Whip and Wing

by Fernin

Ch 7: Taking Flight

Richard Brooks glared at the German soldier who seemed to be in charge of the improvised roadblock. Pursuit from behind, the cartographer had expected... especially in the form of Jägermeister’s unpleasant and undisciplined mercenary rabble. But uniformed, well-armed reinforcements? Actual Wehrmacht soldiers? This was a nasty surprise. Brooks’ veneer of innocent annoyance at having his truck stopped was quickly flaking off to reveal a base of very real anxiety as he snapped, “Look, I don’t like what you’re insinuating, Sergeant. Half the trucks in the mountains look like this one. I bought this thing in Jalalabad three months ago!”

“And I am sure you have papers to prove it, Herr Smith?” Mouthing the false name Richard Brooks had given him, the German Feldwebel looked unconvinced. The dark metallic shape of the sergeant’s submachine gun dangled casually from a strap over his shoulder… but it was abundantly clear that the weapon could be brought up to turn the truck and its driver into Swiss cheese at a moment’s notice.

“Sergeant, how long have you been in the mountains of Central Asia? There’s basically no government here,” Richard fired back, desperately inventing as he went. The Germans had caught him flat-footed, stepping out of the side alleys and leveling their weapons at him like that, but for once fast talk seemed like it might be able to do the job. “Just got here today? I thought so. It’s a good day if you’re using actual currency to pay for things. Getting a receipt and registration paperwork? Hah! This isn’t the Reich or the United States.”

The Feldwebel hesitated. “Well…”

“I mean, take this old girl.” Brooks leaned out the window of the cab and banged the side of the truck. “Cost me five sheep. Five! Still, she’s served me well so far.”

Shrugging, the German said, “Well, mein Herr, I cannot disprove your story…”

It was working. Brooks grinned. “All right then—”

“So we will search your truck now. Please stay where you are and keep your hands on the wheel,” the Feldwebel finished. He gestured to his men. Another soldier with a submachine gun approached and raised the snub-nosed barrel until it was pointed at Brooks’ head. The German sergeant simply smiled and kept his weapon at his side.

“What?! You’ve got no right! No jurisdiction! This is my truck, and we’re not in Germany!” Brooks protested desperately. He could already imagine the hail of gunfire ripping through the canvas cover of the truck as the German soldiers found Daring Do.

“Ah, Herr Smith, we have all the right we need, right here,” the checkpoint’s Feldwebel said as he gave his weapon an affectionate pat.

Brooks had to stop this before it was too late. Reaching into his pocket, the worried man slowly withdrew the heavy weight of his revolver. If he was lucky, he might be able to shoot through the thin metal of the cab and kill the guard aiming the gun at him before the German fired. The sergeant would be next if all went well and… eh, after that, who could plan? Trying to keep his voice level—or at least, filled with righteous indignation rather than anxiety—Richard said, “Look, Feldwebel, you don’t need to do this. Surely your men are tired? Thirsty? Perhaps I can help.”

“Perhaps. After we check your truck,” the German agreed stubbornly.

Something thumped against the truck cab’s metal roof above Brooks’ head, but the sounds were easily muffled by the annoyed shouts as the Wehrmacht soldiers tried to work the rusted fasteners on the truck’s tailgate. The German sergeant glanced to the rear of the truck. “Was haben Sie gefunden?

Nein, nichts,” one of the soldiers yelled back. “Das Fahrzeug ist leer, Herr Feldwebel!

Brooks allowed himself to breathe again and slowly slid the pistol back into his pocket. Somehow the Germans hadn’t found the hidden pegasus pony. He’d hoped Daring might have been mistaken for a dog or some other normal creature in the poor light of the evening, but, ‘nothing?’ Where was she?

“You were quite upset for a man with absolutely nothing to hide, Herr Smith,” the Feldwebel said to Richard with an accusing glare.

“We Americans value our privacy,” Brooks retorted with as much calm as he could manage. “Can I go now? I have to get to the airfield sometime tonight.”

Making a disgusted noise, the German sergeant nodded once and turned to his men. A few barked-out orders were sufficient to clear the obstructions. Soon, Richard Brooks and his stolen truck were once again rolling slowly down the road towards the airfield. He felt relieved, although he wasn’t sure he should be. Where had Daring Do gone?

A flicker of movement in the corner of the cartographer’s eye made him turn his head. “What the—? !”

Daring Do’s upside down face grinned at Brooks through the open window of the passenger side door. Using the hoof that was holding on her pith helmet, Daring Do cocked the headgear jauntily as if tipping her hat, winked, and ducked back out of sight. The roof of the truck cab thumped again as the adventurer took to the air. In a moment she had managed to clamber through the window and into the truck itself. “Whew! Close one. So what did they want?”

Brooks gaped for a moment—or at least, until his face broke out into a smile. “You... never cease to amaze me, Ms. Do.”

“Yes, yes. Well I am pretty awesome,” Daring Do commented, waving a hoof dismissively. Human and pony shared a laugh for a moment, but finally Daring speared Brooks with a questioning gaze and repeated, “So what did they want?”

Richard Brooks drove in silence for a moment before finally answering Daring’s question. “I’m not sure. That German sergeant seemed like he was looking for something… I don’t know what, though. Hopefully not us.”

Daring glanced out the truck’s window. The full moon was just beginning to peek over the cliffs, its silvery light providing a barely adequate illumination that seemed entirely outclassed by the yellow beams of the truck’s headlights. The night before, Daring Do had been uneasy with the alien globe—the way the shining disc was missing the usual unicorn head-shaped blotch. It seemed a little less shocking, now. The mare shifted uncomfortably.

A bright halo of light in the darkness ahead grabbed Daring’s attention—or perhaps she seized on it as a way to avoid thinking further on her spotty memories. She stared at the glow for a moment, watching as it resolved into a wide, flat expanse nestled between the steep slopes of the surrounding hills. “That’s the place?”

“That’s the airfield,” Richard confirmed, downshifting as he slowed the truck. “There’s a cargo plane leaving soon, and we’re going to be on it.”

“…A plane?” Daring asked. Unbidden, visions poured into the adventurer’s mind and filled it with big, straight-winged contraptions. She shuddered. The sheer idea of an adult pegasus flying not under her own power made Daring Do a bit queasy. Why, she hadn’t been on a plane since—

“Nnngggh,” groaned the gold-pelted mare as she pushed at her head with both forehooves, trying to banish the foreign thoughts.

Brooks glanced at his partner and watched her massage her temples for a moment. Putting the vehicle in to park, he patted the moaning pegasus pony. “Er… Daring Do? Are you all right?”

“I’ll be fine,” Daring said, sounding far more confident than she felt. She stared out at the airfield under the buzzing electric floodlights, fighting against the bewildering déjà vu. It was all like she remembered it—the long packed dirt expanse of what was probably the only significant flat land for 100 miles in any direction; the small collection of fuel tanks clustered about the gray half-cylinder of corrugated steel that served as a hangar and generator shelter as well as being the airport; the flat-sided, trimotor cargo aircraft already warming up its engines on the runway… The pegasus could remember climbing out of an aircraft just like that several days before. And yet she’d never even seen a plane before this instant.

Lost in thoughts that were not her own, Daring Do jumped when the driver’s side door opened and Richard Brooks hopped out. He gave her a grin that she tried to return. “I’ll be right back after I book us a ride. Smile, Daring! We made it.”

“Yeah…” Daring grunted. Watching the man hurry from the truck to the corrugated shelter gave the pegasus something to occupy herself other than wondering what was happening to her mind. That seemed to be distracting her well enough, but soon Brooks was inside the building and gone from view.

When somepony climbed out of the aircraft idling on the runway, Daring switched to watching him. The goggled, leather-clad crewman strode nonchalantly over to the fence near the gate—a reasonable distance from both his plane and the airfield’s fuel storage tanks. When he cupped his hands together, orange light flared and soon he was puffing smoke contentedly. Well, that was good. It was almost worrying how many pilots just smoked right next to their—the adventurer broke off the train of thought with a groan, rubbing her head again as if that would help drive the strange memories away.

Daring Do’s mind sparked and swirled with sights never seen but now recalled, words she’d never said, ponies—make that people—who were both complete strangers to Daring and intimate friends… to Indiana Jones. The new memories sat side by side with the pegasus pony’s normal ones, lying in ambush in her mind and waiting to jump up to surprise her with their eerie familiarity. Slipping off her pith helmet, the adventurer stared at the shining half-circle of the Medallion of Light. Was this artifact doing this to her? Was it a side effect of whatever had brought her here? Was it—

“I’m back! Let’s go!” cried Brooks, half out of breath from running in the thin mountain air. Glad of the interruption, Daring slid the Medallion of Light into her pith helmet, flipped the helmet back into place on her head, and hurried to follow the cartographer as he rushed across the packed dirt of the airfield.

Richard Brooks and Daring Do clambered into the aircraft through the cargo door. The interior of the plane was as austere as the exterior, lined with strapped-down crates and only a narrow corridor for the crew and its passengers. The two climbed forward to the cockpit and the cramped open spot that would be the passenger area for the flight.

The co-pilot stayed hunched over the controls for a moment, monitoring the engines’ power output. Finally satisfied, he nodded and turned to greet the aircraft’s latest addition to its cargo manifest. His eyes widened as he caught sight of Daring Do. The drone of the plane’s engines was absolutely deafening, but still wasn’t loud enough to drown out the co-pilot’s astonished shout of, “What is that?!

“Who cares? Let’s go before they get here!” Brooks yelled back, pointing at the across the airfield to the fence. Several trucks were screeching to a halt at the airfield’s fence line. Almost before the trucks’ forward movement stopped, the ground around them was covered with armed men. The vehicles now parked at the edge of the airfield’s lights were familiar—and so were the men. Alongside the purposefully moving forms of the Wehrmacht soldiers were the milling rabble of the brown-robed mercenaries. And there at the edge of the group was the tall, black-coated shape of Hans Jägermeister. He was looking right at the airplane, his eyes almost seeming to glow in triumph.

The goggled crewman shook his head emphatically. “We’re not going anywhere without Jerry! And you still haven’t answered my question! What the hell is that thing?”

By the fence line, Jerry finished his cigarette and stomped out the smoldering butt. It was time to go. The pilot had been around the Hindu Kush for long enough to know when something exciting was about to happen, and what sort of exciting things should prompt a quick exit. This was one of those. He turned to go—and found himself staring down the business end of a rifle. The mercenary at the other end smiled and nodded a cheerful greeting.

Brooks groaned as he watched the little drama play out by the airfield gate. “Look, friend. The Germans have him. If you wait any longer, they’ll have us!”

“Hah, what are they going to do to us? We’re just pilots, and…” The copilot trailed off as a revolver appeared in Brooks’ hand as if by magic. Despite the fancy mother-of-pearl-inlaid handle, the gunmetal of the pistol was a workmanlike bluish black. It was a .38 caliber if the co-pilot was any judge, but it looked like a 5-inch howitzer as he stared down a muzzle only inches from his face.

“You’re going to fly now,” Richard said flatly from the other end of the hand cannon.

Daring stared at the cartographer in shock. It was like she was looking at a different man altogether. The nervous, shifty eyes were hard and cold. The hand Daring might have expected to shake like a leaf was barely wavering at all.

“You won’t shoot me. And we’re not going.” The co-pilot’s lip curled back in disgust. He growled his defiance slowly, biting off every word. “Not. Without. Jerry.”

“Here they come!” Daring announced urgently as she glanced out the cockpit window. The mare stretched her wings. This wasn’t going to be an easy fight, especially now that she had to worry about Brooks and the other noncombatants.

“Fine.” Sighing in annoyance, Brooks pulled the pistol away and wheeled to the cockpit’s open window. He aimed the weapon carefully despite the obvious futility of the gesture. Did the cartographer seriously intend to try fighting off nearly a platoon’s worth of enemies with a single revolver?

The pistol bucked in Richard Brooks’ hand as he squeezed the trigger. Across the airfield, a leather-clad man staggered and fell. The blood froze in Daring’s veins as Brooks turned back to the copilot, aiming the smoking barrel of his revolver back in the horrified co-pilot’s face. “There. Now it seems we’re only waiting on you. Right?”

A rifle bullet crashed through the side of the aircraft and shattered the window next to the co-pilot’s head. With a cry of anguish, the man jerked into motion and started throwing switches. The plane bucked and started rolling forward as another smattering of rounds cracked through the air and tore into the moving cargo plane’s fuselage.

Finally, the plane leaped off the end of the runway and dropped. Daring’s stomach lurched at the disorienting feeling of flight not under her own power. Through the plane’s cracked windshield she could see the craggy face of a mountain rising out of the darkness to meet them. They were going to crash!

Suddenly Daring Do was pushed into the floor as the thin mountain air caught under the metal wings and the aircraft rose and banked, barely clearing the rocky crags as it soared up into the sky. The mare gulped, trying to hold down her nausea. A pegasus, airsick? She’d never live it down.

As the aircraft and its solitary pilot rose through the black expanse of the night sky, Daring turned to Brooks. Her stomach turned for reasons that had nothing to do with the unnerving feeling of powered flight. The cartographer’s calm face looked demonic in the green glow of the cockpit’s instrument panel as he quietly pocketed the pearl-handled revolver and looked down at Daring Do. He’d just shot a man in cold blood.

“Brooks, why did you do that?” Daring managed.

“‘Why?’” the cartographer echoed mockingly. He chuckled, the corners of his mouth twitching up into a sneer.

* * *

Flint gaped at the oncoming cultists, his ears drooping and his tail between his legs. Pegasus ponies and griffins soared down, hooves and claws promising a painful and lingering death. The horns were already flaring on the heads of the smattering of unicorn pony cultists as rocks, spears, and even entire boulders lifted into the air glowing with evil intent. The earth ponies and diamond dogs galloped and loped forward, teeth flashing and snarls on their lips.

“Indiana! What we do?!” wailed the archeologist’s terrified companion. Indy laughed nervously—and was gone.

“Get in here, you dumb mutt! Run!” Doctor Jones shouted as he sprinted back into the inn compound. Taking one last panicked look back at the wave of brown-robed murder coming his way, Flint bounded after the fleeing human.

As soon as he reached the inn’s gates, Flint slammed them shut, hammering the crossbar into place and leaning heavily on the planks. “There! Safe now. Wait, where Indiana going?!”

The brown-furred creature looked so relieved that Indiana felt almost ashamed to ask, “Flint, what is that gate going to do for the flying ones?

“Oh.” Looking crestfallen, Flint lurched back into motion to follow the retreating archeologist across the gravel courtyard.

“What’s going on?!” shrilled a mystified Penny Wise from the doorway of the inn.

“Nothing, Penny Wise! Just those cultists that you said—” A screech interrupted Indiana’s retort. He whirled to confront a diving griffin as the creature screamed down out of the blue. Whipping out his pistol, Indy aimed and fired. The winged creature jerked and careened towards one of the outlying buildings, crashing into the wall with a sickening thud. “—Don’t exist here.”

A pegasus pony swooped down, hot on the heels of the griffin. Penny Wise gibbered in terror. Indy took aim and fired again, swatting the creature out of the sky—and stumbling sideways as something heavy thudded into a glowing silver wall to his right. The shattered form of a third pegasus slid off the shimmering barrier, leaving a red streak as it collapsed into the gravel of the inn’s courtyard. The glowing wall suddenly dissolved into a cloud of improbably floating gravel that quickly dropped back to the ground.

Indiana glanced back to see Silver Trowel, his hooves planted firmly and his horn glowing silver. With well-used canvas saddlebags hanging over his back, the unicorn had clearly been interrupted in his moment of departure. The nimbus around Trowel’s horn winked out and he frowned at the broken body of the cultist at Indiana’s feet. “Egh, how distasteful. The cultists are closer than I thought they were, I see. Do you have any idea what the ruffians want?”

Good question. On the far side of the wall, Starfire politely took that moment to answer it. “Penny Wise! Open the gates! We have come to claim our own!”

The innkeeper’s blue eyes widened. He gaped at Indiana. “You… you stole from them? Oh, sweet Celestia, I don’t want to die!”

With a strangled cry, Penny Wise wheeled and started galloping towards the gate. Just as abruptly, a sharp crack split the air and the pony was face-first in the dirt with his legs lashed together. Indiana passed his whip to Flint and transferred his pistol back to his right hand. “Make sure he doesn’t move, Flint, or we’re going to have more than we can handle!”

The diamond dog nodded and was on top of his employer in an instant. When the innkeeper started to struggle, Flint snarled, “No! Bad Mister Penny Wise! Mister Penny Wise not let cultists in!”

“You stupid, brainless mutt! Let me go!” managed the half-flattened pony.

The diamond dog’s jowls flopped as he shook his head emphatically. “No!”

“Let me up now… or you’re… fired!” the trapped stallion wheezed.

“Flint… Flint never like working here anyway!” Flint retorted, looking hurt.

Magic sparkled on Silver Trowel’s horn as he threw a cloud of stones skyward, sending several impatient winged cultists swerving off their original vectors and back to relative safety on the far side of the wall. With his horn still glowing the unicorn hissed, “This is quite exciting but I think everypony is forgetting that we’re under attack!

“You’ll never… outrun them! Let me go! Why should I die with all of you?!” Penny Wise begged. Flint growled and slammed the pony’s head against the ground again. The innkeeper whimpered and pointed towards the south side of the inn compound with a shaking hoof. “Fine. Just take one of the boats and go! Go!”

“Last chance, Mister Penny Wise!” called Starfire.

“Come on, Flint. Let’s go!” Indiana called, racing for the river with Silver Trowel. Flint tugged at the human’s whip and followed, leaving the battered Penny Wise to pick himself up and limp slowly in the direction of the gate.

The inn’s small dock housed several small wooden boats. After picking the least decrepit-looking of the lot, Indiana drew his belt knife and slashed the mooring ropes on the others. The rushing current of the mountain river quickly took the boats downstream. That should delay any non-flying pursuit for a bit, at least.

All three fugitives piled into the remaining boat. Silver Trowel eyed his new travelling companions as Flint wordlessly handed the leather bullwhip back to its owner. “I know it’s a bit late for me to say this now, but I do hope you know what you’re doing, Doctor Jones.”

Indiana simply grunted and cut the boat’s mooring rope and pushing off the dock. Bracing himself in the middle of the craft, he grabbed the small sculls and began rowing. With the combined efforts of the mountain river’s current and Indy’s rowing, the boat quickly picked up speed.

It wasn’t fast enough. Looking up between the steadily rising walls of the cliffs on either side of the river, Indiana could see the dark spots of the winged cultists in the sky. Indy stopped rowing for a moment and loosened his pistol, waiting for the inevitable attack.

“Hmmm, I wonder what they’re up to?” Silver Trowel wondered aloud, watching as the pegasus ponies soared overhead and continued on. The winged shapes flew a bit further down the valley and landed on the slopes. For a moment, everything seemed calm… until the little boat neared the spot where the cultists had landed.

Thunder pealed overhead—no, it wasn’t thunder. Atop the cliffs of the right bank, stones began to rain down. Soon boulders followed. The rocks crashed down the slopes and into the water, throwing up fountains of spray on one side of the violently rocking boat. Flint howled in terror, holding on for dear life as water splashed over the gunwales and started filling the little watercraft.

“Doctor Trowel! You’ve got magic, can you do something?” Indiana shouted over the near-deafening rumble of the rockslides.

“I’m trying, I assure you!” The unicorn swayed, trying to maintain his balance in the rocking boat. His horn blazed like an acetylene torch, sending silver tendrils in all directions. Some of the stones stopped falling momentarily. Silver Trowel gritted his teeth and opened eyes that glowed almost as brightly as his horn. More rocks shifted their trajectories, suddenly diving away from the little boat and its drenched passengers. Some of the boulders even rose, plummeting in reverse back onto the slopes.

A booming roar rang through the river valley. Even its echoes were so loud it could have been an artillery barrage. Flint moaned and covered his eyes with his paws as a huge mass of stones down the canyon ahead of them started a long, slow fall into the river.

The rockslide crashed into the water much too far ahead to be a threat to the boat or its passengers. Most of the stones—even some as large as a car—were swept away by the vicious current before Indiana and his companions floated anywhere near them. But one massive, house-sized boulder crashed into the riverbed and stayed. The river threw up great sprays of foam as it thundered around the edges of the gigantic rock. And it was directly in the little boat’s path.

Swearing, Indiana worked desperately at the oars to bring the little craft around the edge of the sudden obstacle, but the current was far too strong and the boulder took up nearly the entire channel. Fighting to be heard over the roar of more rockslides, Indy shouted, “Brace yourselves! We’re not going to make it!”

Silver Trowel fumbled with the straps of one of his saddlebags. Pulling out a dull gray stone on a thin silver chain, the unicorn used his magic to loop it around his neck and tighten the clasp. “Everypony! Grab onto me, quickly!

Eagerly responding to the voice of authority, Flint looped both arms around the unicorn’s neck. Trowel grimaced at the smell of wet dog, but stayed where he was. “You too, Indiana!”

After one last desperate tug at the oars, Doctor Jones turned to see that they were only seconds from striking the giant boulder. He quickly grabbed the unicorn. Wherever the current was going to wash them, they could at least get there together.

Taking a deep breath, Silver Trowel closed his eyes. The dull gray stone in the necklace around his neck started to glow. Indiana Jones glanced at it for a moment, but was far too busy watching the dark rock wall of the boulder as they rushed towards it.

Indiana cringed, gritting his teeth against the expected impact… and reality took a holiday. The boat’s prow hit the rock and simply kept going as though there was nothing there. In an instant, Flint had passed through the rock’s surface, then Trowel. Finally, Indy felt the rock zip past him, as insubstantial as a morning fog.

The darkness of the rock gave way to the brilliant sunlight. Doctor Jones stared back at the boulder. It looked every bit as solid as it had before they’d passed through it. He looked back to Silver Trowel. “How?”

“Magic amulet,” Trowel explained, patting the enchanted jewelry affectionately. “It’s quite rare, but quite useful for an archeologist like me. Gives me a few chances to escape a cave-in by simply trotting right out.”

“If Silver Trowel make us insub… insubstan… make rocks not hurt, why not use earlier?” demanded Flint. “Flint scared!”

“It, er, only has so many uses, my fine fellow. And you can let go of me now.” Trowel pulled away from the diamond dog and looked up. “It seems to be over.”

The unicorn was right. No more rocks seemed to be falling at the moment. Pistol in hand, Indiana scanned the tall slopes. Nothing showed itself. Flint glanced around, his ears swiveling this way and that as he asked, “Cultists gone now?”

“Not sure,” Indiana Jones muttered, still watching the heights. This had to be some kind of trick. It didn’t make any sense that the cultists would simply stop their attack. Despite Silver Trowel’s efforts, it wasn’t like the enemy pegasus ponies or griffins were going to run out of rocks to push off the cliffs. Why would they…?

Flint turned to look downstream, his head cocking in confusion. “What that sound? More rocks?”

Indiana heard it too—an incessant rumbling sound like an approaching freight train. His heart sank and he quickly re-holstered his pistol. With shaking hands he grabbed at the oars. “No, not rocks. Waterfall!”

“Oh, Celestia,” Shining Trowel groaned, pushing himself up from where he’d slumped in the bottom of the boat. “The Flying Falls. We’re heading right towards them!”

“Falls?! Why Silver not say so sooner?!” Flint moaned, emerald eyes wide in growing panic.

“I—I didn’t think of it,” whined the pony, his voice nearly cracking with the twin stresses of fatigue and growing terror. “Th- the road doesn’t follow the river along this part of the valley! “

Reaching his long arms over the side, the diamond dog began to splash furiously against the raging river’s flow. Flint beat at the water for a moment, making much noise but no noticeable progress. Finally he turned back to Silver Trowel. “Flint not strong enough. Silver! Use necklace!”

“That wouldn’t work! Magic doesn’t solve everything, you foal!” snapped the exhausted unicorn.

Doctor Trowel turned to their silent passenger. Indiana Jones’ knuckles were white as he gripped the oars, his arms working feverishly. The unicorn begged, “Doctor Jones! I’m still too weak. Please tell me you have an idea.”

Indiana didn’t answer. He was too busy rowing, fighting against a current that had so recently seemed to be an ally. The mountain river was merciless, sending ton after ton of flowing water downstream and dragging the watercraft and its helpless passengers inexorably towards the falls. With an explosion of frantic effort, the archeologist managed to edge the boat a few yards closer to shore. And then they went over the edge.

Staring one’s death in the face was not something that got easier with practice. With the mist and spray rising from the plunging river obscuring his vision, Indiana Jones closed his eyes. A scream tore itself from his throat as the little wooden boat dropped like a stone.

The trip to the base of the waterfall seemed to go on forever. Perhaps even too long. The plummeting fall felt almost like flying. Indy could sense ghostly wings spreading on his back, flaring in a vain attempt to arrest his descent. He could almost grasp the feeling of the slipstream rushing through his nonexistent feathers and mane…

Things should have ended by now. No fall took this long. With that realization, Indy’s eyes snapped open. His already churning stomach reeled further. They were still plummeting, but a silver nimbus surrounded everything. Flint gabbled something incomprehensible and shrill—and then they hit the water. Pain blossomed as Indiana’s head smashed into the gunwale of the boat and everything went black.


Yes, yes, I finally got Indy to use his whip. Funny thing, that. I was near the end of the story and realized, “oh gee… I titled this thing Whip and Wing and yet Indiana Jones hasn’t used his whip yet! Whooooops!” So I went back in and edited in some uses for it.

So stop asking me about it aaaaaaah D8