately nine square meters. "If someone becomes dehydrated--and someone will, naturally--you may procure as many bottles of water as you need. They're all buried right there."

Constance’s glance followed the leader’s gesture and she nodded in understanding. The heat from the sun paired with the sand and the stark lack of trees created a dangerous environment. The team would need to be cautious during their work. A seemingly unimportant but careless disregard of safety could easily spiral into a medical emergency. While she did have some supplies to treat any minor or moderate heat related complication, she certainly didn’t want to use them.

Reaching up to adjust her headscarf, Constance addressed Ann, “Everything looks great so far. Though I haven’t started sorting the boxes yet.” A small gust of wind kicked up some dust and carried it past the two women. The breeze provided temporary relief from the blistering sun.

“We really need to emphasize sufficient rest and water consumption during the day to the work team. I don’t want a nasty situation to come up that’s beyond my scope of practice just because some guy wasn’t taking care of himself.”

 

[Joe Kerr]

" "Everyone remember the plan?"

The Jester smiled as he continued to observe the ACME crew at work. VILE would bide its time, waiting for the opportune moment to deliver the punch line to their 'prank'. If all went well, VILE would having a royal laugh at ACME's expense once the dust and sand settled.

"Roger that, Jack. Just one question though, why didn't we just bring the helicopter and whip up our own storm?"

 

[Spring-Heeled Jack]

"Quite a few reasons, my wise fool. First, unless we use a particularly large helicopter, we're not going to get the kind of effect a full-on storm will give us. Sure, we're going to get some sand blasted into their face, but with a true and proper sandstorm, we'll be getting the combined effect of millions of tiny daggers, a fog as thick as any in London-town, and enough duration to give us all the time we need. Plus, if there's a helicopter, they'll expect a team. With a natural storm, having only one or two seen would be much more reasonable."

"And finally," he said, rolling onto his back and gazing up into the desert sky, "if we use a helicopter, we give them a way out, right underneath the blades. And we must not give them a single way out if we can help it. It's harder on us, to be sure, but it is infinitely harder on them. The more pressure we put on them, the more they'll crack, and when someone cracks..." He chuckled, low in his throat, "...it's so much easier to make them crumble..."

He laughed once again, and then suddenly his amusement was replaced by a calm and pleasant demeanor, like a man on holiday. "Patty, dear girl, how are you holding up? Plenty of sunscreen? And you're sure the sand won't be too hard on you?"

 

[Patty]

Patty was listening to the entire conversation wondering if she should put on the beeswax lip moisturizer or the shea butter one. With the impending sandstorm, she figured beeswax would hold better.

"Patty, dear girl, how are you holding up? Plenty of sunscreen? And you're sure the sand won't be too hard on you?"

"Not my first time in the desert," Patts winked @Spring-Heeled Jack, and then she went back to the job at hand, "If I can't get everyone's pockets, who should I focus on most?"

 

[Ann Tickwittee]

Ann's feet sank into the sand on top of the dune, her sweat-soaked tank top now drying out and returning to its original white as the sun lost its glare and transitioned to a goldenrod-yellow hue. The team at the eastern camp had just finished lifting the separated port engine onto an open-bed truck, leased at the British government's expense. She drank from her canteen casually and exchanged friendly waves with them as they trekked over to the main camp to take part in the evening's volleyball match.

Turning around to observe the setting sun, the ACME's expert in archaeology determined that it was the right time to penetrate the decrepit fuselage. She bent over to re-tie the ankle cords of her cargo pants and then proceeded to half-slide down the liquid slope and seek out @Eugene Grovington. Marching up to the pilot, Ann took a small sip of her water before addressing him. "Are you ready? I think now is the ideal time to open up the plane."

 

[Lee]

"Let's open 'er up already?" Lee advised from his side of the excavation camp, "Manual labor's ready to go."

He liked archaeology, he really did, and fieldwork for archaeology was actually the more exciting parts of the work. Still, it was quiet out here and he didn't want to wait any longer, even if the volleyball match was a welcomed bonus.

 

[Eugene]

Are you ready? I think now is the ideal time to open up the plane.

Adjusting his aviators back up his nose with a single slow gesture, Euge appraised the aircraft one more time and nodded, slinging a cut-off saw over his shoulder before setting off. Leading a small procession up to the cabin door, he kept his pace slow, nearly reverent. The skew of the door with the obvious buckles in the aluminum was ominous, but Euge felt obligated to attempt opening by hand before resorting to destructive methods. A few fruitless tugs broke him of the notion, and he paused only to wipe the sweat off his brow before bringing the saw to bear. Euge's first incision bought a wry grin to his face over the earlier discussion of entry methods. While any excuse to play with explosives was fine by him, Euge was finally persuaded to the side of minimal collateral damage with offers of beer and threats of grants and nameplates. Dimly noting the presence of another saw making a matching cut, Euge rounded his incision to meet, yanking his blade free as the now freed section of fuselage settled. Stepping back, he aimed a forceful kick into the center and stood quiet as the scrap settled into the aircraft.

Donning a headlamp, Euge proceeded delicately inside. While he was clueless as to actual archaeological procedures, the possibility of encountering the remains of another soldier was enough to stymie his excited pace. The path to his right dead ended at the gimbal for the roof turret, and Euge slowly shoved the emergency raft out of his way before shimmying over the wing spar up to the cockpit.

Reaching the bulkhead, Euge peeled back a panel and pulled himself partially into the cockpit, sighing at the sight that met him. Euge was not a religious man, but his beliefs held fast for respecting the dead. In the pilot's seat was a skeleton, hunched over the controls and bleached from exposure to the unforgiving desert. Remarkably, some tattered scraps of a flight suit still remained, although any squadron insignia or nametape had long since faded. Still, one possibility for identification remained, and Euge worked himself further forward until a gleam of metal caught his eye. Pulling out his combat knife, Euge cut the dog tag free from the bootlaces and tucked it securely into his pocket. It seemed some traditions held fast.

 

[Lee]

Lee Jordan watch Euge go about his business. Being the good 'host' that he was, he also explain to the attending students what @Eugene Grovington was doing. Only a few of them would be entering the plane at a time, so he thought it would be a nice treat to pretend like this was a museum tour.

Euge's first incision bought a wry grin to his face

"That's how the pros do it," Lee narrated, "nice and neat."

Donning a headlamp, Euge proceeded delicately inside.

With that, Jordan also hinted to the kids that they could follow if they were extremely careful.

Pulling out his combat knife, Euge cut the dog tag free from the bootlaces and tucked it securely into his pocket.

"And that, kids, is Looting 101," Lee commented sarcastically. Some of them laughed, others just shrugged. Jordan handed Euge a bundle of evidence bags in case he needed them and then gave the kids some too. Evidence collection and labeling wasn't really necessary at all in a site like this, but for younger detectives, it was good for them to learn.

"Don't abuse the sharpie," Lee reminded, "and by that I also mean no shoving it in your noses."

 

[Joe Kerr]

"Not my first time in the desert,"
"If I can't get everyone's pockets, who should I focus on most?"

Joe let out a soft chuckle at @Patty's reply. VILE's golden girl never failed to put a smile on his face. In his opinion, her sharp looks were matched with both a sharp tongue and even sharper wit; she was one person he would never underestimate or mess with.

It also amused the Jester that @Jack seemed to have forgotten VILE HQ used to be in Antarctica; a cold desert but a desert nonetheless.

"Patty dear, if you can't hit everyone maybe you could focus on Ann. It would be highly improper for Jack and myself to lay hands on her anyway."

Looking back into the binoculars, Joe realized that the ACME crew had begun looking through the plane.

"Looks like our friends have started to loot the plane. Ironic that they will be the ones looted after all is said and done."

 

[Ann Tickwittee]

Ann was quite aware of the less-than-professional way the pilot and commentator had operated on the dead airplane, though word had somehow eluded her when it came to the subject of the looted dog tag. Nevertheless, she was secretly excited to investigate the interior of the aircraft. Every expedition might positively or negatively affect her global reputation, and the recovery of the missing pilot's remains would certainly be good to her name.

The chilling night air of the desert wrapped its tendrils around her, and the archaeologist shivered as she gazed into the colorless maws of dozens of sand dunes, highlighted by a twilight-blue sheen at their crests. She hustled towards the spotlit fuselage with a dark box in tow, tracing a serpentine line as the back end dragged in the sand. Slowly entering the innards of the downed bomber, Ann carefully continued to tug the container in her wake until she was at the cockpit. She released her hold on the box and allowed it to set into the sand, then propped herself on top.

Looking up at the weathered pilot, the young woman gently patted at the lid of the box prior to waving at the skeleton. "Hello," she softly saluted. "I'm Ann. I came here to find you and bring you back."

She paused, attempting to imagine some grateful response drenched in a thick English accent. "We'll be encasing you tomorrow, to keep you safe. You have one more flight in store for you, home. But I promise: no worries."

Lifting herself off the 'coffin', she crept towards the plane's door with a parting wave to the Royal Air Force flyer and padded off to her tent for the night. Sometimes she just needed someone to talk to.

 

[Spring-Heeled Jack]

Written with: [with]46[/with]





The wind had picked up from the east by 09:00, rippling the tents as well as the canvasses covering the exposed canopy and doorway. Ann Tickwittee was troubled by the abrasive breeze as she sat in the shadow of the aircraft’s fuselage, munching on a granola bar prior to further excavation. Loose grains of sand crawled and scattered atop the towel she sat on, and an orange aurora had been visible in the deep morning hours. The archaeologist had routinely radioed in to her favored Iberian contacts, but nothing too concerning had been reported.

The sun was strangely dimming, and as Ann brushed out an unusual confusion of sand particles that had been blown into her hair, she glanced up. The young woman’s yellow-green eyes widened, beholding the churning fog of dust approaching rapidly. She immediately dropped her breakfast.

A short distance away, Spring-Heeled Jack was reclining, watching V.I.L.E.’s natural cover approach rapidly. The true leading edge of the storm, where it could begin obscuring their movements was still a couple minutes away, but plenty of sand was up in the air, and got in his mouth as he smiled. He didn’t care, this was going to be absolutely brilliant. Turning to his co-conspirators, he flipped the red lights within his goggles to high. “The board is set and is ready, and our nerves are all calm and we’re ready. So strike up the band, let’s play in the sand, and make ACME beg mercy already!” He rolled onto his stomach, and braced himself on the dune, preparing to move when the storm edge hit.