Science Fiction Short Story by Melvyn Simpson

Part 1 - An encounter in the clouds

The skies above France. 1916

The little wooden biplane shook from the buffetting of the tearing winds. At the controls of the Bristol Fighter was Captain Herbert Wiggles, ace fighter pilot and legend in his own mind. He cursed under his breath as he fought for control. Behind him sat his copilot and gunner, Private Cringeley, known affectionately to Wiggles as 'Cringe', and even less affectionately as 'that useless malingering bastard'. If it wasn't for the fact that he was the only person in the entire Royal Air Corps who would even get into a plane with Captain Wiggles, a man unofficially dubbed by high command as 'the greatest single asset to the german air force since the Red 'Baron', then he wouldn't even be there. Cringley was blessed, or cursed, with an awe inspiring stupidity, and a fawning hero worship for Wiggles. The Captain himself detested Cringley, but liked the hero worship.

Cringley peered over the side of the plane at the crashing storm clouds that surrounded them. He gulped then turned to Wiggles.

"Are we lost Wiggles?" he asked almost apologetically.

"When did I say we were lost ?" demanded Wiggles, mortally offended.

"Well," said Cringley, "I just thought that as we'd been going in circles for the last thirty minutes you might, well, be sort of,..lost,"

Wiggles scowled behind his goggles. "You thought ? When did I give you permission to start thinking ? Just sit quiet and leave the thinking to me"

"Sorry old chum," apologised Cringley, "Didn't mean to imply anything, you know,"

Wiggles stared at the compass which twitched uncertainly. He shook his head and looked around. He was indeed lost, but he wasn't going to admit it to Cringley of all people. Wiggles never admitted to his failings. The wind whistled tunelessly through the myriad bullet holes that riddled the canvas skin of the fighter. A hun pilot had come close to ending the career of Captain Wiggles, but Wiggles luck had saved him again, and it was the hun who had perished in the conflict.

If one thing could be said of Wiggles, it was that he was a survivor. He was a crack shot, and had an almost suicidal disregard for personal safety. He commanded his own squadron, which was notorious for having the highest casulalty rate of any squadron in the corp. Unfortunately Wiggles had family connections which prevented him being transferred out. So the air corp command could only look on with increasing appal as the casualties mounted. They twiddled their collective thumbs and quietly prayed that some German would get lucky and shoot the fool down. Not that they ever did. If God smiled on the stupid, he positively beamed on Wiggles who emerged from one hair raising escapade after another without so much as a scratch.

In the cockpit, Wiggles tapped the fuel gauge. The arrow trembled slightly, but refused to budge away from the nearly empty reading. Damn, thought Wiggles, what a predicament to be in. Lost in a storm, nearly out of fuel, with an idiot in the back seat. Thunder roared below, echoing through the sky. If it wasn't for the storm Wiggles would have taken her down and tried for a visual check of the terrain. He caught blurred views of the ground through the odd gap in the clouds. He strongly doubted the damaged plane would survive the buffeting down there. Still, that would become academic in a few minutes, when his fuel ran out.

As he glanced over the port side, there was a flash of light and a whooshing of air. Something silver and shiny and twice the size of the fighter hurtled past them. A rush of air shook the biplane and sent it bobbing in the wake of rapidly moving air currents. Wiggles managed to stabilise the plane, and he and Cringley took their first look at the intruder. Wiggles blinked. It was unlike any type pf aircraft he had ever seen. For one thing, it had no wings. Not a one. And then there was the shape.

"What on earth is it Wiggles ?" gasped Cringley, peering over the Captains shoulder.

"Dashed if I know," said Wiggles, too surprised to make any attempt to hide his ignorance.

"It looks like one of Auntie Mildews china saucers, turned upside down." Observed Cringley.

Indeed it did. It was exactly like a saucer, but about forty feet wide, and made of silver.

"And it doesn't have any propellers sir," added Cringley.

It annoyed and surprised the Captain that he hadn't noticed this important fact first.

"No wings, no propellers, how the devil does it stay up ?" mused Wiggles.

"I don't know sir," said Cringley, "But he does seem to be in trouble, with all that smoke pouring from him,"

Sparks and flames were spitting from the rear of the saucer, weaving a black viscous smoke trail across the stormy skies.

"Must have been hit by lightning," suggested Wiggles.

"How do you know that sir ?" asked Cringley.

"Well, its obvious," said Wiggles.

"Oh, you're so clever sir," fawned Cringley.

"I know," admitted Wiggles. He studied the intruder. "Whoever he is, he's not going to last much longer than us," muttered Wiggles.

There was a flash of green light, unlike any lightning Wiggles had ever seen or heard about, and the air ahead of the saucer started to shimmer and ripple. A huge shape started to form from the empty air. It was as big as St Pauls cathedral. It had a huge silver dome, beneath which were attached various strange objects.

"It's a Zeppelin," cried Cringley.

"No it isn't," contradicted Wiggles, "I've seen enough zeps in my time, and that isn't one of them"

The saucer veered unsteadily towards the huge shape. A large hatch opened in the side of the silver dome and a beam of blue light stabbed out and grabbed the saucer. The beam retracted, pulling the saucer with it into the interior of the dome.

Wiggles was about to change course to avoid the object, when the engine started to cough like a sick aunt.

"Crikey," Wiggles exclaimed. "That's torn it,"

The engine was struggling to keep working. It gave one last valiant gasp, then it spluttered to a halt. Denied fuel, the engine was just so much extra dead weight to drag them to their doom. The strange structure still floated before them, humming gently in the sudden silence. Wiggles and Cringley weren't particularly interested at this moment in time, they had other things on their minds, like crashing, and imminent death. As the little biplane started to fall, Wiggles determined to face death with a stiff upper lip. He consoled himself with images of his military funeral. He imagined the Air Corp Marshall reading his eulogy to a packed crowd of tearful pilots, expounding on Wiggles selfless dedication and courage. Behind him, Cringley whimpered and cried out for his mother.

Before they had plummetted more than a few feet, a dazzling flash of blue light struck the plane. It stopped falling and hovered impossibly in mid air. Wiggles and Cringley were paralized where they sat. Though they still had access to their five senses, neither one of them could so much as twitch a finger. Helplessly they watched as they were dragged inside the silver dome.

Part 2 - In the Belly of the Whale