The Mulligan Planet by Zachariah Dracoulis Page B

knife, binoculars, torch, flares,
tarp and a length of nylon rope. I pulled on a pair of jeans, a
white t-shirt and my black converse, I was aware that I would be
properly kitted when I reached the plane, but I didn’t want to show
up in a gown. I went back to the lounge-room to find Kate looking
at the stain on my roof, “How’d that get there?” I chuckled, I was
glad she was trying to subvert pain, “I built a catapult; had a
wine bottle as ammo.” She smiled and then laughed, “We better get
going, this isn’t the kind of flight we can miss.” I nodded, “Lead
the way.”
    We walked up to the ground floor
and out through a set of panel doors to reveal a twilight bathed
runway and a large hanger behind the base where I thought was
coastline. Marcus was standing by the edge of the hangar looking
out over the dark ocean with his arms firmly behind his back. He
was still wearing his grey suit and black tie, his hair was a mess
and I could just make out his red cheeks through the fading
darkness. It was apparent that he had been out here for at least a
few hours shown through the occasional shivers that interrupted his
otherwise stoic exterior which would have been enough to conceal
his crushing sadness if it weren't for the tears that were slowly
tracing their way down his face. He wiped his face and glasses with
a cloth that he produced from his blazer before noticing us, waving
us over as soon as he did, “Come on, let’s get you two combat
ready.” I was taken to a small control room at the rear of the
monolithic hangar and soon dressed from head to toe in black gear
similar to what the guys wore when they came for me other than the
helmet that was passed to me which was similar in many aspects to a
motorcycle helmet that hugged the head more with the glass going
from the forehead to the chin instead of stopping below the
nose.
    I stepped out into the hangar
and noticed just how light and flexible the suit felt while somehow
defending from the freezing ambient temperature. Marcus took the
helmet from my hands gently once I had returned to see the rest of
the team was standing in two lines with their helmets on and hands
pushed firmly to their sides. Marcus gestured for me to stand at
the front of the team and I followed without question, spinning on
the ball of my foot and standing at attention facing Marcus who
appeared to be making micro-adjustments to the helmet in his hands.
The sound of a turbine winding down behind us almost made me turn
around as Marcus walked up to me who began to put the helmet on my
head which slipped on easily before the foam interior began to
expand, making the whole helmet adjust and hug my ears while
shooting out air with a high-pitched whistle that pervaded the now
silent hangar, “Don’t worry about that hissing sound, it’s just
pressurising. This helmet is going to help you drop without having
your ears explode as well as preventing you from passing out. Get
your team over to the plane.” I nodded and marched to the left of
the two lined group, “Squad! About turn!” the team spun around to
face the plane in perfect unison, “Squad! Quick march!” Launching
into a march, we moved toward the massive plane which had a
semblance of an exotic cargo plane. Marcus had made his way around
us and now stood a few feet from the plane while we now marched on
the spot, “Squad! At ease!” Eight boots smashed the ground as our
hands snapped behind our backs while we stared blankly ahead,
“Thank you commander Prince. You are the best operatives we’ve got,
you WILL come home and we WILL mourn our dead, I promise, but for
now we need you to do this. Haul ass team, I’ll put the kettle on.”
We saluted him and marched into the back of the plane, seats lined
either side of the interior and duffel bags sat at the base of the
cockpit’s door that I figured contained the C4 and weapons. I was
the last in the plane making me the only one to watch Mark dropping
into a seated