Day One: Third Place
Of course, I had heard of the Grenfell-Maxwell Marathon. Its advertisements were certainly targeted towards people in desperate situations. In fact, the promised wish at the end was cited by most I saw signing up. Though it was obviously no more than a ploy to get gullible people in the gate.
Why bother with the ploy when the offered money is more than enough to draw people?
Even my fellow veterans who knew the wish was a lie desired nothing more than to win the grand amount of money at the end of it all. Most of my friends and family wanted nothing more than to win, but they either lacked the drive or the money to cross the Atlantic and try.
Me? Well, I pride myself on being a little more tempered, a little more frugal, and a lot more patient than my peers, comes with the territory of being a sniper, but even I cannot deny a quick way to make lots of money. Combine that with my expecting wife? To not try would be the worst choice.
I found a handful of other vets from the Continuation War and talked them all into coming with me, and we were soon on our way to the starting line. I had finished rechecking that we had everything packed in our jeep when I overheard my two teammates talking about their hopes for the race. I may have been the one to convince them to come, but they were far more ambitious than I.
“If we can place first in five stages, that’s over half a million.” One said.
“Yeah, but why stop there? If we make it to the end, we get that whole ‘wish’ thing.” Said the other.
“Only if it’s true,”
“And I can’t even begin to imagine what I would ask for if it were.”
“I know that if I had it now, I’d only wish to be out of this damn heat.”
They had a mutual laugh as I sat in the back of the vehicle, “You should have packed like I told you to,” The two people sat in front of me were Johannes Mannerheim, a soldier I had met during the Lapland War, and Aksel Oesch, a friend through Johannes and the person who stole this jeep from the Soviets.
One of them waved their hands to dismiss my words, “Bah, we’ll have plenty of opportunities to buy clothes on our way to the other side of the world. By the way, are you still sure about leaving after the first stage?”
I hesitated to answer. $1,000 was a good amount of money, and it would only grow larger if we placed higher and finished more stages, “I can’t. I promised that this would only take two months, and no amount of money is worth not seeing my child’s, well, any of it.” Johannes nodded. Though his children are adults now, he remembered how it felt.
A minute of silence passed and it was only interrupted by the announcement of the beginning of the race. Our car sprang to life as the countless others around us followed suit. As I expected, we weren’t gaining on most of the competitors on the flats, but once we reached more rugged terrain, we would make up for it. I reached over and turned on the large radio placed next to me in the back row. I quickly scanned the stations and found the one announcing the race.
A static-infused voice came out of the headphones and was barely audible over the screams of engines filling the air, “Laveau has broken ahead!”
“Have either of you heard of a Laveau?” I asked.
They both shook their heads, “The only other racer I know is Dumont”
Aksel groaned, “Can you not remind me about her, please? It kills the mood when I know this is just a race for second place.”
"No," I said, "Someone else has already broken ahead. We're racing for third now."
“Only if there’s not another plane competing.”
“No,” I said, “Only Dumont’s crazy enough to fly a plane when she doesn’t know where the finish line is.” Just as those words left my mouth the ground around us darkened. If I was eating anything, I would have spat it out right then. Above us was a twenty-year-old relic, a zeppelin.
“Cool, now we’re gunning for fourth.” Johannes rubbed his hand against his head.
I went to reassure him, but I was interrupted by the radio, “My God! Someone else has broken through the crowd and is gaining on Laveau! It’s competitor 200362, Nerio Pinkerton!”
“Hey, Johannes the announcer just said that Nerio is here."
“Nerio? Let me guess, he’s already far ahead of anyone else?”
“Yeah, looks like we’re fighting for fifth.”
“Nerio?”
“Oh, right, you’ve never met him. He was a mercenary we worked with during the Continuation War.”
“Mercenary? I didn’t know we hired any mercenaries.” Johannes looked at me. I shook my head.
If he doesn’t know now. . .
“We are clearly off to a wonderful start to this race!” The announcer continued, “Those two appear to be leagues above the others, and what a spectacle it would be to watch them battle for victory. Wait, hold on. . . I have just received news that Mr. Pinkerton and Ms. Laveau are both members of the same team. This really does put pressure on the other competitors. Can anyone but Dumont’s plane and Kober's. . .”
He’s on a team with that other person who sprung ahead? Fourth it is. Though, why would he waste himself on this race?
“Hey, Urho, stop daydreaming about him and look,” Johannes pointed to our left where a plane was easing above the crowd, “She must be braver than I thought, taking off in the middle of all this.”
Something wasn’t right with Dumont trying to take off this early. She was clearly capable of it, but a collision with any vehicle would destroy her chances at victory. I grabbed my rifle’s scope and aimed it towards the plane. Through the scope, I could see black drops fly out from the right wing.
Someone’s cut her fuel line.
I panned the scope until I could see the cockpit window. Inside, one person was sat behind the controls. While I couldn't see them clearly, I could tell they weren't Dumont for two reasons. Firstly, they were wearing a wide-brimmed hat inside the plane, a hat that would only make it more difficult to see where they were flying. Second, and most damning, their fashion sense was extremely poncho-centric, a direct offense to Dumont’s normal French chic.
Well, third place it is. Disappointing, but I could use $12,000.
I am Urho Häyhä, and this race is how I discovered what I needed most.