Code Name: Infamy (Aviator Book 4) (28 page)

Immediately the phone began to ring again.

04:23 Local, 21 August, 1945 (10:23 GMT, 21AUG)

Ungave Bay

Kid knew the fuel gauge was banging on empty but didn’t bother to look. He either had enough or he didn’t. He was also getting low, almost down to two thousand feet.

“Okay, Cue, I just went feet dry.”

“Welcome to Quebec, Province of Canada. I’m about twenty in front of you.”

“Flash your light. Okay, I’ve got you. Where’s the bandit?”

“I lost him. Don’t you have him on radar?”

“Too much ground clutter.” Kid flashed over top of the Avenger going 140 knots faster. He tilted his AN/APS 6 up but still had no return.

Adak

Irish slid over to Spike on a wheeled desk chair.

“We are getting direct relay from a B-29 now. The Hellcat has passed the Avenger, but still negative contact on the Seiran.”

Spike nodded and looked up to see Jonesy holding up a message. He shook it off. The phone continued to ring.

Northern Quebec Province

Atsugi checked the elapsed time on his clock. He had to climb above 2,000 meters or the bomb would detonate in fifteen minutes. He also had to get on his fuel profile or he would not make his target. He had not planned for a chase and would have to climb up and lean the mixture to make New York. Atsugi began a climb to cruise altitude.

Two green blips appeared on Kid’s radar screen. He tweaked the set adjusting the gain to sweeten up the picture and then transmitted one word.

“Judy.”

Adak

Spike waved over Jonesy with a defeated look on his face just as Irish jumped to his feet and yelled.

“He’s got him! Radar contact.”

Northern Quebec Province

Kid checked his closure rate; the bandit had slowed to cruise speed. By his math he was seven minutes out. He made another short, cryptic transmission.

“In the stretch.”

Adak

Irish shouted over the permanent presence of the ringing telephone. “He’s in the stretch!”

“What does that mean?” Jeff asked. Everyone was standing, ringed around Irish, waiting for news.

“Seventh inning, seven minutes out, don’t you watch baseball?”

Jeff shook the comment off and hacked his stopwatch. He slid it to the center of the plot table so everyone could see it.

Northern Quebec Province

Kid had leaned out the fuel mixture as much as he dared. No doubt it was burning valves, but at this point it just didn’t matter. Two minutes. That’s all he needed. It suddenly seemed like an eternity—and then his engine sputtered.

He kicked the rudders in an attempt to get all the gas to the siphon pickups. His R-2800 caught again. Reaching up he armed the master and charged his guns. More sputtering. Kid pumped the stick and flipped on the boost pumps. Give me thirty seconds; that’s all I need.

The R-2800-10W gave a last shot of power and quit. Quickly he fared the prop.
Shit, I’m in range!
Preoccupied with managing the engine, the radar screen had dropped out of his scan. He switched it to the firing mode, centered the Seiran in the gun solution and pulled the trigger. Two twenty-millimeter cannons and four fifty-caliber machine guns spewed hundreds of high explosive rounds. Forty twenty-millimeter rounds shattered the electrical power center of the nuclear device, detonating among the batteries and inverters, interrupting electrical power to the weapon. It automatically safe’d itself as high explosive, and incendiary rounds shredded the Seiran. Atsugi took an incendiary fifty-caliber round through the back in the initial burst, dying instantly.

Kid held the trigger and kept the target centered as his airspeed decreased. He continued to fire even after the Seiran exploded, flying into the ball of flame with guns blazing.

Adak

Irish’s eyes closed as he listened to the report over the phone. Slowly he reached over and hung up.

“Avenger reports two aircraft on fire falling to the tundra. The Hellcat must have kept shooting until he rammed the Seiran.”

No one spoke. Debilitating exhaustion descended on them, blanketing the room like a shroud. All thoughts were on comrades lost that night. Spike walked over to the still-ringing phone and picked it up.

“Yes sir, yes sir, sorry sir. Must have been a bad connection. Mister President, it’s over. We have concluded the mission. It was a success. Yes sir, one hundred percent. You are welcome, sir.”

Spike settled the receiver in the cradle and drew in a deep breath.

Northern Quebec Province

Kid’s Hellcat spiraled out of control, plummeting toward the tundra below. Part of the Seiran’s burning right wing was lodged in his engine cowl.
Burn out, burn out! Come on, burn out, dammit!

Finally, it snuffed out. Kid blew the canopy open with a compressed air charge and then released his harness as he pushed the stick forward with his foot. Propelled out of the cockpit by negative G, his lanyard played out in seconds and snatched the cover off his parachute.

All motion stopped. He sensed he was floating but wasn’t sure until he turned to see the Seiran impact the ground. In the distance, he could see Cue’s search light approaching. Kid looked out at the horizon and then up at the black expanse, twinkling with stars above him.
Mission accomplished,
he thought, smiling into the cold night air. It was a peaceful descent.

CHAPTER 36

01:32 Local, 21 August, 1945 (11:32 GMT, 21AUG)

NAS Adak

Spike put down the message and slid it to Jonesy. “Send that to CINCPAC and CINCLANT.”

Spike got up and stretched. He looked over at the B-29 pilot who was sound asleep in the corner. “Hey, Captain.” He nudged the sleeping man’s foot. “Let’s crank up the airplane we’ve got and get to the crash site.”

The pilot wiped the sleep out of his eyes and moved toward the door. Spike walked over to Hans and sat next to him. He shook out a cigarette from a new pack and offered it to him. Hans pulled it out, and Spike lit it with his Zippo.

“So how much of a cleanup issue are we gonna have?”

“Depends. If the device was in a safe mode and stayed relatively intact, not much.”

Spike shook out a cigarette for himself and lit it. He took a long pull and exhaled slowly. “And if not?”

Hans turned to Spike and smiled. “Well, then, the Canadians are going to be, how is you Americans say … pissed?”

21 August, 1945 11:0321:03 GMT, 21AUG

Fort Chimo, Kuujjuaq Quebec

A B-29 rolled out on final approach to Fort Chimo’s Airfield, touched down, and taxied to the tarmac, filling it. Spike and his team emerged and were met by a Royal Canadian Air Force lieutenant.

“Major Shanower?”

“I’m Shanower.”

“Sir, we have all the items you requested and two Noorduyn Norseman Mk IV aircraft at your disposal.”

“Excellent, Lieutenant, will you be leading us out?”

“Yes, I know the area.”

The group immediately manned up the aircraft, and Irish dismissed the pilot of the second Norseman and took command. After starting the engine he followed the lead Norseman to the runway, and they rolled together, turning east toward Ungava Bay and then southeast to the crash site.

After only an hour they overflew an Avenger with a collapsed landing gear and four men standing next to it, waving. Spike was in the seat next to Irish. “Well, that would be the missing Avenger, I presume?”

“Yes, and the Hellcat pilot. The Avenger has a crew of three.”

“Can you set down next to it?”

Irish scanned the tundra and pointed to a better spot. “Over there.”

With Hans onboard to evaluate the debris field, the lead Norseman continued to the Seiran crash site, while Spike and Irish picked up the wayward Navy crewmen. As they ran to the idling Norseman, Irish looked up and couldn’t believe his eyes. He began to bellow in laughter, and Spike looked at him as if he had finally lost it.

As the Navy boys piled in, Irish, tears in his eyes, grabbed Kid by the mouton collar of his flight jacket. “David Brennan, your mother would have both our asses if she knew.”

Kid smiled ear to ear and, with a laugh, said, “Well, then, let’s not tell her, eh, Irish?”

“That’s a deal, shipmate!”

Later that evening a group of weary men sat around a fireplace in the Fort Chimo lodge, drinking Moosehead beer and laughing at exaggerated stories. Kid and Irish shared tales of their cross-country trip, and then Irish stunned Kid with the news that he had picked up a Chilean wife and a vineyard along the way to the party. Spike watched and smiled as Irish invited everyone within earshot to visit, assuring them there was plenty of room and plenty of wine to go around.

Hans came into the room and waved Spike over.

“How goes it, Hans?” he asked as he thrust a beer in his hand.

Hans took it and downed half in a gulp, gasping out a thank you.

“As good as we could possibly have hoped for, Daniel. The weapon safe’d itself, and cleanup will be minimal. Canadian Mounties are guarding it tonight. I will have it ready to be flown out in one of the Noorduyns by midday tomorrow.” He took a long pull off the Moosehead beer before he spoke again. “We have been very lucky.”

Spike clasped his arm around the German’s shoulders. “You make your own luck, my friend.”

They clinked bottles, guzzled the rest of their beers, and ordered another round for everyone.

~ The End ~

COMING NEXT

COLD WAR HOT

“From Stettin in the Baltic to Trieste in the Adriatic, an iron curtain has descended across the Continent. Behind that line lie all the capitals of the ancient states of Central and Eastern Europe. Warsaw, Berlin, Prague, Vienna, Budapest, Belgrade, Bucharest and Sofia, all these famous cities and the populations around them lie in what I must call the Soviet sphere, and all are subject in one form or another, not only to Soviet influence but to a very high and, in many cases, increasing measure of control from Moscow.”

- Winston Churchill, Fulton, Missouri

PROLOGUE

An F6F-5 Hellcat pulled hard into the closing flight of A6M Zeros, its guns chattering death. The lead Zero exploded as they passed head on. Pulling into the vertical, the Hellcat pilot heaved on six Gs looping over the top. His move was matched by the three remaining Zeros. Another A6M exploded out of the fight as they met over the top. Using his slow speed, the Hellcat pilot deployed the flaps and snapped back onto the tail of the Zeros. The powerful R-2800-10W engine pulled him to the enemy as the flaps retracted. Turning inside of the trailing Zero he flamed it in a short burst. Twisting and fleeing toward the ocean just below them the last Zero ran for its life. It was short. Twenty millimeter cannon and fifty caliber high explosive rounds shredded the unarmored aircraft as it self-emulated.

Barely 100 feet above the water, the Hellcat pilot detected movement on a cliff off his right wing. He looked over and saw women, some holding children, jumping to their deaths. Suddenly he was close enough to see faces; the faces of his wife and infant son as she jumped: “What are you doing here? This is Okinawa, OKINAWA!”

CHAPTER 1

LaGuardia Airport, New York City

15:03 Local, 17 September, 1945 (20:03 UTC, 17SEP)

A Sikorsky VS-44A flying boat flew low up the East River and skidded with a lurch into the dark water of Bowery Bay. As the large aircraft settled heavily, the red-headed captain shook his head in disapproval. “Damn it, David, that was horrible.”

“Irish, I’m a fighter pilot. This is my first time landing a flying boat. Remember I’m used to landing on boats.”

“You’re an international airline pilot now, son. That means landing these big uglies, in bad weather or good, all over the world. Let’s go, take off again.”

Four Pratt & Whitney R-1830-S1C3-G engines revved to their peak 1,200 horse power, but even at full throttle the eighty-foot-long flying boat wallowed.