REPOST: "Ace", Part01/02

[Mark D. Baushke]

Submitted-by: "Wolf+" <mdr...@cix.compulink.co.uk>
Archive-URL: ftp://ftp-eng.cisco.com/ql-archive/alt.ql.creative/
Archive-name: ace/ace.p01

======= start Story Guide Entry =======

TITLE: "Ace"
AUTHOR: "Wolf+" <mdr...@cix.compulink.co.uk>
ARCHIVE NAME: ace
SYNOPSIS: Sam Leaps into WWI fighter pilot
NOTES: Involves Sam Leaping to before own lifetime
# OF CHAPTERS: 2
EPISODE REF: 1 reference to 'The Leap Home, Part II'
SEQUEL TO:
TYPE OF STORY: crossover_____ with ____________________
parody_____
script_____
roundtable_____
drama__X__
comedy_____

======= end Story Guide Entry =======

From: mdr...@cix.compulink.co.uk ("Martyn Dryden")
Subject: 'Ace'
Date: Fri, 23 Dec 1994 17:57:50 GMT

A QL story for Christmas - or it will be if I can finish it in
time. Criticisms to Wolf+ at this address:
mdr...@cix.compulink.co.uk
References to the Germans are not intended as racist, merely in
keeping with the story.

ACE
***

The first thing Sam noticed was the noise. There were about a
dozen men in the room, all talking at the tops of their voices.
Almost, but not quite, drowned out, an old-fashioned gramophone
was playing 'Silent Night'. The room was warm, and there was a
pleasant smell of alcohol. Sam looked at his companions. All were
young, and most were dressed in flying gear. Photos of aeroplanes
lined the walls, interspersed with an occasional naked girl cut
from a magazine. Suddenly, a boy who could have been no more than
twenty came in, pale-faced. He headed for the bar. "Harris's
gone West," he announced. "Poor sod copped it flying too low over
the Jerry lines." There was instant hush. At last one of the
drinkers lifted his glass and said uncertainly, "To Harris,
then."
"Harris!"
"Good old Harris!"
Glasses were raised, and the party was resumed. Sam examined one
of the photographs, frowning. The aeroplane was an ungainly
thing, an awkward biplane with a large propellor and no canopy.
He turned to find a fair-haired youth grinning at him.
"You all right, Sammy?"
"Yeah. I'm fine. Uh - could you tell me what year it is, please?"
The boy hooted. "Sammy's soused!" he crowed. Sam blinked at the
smell of whisky on his breath. "He can't remember what year it
is!" He leaned over Sam and put an arm round his shoulder.
"Nineteen hundred an' seventeen," he whispered hoarsely, "but don't
tell anyone - 's a secret!" He fell forward into Sam's lap and
went to sleep. "Oh, boy." breathed Sam. "I'm a World War One
fighter pilot!"
(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)(*)
Sam shook his head incredulously. 1917! The First World War!
This would be giving them some headaches back at the Project.
There was no guarantee that they would find him - which meant no
Al. He would just have to guess his way through this Leap without
guidance from Ziggy. As to the problem of how he had Leaped beyond
the start of his own life, it would have to be shelved. From what
he knew of WWI pilots, staying alive would require all the luck
and skill he had.
The door of the mess swung open, and a young man came in,
smiling shyly. He was greeted by a roar of "Hey, Nick!" "It's
Naughty Nick!" "Wotcher, Nicky!"
"Well, so long, you chaps." said Nick. "I'm off on
leave. Happy Christmas, everyone!"
"Don't forget you're on patrol in ten minutes." counselled a
pilot dourly. "Best not to count your chickens before they hatch,
old boy." The young man's thin face grew anxious.
"There won't be any trouble, will there?" he asked. "Not on
Christmas Eve? I - I've got to get home. I'm spending Christmas
with my fiancee - we're getting married in the New Year - If I
don't make it..." He tailed off, looking as though he were about
to burst into tears.
"I'm sure it'll be fine, er, Nick." Sam said. "Just be careful."
There was a chorus of agreement. "Old Jerry'll be hanging his
stocking up!" "Don't worry if you're shot down - Father
Christmas'll bring you home!" When the noise had died down to its
normal level, Nick had gone.
But there was a new arrival. His checked shirt and pink tie
standing out among the khaki and leather, Al moved unnoticed
through the throng and came to rest at Sam's side, looking happy.
"Al! I thought I'd never see you again! What happened?"
"Oh boy, isn't this great? You're living history, Sam. Do you
know where you are?"
"Yes, I do. I'm in 1917, which is impossible. The String Theory,
Al! It's wrecked! How have I ended up in the middle of World War
One?"
Al shrugged. "Guess your string got frayed. You're lucky we found
you - the guy in the waiting room would only give his name, rank
and serial number. Fortunately, that was enough."
"Ziggy doesn't know what I'm doing here?"
"Well, we don't know how you got here, but we know what you're
here to do." Al pressed a button on the handlink, then looked up.
"Ah, Sam, this is fantastic! You know, I idolised these guys when
I was little."
Sam looked around at the drunken airmen. "*These* guys?"
"Sure. Flying aces. Going up there in those tiny little planes and
kicking ass. They knew the odds were against them, and they
didn't care." Al thumped his palm.
"Al - what am I doing here?"
"Sorry." Al resumed his scrutiny of the handlink. "Your name is
Samuel Ives, and you're a pilot in 266 Squadron of the Royal
Flying Corps. Your friend here," he indicated the sleeping boy,
"is Robert 'Sandy' Smith, aged seventeen. And the jumpy guy who
just went out the door is Nicholas Naughtie, otherwise known as
Naughty Nick, and he's - " Al's expression clouded over.
"He's gonna be dead in twenty minutes if you don't do something,
Sam!"