For Our Liberty by Rob Griffith Page A

ropes until our fingers ached. We sailed low over a small village and children shouted and began to chase us, geese honking as they escaped the horde of youngsters. Old women crossed themselves and two men sitting at a table outside an inn looked suspiciously at their empty tankards. Just as our departure had been far less anonymous than we had hoped I had the feeling that our arrival back on God’s good earth would be met with a crowd. A herd of cows scattered as our shadow crossed quickly over them. Then the car brushed the top of an oak.
    Branches snapped and the car tore through leaves and twigs. I was hurled forwards and almost out of the car; only my desperate hold on one of the ropes saved me. After the silence and stillness of the flight the sudden cacophony of sound and movement was terrifying. Dominique screamed and Garnerin swore as he pulled desperately on the valve rope to get us down. We hit terra firma with a thud that I felt all the way up my spine and then we were airborne again. Bouncing up to fifty or sixty feet and then coming down again with another splintering crash.  
    Garnerin was thrown to the ground but we ascended once more. I grabbed the valve rope and pulled, praying to God that the next time we landed would be the last. Dominique was as white as a sheet and a look of sheer terror passed between us. The balloon was heading for a row of Lombardy poplars at an alarming speed. We were only a few feet from the ground and I thought about just jumping out with Dominique but before we had the chance the fabric of the balloon was tearing into the branches and the car smashed into a trunk. I grabbed Dominique and held her to me as the world ended around us. We lay there in a mass of leaves, tree, and the remains of the car, covered in a shroud of green and yellow cloth. There was silence again, until I began to laugh.
    “What,” Dominique asked in an unsteady voice, “is so funny?”
    “I don’t think that aerial voyaging will ever be all the crack, do you?” I was still holding her and her head was on my chest as it heaved with laughter. She tried to get up but I held her there. She looked at me, beginning to laugh with relief herself. Her hair was a mess and her face ashen with shock but her eyes were as beautiful as ever. They met mine. We stopped laughing. I reached up and moved a lock of her hair from her brow. My hand brushed the soft skin of her cheek and then stroked the back of her neck, drawing her towards me. She didn’t resist. Our lips were only an inch apart. She was breathing hard.  
    “Monsieur, Mademoiselle Calvet! Where are you?” Garnerin pulled the balloon from on top of us and we hastily disentangled ourselves from each other and the remains of the car. Garnerin was standing in front of the wreckage looking very forlorn.
    “Very sorry about your balloon,” I said lamely, literally as well as figuratively. I was battered, bruised and pains shot through one of my knees every time I put weight on it. My wound hurt again for the first time in days but I didn’t think it had reopened, not until I noticed the spots of blood on my shirt later. Dominique was again trembling slightly but seemed uninjured. Garnerin began to pick up pieces of wood, examining them and tutting.
      “C’est la vie. I was going to build a larger one anyway,” he shrugged and threw away the piece of wood he was holding, “Now you must hit me.”
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “Yes. You must hit me. I will tell the gendarmes that you made me take you. It will help if you…”
    I thought it would be better if I didn’t give him any warning and so delivered a swift jab to his chin. He collapsed on to the remnants of his craft. Dominique put her hand to her mouth.
    “Ben, don’t you think that was a bit too hard?”
    “I didn’t know he was going to go down like that. I only tapped him. Still, probably for the best. I think we should be going.” I was a little shame-faced but did my best to cover