“We have placed our ladder to the enemy’s rampart.” Sasha Irving.

“The problem is timing,” said the mechanic, wiping grease from his hands. He tossed the rag and turned to face Sam. “Normally, this airfield sees a regular schedule of incoming ships. With news of the war, that all dried up.”

“What about charters?” asked Besh.

“We got nothing,” dismissed the mechanic.

Besh and the Captain walked from the hangar into the morning sun. The tarmac was ghostly empty. Beasley and Raul waited by the rented skid as they approached. Taking their seats in the back, Besh turned to the patient driver.

“The City Garage,” said Besh.

The Garage Manager walked toward them. The manager was a harried middle-aged man who looked as if he’d missed breakfast. He took a stance before them and folded his arms. A peeved sigh escaped him as he motioned around the empty hangar with his head.

“You see the problem,” he said impatiently. “The King’s militia has requisitioned our entire lot.”

“Nothing in the back?” asked Sam.

“They took it all,” answered the manager. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have paperwork.” He turned and walked away.

On the busy sidewalk outside, Besh worked the terminal under the city transport stop. He turned to the Captain with a smile.

“Windy Sails,” he announced. “It’s just down the street.”

They set off down the street, targeting a local shop that dealt in recreational vehicles. Sleepy citizens waited glumly in transport stops. Addle was quiet enough they could hear the songs of small birds.

Sam asked, “So, what might we find at Windy Sails?”

Besh answered, “Recreational vehicles. Sloops and gliders. All-terrain vehicles.”

“Cool,” said Raul through a stifled yawn.

Besh led them to the address. Banner advertisements adorned the white-washed block walls above large showroom windows. They entered through a single door beneath a simple but loud bell. As they filed into an empty showroom, a clerk of African descent approached with an open smile.

“Welcome, sirs,” he hailed. “How may I help you?”

Besh returned the young man’s smile and shook his hand. “We were interested in renting some all-terrain vehicles for the day,” he said.

“Sorry,” replied the young man, “as you can see. However, might I interest you in a mini Sloop or a prairie Glider?”

“Tell me about them,” Besh encouraged genially.

“We have several one-man Sloops at our disposal,” said the clerk. “We have a four-man Glider that has been recently returned with a torn sail. Being repaired as we speak. You have any Glider experience?”

“Not me,” said Besh. “That’s why we brought the Captain.” Besh turned to pat the Captain’s shoulder in a friendly manner. Sam smiled.

“Good. Good,” said the clerk, addressing Sam. “As you may know, the plains below Addle are highly sought out. Our easterly winds make for excellent sailing.” The clerk walked to the back wall to indicate plaques, and said in a practiced salesman’s pitch, “The Windy Sails has entered many an annual Prairie Challenge and are even listed in the Glider’s Register.”

Sam stepped forward to place a friendly hand on the young clerk’s back. “Impressive,” said the Captain. “May we see the Glider?”

Smiling, the clerk led his customers into an ample shop that smelled of canvas and oil. Four brightly colored Sloops hung from supports in the shop ceiling. Their lacquered finish redirected the shop light into individual bursts of squint-worthy glare. The Glider, between a row of work tables and the parts bins along the wall, sat on a hydraulic rise. A technician paused in his wheel inspection as they approached.

The technician stated matter-of-factly, “All good.”

“And the sail?” asked the clerk.

“Wally called in sick,” said the technician, “so, I just replaced it.”

“Very good,” said the clerk, and turned to Sam to ask, “What do you think? Look it over. It is of the finest quality. And, of course, all of our rentals come with an exclusive Windy Sails money-back guarantee. If you’re not completely satisfied . . .”

Sam stopped the clerk with an upraised hand. “Don’t oversell it, son. I want to teach these boys to sail.” He reached his hand to Besh who slipped the King’s seal to him. He handed the seal to the clerk and said, “I think this will give them a real feel for the sport.”

The clerk took the seal, looking wide-eyed between the Captain and the seal. “Oh my,” he said. “I had no idea.”

Sam said, “The boys are contest winners. We’re eager to get underway.”

They stood at the edge of town. The driver unhooked the Glider from the tow-bar behind his skid. Colored stakes and posted signs marked the area. A short man, the driver tipped back his cap and asked, “Will you be taking the Challenge course?”

“Tell me about it,” said Sam.

“West to Standing Rock monument, then south around the lost farm, and back,” said the driver. “Takes about an hour and a half with good winds. Looks like the winds are picking up. It gets more difficult coming back, takes a bit of skill to use the westers. You need to catch the mountain winds near Woolly Swamp. Anyway, you’ll find me here when you return.” The driver turned and left.

Sam joined the young men as they walked around the craft. It was resplendent in the early sunlight. Deeply lacquered, and with abundant sponsor logos, the craft nosed west, its sail laid back. The Glider had two sets of wheels, one higher to compensate for roll. Raul and Beasley walked along the outside dragging their hands across the polished finish. Sam boarded with a single hop.

He called down, “You boys give Besh a hand.”

Besh asked, “Are you familiar with gliders, Captain?”

Sam smiled down, “I’ll get the hang of it.”

A sleek four-man glider fled the morning sun, racing west, following well-established ruts. The glider’s shocks made the trip seem smooth and effortless as they followed an increasing chop. Sam manned the aft steering controls, two handles mastering lateral roll while Besh sat up front calling directions. Sam, in turn, called directions to Raul and Beasley who manned the guide ropes for the tall sail. The miles flew by in a rage of focused exhilaration.

“Get ready,” called the Captain.

Standing Rock was dead ahead. There, they would turn south in a give-and-take battle with prevailing winds. Both time and muscle would be strained. They could not reach Grail directly. Standing Rock, a tall jagged spike, stood in the way. Besh noticed, with some consternation, that the spire thrust skyward from an island in a large lake. The established route veered south. Besh extended his left arm, and Sam signaled Beasley.

“Haw!” called the Captain.

Beasley put his weight on the rope, pulling the sail right. The glider turned left along the trail of ruts. Immediately, the craft rolled to the right, employing the upper set of wheels. Sam strained against the right handle, pulling with all his strength to extend the wheels and level the craft.

“Gee!” he called.

Raul pulled his rope as Beasley applied slack. They had made the turn, but there was no time for back-patting. The glider rocked as they sought the sail’s sweet zone. The craft bounced across ruts and ridges that had been aggravated by wind and rain. The slope of the trail brought them behind a rising bluff. The wind was lost, they coasted, but the glider found its center. However, good news is notoriously short-lived. They barreled past the bluff and back into the wind.

Besh raised his right hand and beat the bow with his left, signaling an obstruction to their immediate left. Sam, foot to the brakes, pulled mightily.

“Lean right!” he yelled.

Beasley leaned over the side as Raul quickly scooted beneath the sail, guide rope tightly in his grip, to join Beasley. Besh lowered his hand, and the Captain adjusted the handles but kept his foot to the brake. 

He called, “Set!”

Raul returned to his position. Beasley pulled himself back into the craft. With both guide ropes held taught, the craft settled. Their speed had decreased, the ride was smooth. They would turn right above the lost farm instead of catching the northwestern winds below it. They had no intention of returning to Addle. If the winds held true, they would stay their course to Grail, passing north of Woolly Swamp.

Besh called Back, “I can see the farm.”

The trail took them between two rocky mounds. Beyond them, Sam could see the terrain level out. As they came between the two mounds, the glider jolted to a violent stop. The rear of the craft raised upright. The glider tumbled forward and landed on its right side. The Captain leaped from the aft with a heightened sense of his surroundings.

In his free fall, Sam noticed Besh tumble from the bow. He saw Beasley roll away from the sail as it fell over him. He saw Raul fall painfully across the mast. He saw three black-clad Badgers emerge from behind the mounds, one from the left and two from the right. He knew he would hit hard, but his training preempted all thoughts of pain. His gun was already in his hand. He hit the ground solidly and rolled to his feet. His finger squeezed off three rounds, and three bodies fell in their tracks.

Besh rolled to his knees with a moan. Beasley scrambled to attend Raul’s cries of pain. Sam, flexing his hand on the engraved gun handle, walked past his comrades to inspect the dead. Keeping his gun at the ready, he stooped to remove the masks of the Badgers who ran from the right mound. Aside from a neat hole in each forehead, they appeared to be asleep.

Sam walked across the trail to the third Badger and removed his mask. As he stood, Besh joined him.

“These appear to be the men from the Windy Sails,” said Besh, massaging his lower back. He was rebuffed by a savage scowl he was unaccustomed to see on the Captain’s face. He took an uncertain step back and asked, “Could this be all of them?”

Sam grunted and placed the gun in his belt. He shook his head and rubbed his eyes in a weary manner. “I’ll look around,” he said.

As Sam walked behind the rocky mound, Besh wondered what had overcome the Captain. Sam was gruff and battle-hardened, but the scowl Besh saw on the Captain’s face was nothing less than murderous. He turned and walked to the overturned glider. Raul groaned in pain as Beasley stooped beside him impotent to help. The trail of tears on Raul’s dusty face signaled the severity of his pain. Besh retrieved his pack and placed it by a wheel. He leaned against the bottom of the craft and took a breath.

“Can you stand?” he asked Raul. 

Beasley stood, helped Raul to his feet, and walked him to the glider. Raul thanked Beasley and leaned beside Besh. He moaned with a failing smile, “Man. Why they make masts so hard?” 

Sam returned and stood before them. He looked each of them in the eye before he spoke. “Obviously, this wasn’t the plan.”

Besh replied, “I’m pretty sure we’re not being tracked, which begs the question, what were they after?”

Sam answered, knocking dust from his hair, “They recognized the King’s seal. We passed it under their noses. Gave them a good smell.”

“Sorry,” said Raul. “Who we talking about?”

Besh answered, “The Men from the Windy Sails.”

Alarmed, Beasley asked, “Were they going to kill us?”

Sam said, “Kidnap is my guess. Let’s see if we can set the glider upright.”

Raul sat it out. It took the others ten minutes to set the heavy glider on its wheels. Sam inspected, calling off the damaged items as he went. The mast was cracked, wheels were hopelessly bent, and the paint was scratched. Their journey was done. They scavenged some of the smaller ropes and set their sights on the farm.

Sam said, “You three head for the farm. I’ll look around for the vehicle they drove out in.”

As Sam walked away to the east, Raul threw his arm over Beasley’s shoulder and accepted help limping away from the wrecked glider. Besh gathered their bags and followed, pausing to search the dead men. He found three small-caliber handguns. 

They passed a broken fence and walked through a field overtaken by weeds. A weathered barn leaned precariously, and a sad farmhouse mocked hope. Weeds grew on the porch, windows gaped with broken glass-like teeth, and the front door creaked mournfully as it moved in the wind.

The front room floor was covered with sand and litter. Remnants of a small campfire sat like a dark stain in the center of the room. A feeling of sorrow infused them as the house screamed failure in silent spades. All labors are vain save victory, and victory had no place in the lost farm. Beasley eased Raul against the wall, and Besh dropped the bags, pressed on all sides by an emptiness as dire as the vast prairie outside.

Beasley sat beside Raul and asked Besh, “Do you think they would have killed us for the seal?”

Besh answered as he walked into a dark corner, “Anything’s possible.”

Besh stood beneath dilapidated stairs ignoring the soft conversation between his young companions. He eyed a dark closet with suspicion. The door was off its hinges but had been leaned across the dark opening. Curious, he moved the door out of his way, leaning it against the wall. There was something inside.

“Just like me to forget a flashlight,” he said.

“What is it?” called Raul.

“Well,” answered Besh, “there’s something in this closet, but I need a light.”

Beasley struggled to his feet, dusted the sand off his pants, and walked to the closet. Standing beside Besh, Beasley pressed a small button on his wrist communicator. A bright light sprang forth and illuminated the closet interior.

“Huh,” said Besh in surprise. “I didn’t know they did that.”

“You should always read the instructions,” said Beasley in his official voice.

“Well, thank you, Crispin,” said Besh as he searched his communicator for a button. “I guess you’re never too old to learn something new.”

Beasley pressed the appropriate button on the communicator and two wrist lights filled the closet with an unexpected brightness. Inside were dusty empty shelves, but on the floor in the center was a shoulder bag. Besh retrieved it with a grunt and returned to Raul, who sat near an open window. Switching off the light, Besh opened the bag to look inside.

Raul said, “I hope there’re some pain meds in there.”

Besh pulled out a metal flask and passed it to Raul, saying, “There’s this.”

Raul opened the flask and put his nose over it. He smiled, and said, “Yeah, man. Just my brand.” He sipped, sighed, and sipped again.

Besh retrieved personal IDs and handed them to Beasley. He brought out a hand-held communicator with a retractable antenna and side dial. He dropped the empty bag and stared at the device in his hand. Beasley sat beside Raul.

“I don’t think they were working alone,” said Besh. “I’m thinking they meant to take us alive.”

“What do we do, now?” asked Beasley.

“We wait for the Captain to come back,” said Besh.

Between sips, Raul said,  “He’ll come driving up any minute.”

Said Besh, “We were on a quest to find the Prince, but with the war, I fear we are in over our heads. What happens when the Badgers fail to call in?”

Beasley answered, “They’ll send more men.”

Raul complained, “Damn, man! They really got it in for us. Come on Captain slowpoke; we need to go.”