Wings of Steele - Destination Unknown (Book 1) (4 page)

"Cash?
Thanks, I'll be sure to keep receipts..."

"Don't
worry about that,” said Stephen with a dismissive wave, “just
take good care of her and I'll see you in Rio." The two men
shook hands.

"Well,
I guess we'd better get going," said Steele, as he gathered up
his flight charts and logs. "C’mon! We're outta here!"
he announced as he strode toward the plane. "Let’s get
this show on the road, and this bird in the air!"

"You
got it, Skipper! "yelled the copilot as he jumped off the
tailgate of the pickup. The reclining Shepherd rose to his feet and
spun in a circle, excited about their departure.

Brian
disappeared up into the belly hatch, and Stephen's young driver
climbed into the truck to move it off the taxiway skirt. Before
getting into the passenger side of the truck, the proud owner stood
at attention next to the open door and gave Jack an A1 military
salute. "Clear skies, Skipper, see you in Rio."

The
large dog by his side, Steele turned, then saluted sharply. He
watched as Stephen climbed into the truck and it pulled slowly away.
"Yep... definitely a rip in that man's marble bag..."
Jack spun around and moved to the belly hatch followed closely by
the Shepherd. Jack passed the charts and flight logs to the hand
extended through the opening. "You're next," he said to
the waiting dog. Fritz stepped forward and Jack lifted him, boosting
him through the hatch by his rump. The pilot took one quick look
around and lifted himself through the hatch, locking it behind him.
Glancing at his watch, the pilot winced. "Ten forty-five, damn,
why does everything take
sooo
long?!" He flopped into the command seat.

"Quit
worryin' will ya?" retorted the grinning figure sitting in the
copilot's seat. The two men exchanged glances and began laughing.
They continued laughing during the pre-flight check, neither really
sure why. But it was a new adventure, and it felt good.

Jack
watched the control surfaces respond as he tested the controls.
“Bomb-bay doors closed and locked...” he glanced back.
“Check. Ok, ready?”

"Yep,"
Brian nodded, checking his instruments and switching on the
magnetos.

The
engines primed and all systems checked and ready, Jack pushed the
starter switch for the starboard engine. The starter whined, turning
the large, three blade prop over slowly at first, then faster. A
cylinder fired off with a pop, and the engine roared to life with a
small puff of smoke from the exhaust pipes. He cranked the port
engine, watching the prop spin. It too roared to life in similar
fashion. He listened for a moment, then adjusted the fuel mixture
knob for each engine. "That’s better..." He knew
he'd be adjusting them again after the engines reached their proper
temperatures.

"While
they're warming up, call for clearance, I want to check our cargo."
Jack rose from his seat and made his way through the plane, leaving
the capable copilot to monitor the gauges and obtain clearance from
the airfield's control tower. The bomb-bay box that normally
contained the bomb racks would have restricted movement to the rear
of a wartime plane, but had been removed during the renovation. A
walkway was installed over the working bomb-bay doors from the front
to the back. In the back, a cargo net held the crates of carbines
securely in place. The ammo boxes fit neatly in places provided just
for that need, all around the B25's interior.

"Jack,
we're cleared!" called Brian from the cockpit.

"Just
a sec!" replied Jack. He climbed into the seat of the upper gun
turret and working the foot pedals, rotated the turret to face the
rear of the plane. Electric motors whirred as it spun smoothly
around. Satisfied, he switched off the power, climbed down and
returned to the cockpit. Dropping into his seat, he quickly surveyed
the gauges and belted himself in. He released the brakes and
increased power, just enough to begin a taxi roll. Fritz, wearing a
tethered harness for his safety, laid on the cockpit floor knowing
what would come next. Jack fitted his headset as the plane rolled
slowly along the taxiway. Brian held the controls. When they neared
the end of the taxiway, Steele took the controls, adjusted the flaps
part way down and edged the throttles forward. A small crowd had
gathered at Sweet Susie's hangar, and several cars had pulled off
the street and onto the grass that bordered the outer fence of the
airfield. One was a dark sedan… the same dark, unassuming
sedan that had attempted to follow Jack through traffic. It went
unnoticed, maintaining its anonymity.

Jack
decided to give them something to see. Edging the throttles up, he
swung the left hand U-turn, from the parallel taxiway, onto the
runway without slowing. The shining B25 tracked smartly around the
corner. Steele smoothly pushed the throttles forward as the plane
straightened on the runway, creating a sling shot effect from the
momentum of the turn. The crowd in front of the Sweet Susie's hangar
cheered as the B25 roared by on the runway at full throttle, the new
turbochargers kicking up the boost. Neither of the two men in the
cockpit could hear the cheers, but they could see the waves, biding
them well. The B25 raced down the runway, building speed. When she
began to feel light Jack eased back on the control yoke and the
plane separated itself from the concrete. "Gear up..."

"Gear
up..." Brian pulled the levers for the landing gear as he said
it. At an altitude of twenty-five feet, the hydraulic motors hummed
steadily, and the gear clunked solidly as they locked into the up
position. The gear doors closed, the indicator lights winking out
one by one. "Up and locked," he announced.

Jack
let her climb gently over the runway. "Retract flaps."

Brian
slid the lever for the flaps. As the pumps whined, Jack glanced out
over the wing to see the flaps slide neatly back into place. A final
bump indicated they were all the way in. "Flaps in," said
Brian. He glanced up at the approaching airport fence beyond the end
of the runway. "Now might be good, Skipper..."

Jack
had a wry smile as he eased the control yoke back toward his
stomach. The Sweet Susie leapt upwards unhindered by wartime weight,
her powerful new engines chewing up the sky. She climbed steadily at
a rakish angle, and the stall warning light flickered momentarily
but Jack eased his pull on the yoke before it was of any concern.
Brian let out a long, slow sigh and inhaled deeply. He hadn't
realized he was holding his breath. It was then that Elvis spoke,
"Thank yew, thank yew very muuch. Yew bin a wonnerful awdience.
Elvis has left the building..." The pilot curled his lip and
sneered.

"Holy
crap that's horrible," laughed Brian.

Jack
decreased their angle of ascent, swinging slowly to a South-Eastern
bearing which would take them over the middle of the state, over
Miami and beyond. About thirty-five miles from the Bahamas, they'd
swing south toward Puerto Rico.

"I
think I could use a soda," said Jack, beaming.

"Yeah
me too," piped Brian as he wiped the perspiration from his
forehead.

"You
weren't nervous, were you?"

"Oh
no, not at all," he lied, "it was just a bit showy for my
taste." He rolled his eyes as he made his way out of the
cockpit.

Jack
chuckled, "quit worryin..." chimed the two men
simultaneously, laughing.

Aahhh...
thought Jack, a good dog, a good friend, a soda, and a great plane.
What more could a man want? How about a good woman, said the little
voice at the back of his mind. It had been nagging him lately and
he'd been ignoring it. He wasn't quite ready for that yet. Go away,
he told it.

Brian
returned with two cold sodas and plopped into his seat. "Man,
is it me or is it hot in here?"

"It
is pretty warm," agreed Jack, taking the soda handed him. The
pilot reached behind him and felt for the knob that controlled the
air conditioning. It was decided during the renovation, that cold AC
would be a must. He found the control by feel and dialed it up. The
air kicked on and sent its wash of cool air over the two men. The
relief was well received as the small crew of the B25 settled in for
the long flight.

At
300 mph, the B25 cruised faster than her wartime service speed,
cutting briskly through the warm Florida air. With most of her armor
removed, faster power plants and no bomb-load to carry, she felt
more like an overgrown fighter than a retired bomber. However, the
Radial Wasp engines were new and needed gentle breaking-in, so Jack
throttled back and let her cruise considerably slower than she was
able… there was no sense in pushing a new engine, their
service life is greatly extended with care. The lush green patchwork
of the Florida landscape passed slowly beneath the plane and its
occupants, later giving way to the crystal blue of the Atlantic
ocean. A few puffy white clouds played across the vivid blue sky,
creating a movie-perfect scene. Almost. "I'm glad we decided to
go around that..." Brian commented, thumbing Jack's attention
out over the starboard wing, "It looks pretty nasty."
Hovering over Cuba and the southernmost tip of the Florida Keys, the
blackness of an angry storm front was noticeable, even at this
distance. The towering clouds were swept and foamy looking.

"Looks
pretty active too," Jack added. Dark, heavy streaks of rain
fell away at an angle from the swirling sky off in the distance. The
friendly puffy clouds gave way to windswept, wispy pale gray clouds,
stretching out across the horizon to the right, spin-offs of the
storm attacking Cuba and the Keys. The afternoon sun, as it
descended, was illuminating the spin-off clouds a vibrant pink,
creating a strange, surreal look.

The
two pilots took turns at the controls to prevent boredom, switching
between actually flying and sitting at the navigator's station,
positioned behind the cockpit, which contained communication,
navigation and radar equipment. The radar unit had been added in,
during the B25's refitting. Brian stepped over the snoring Shepherd
on the cockpit floor as he made his way to the copilot's seat from
the navigation station. "The radar screen is almost completely
blank ahead of us, but those poor bastards in the Keys are really
catching hell.” Brian was shaking his head in sympathy.

"Hope
it doesn't grow," said the pilot, wincing mentally.

Jack
clenched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger,
rubbing... "I must be hungry, I'm getting a damn headache. Say,
how about one of those sandwiches?"

"No
problem, I'll be right back, don't go away." The copilot
unbuckled and rose from his seat disappearing from the cockpit. The
flight progressed quickly despite its uneventful nature, and the two
men talked about their favorite subjects. The same thing all pilots
talk about... planes, girls, cars, more planes... Jack felt much
better after eating. He stretched then got comfortable again,
tapping absentmindedly on the glass of one of the gauges. They found
themselves flying a wider arc than they had originally anticipated,
to be sure they were clear of the moving storm and its effects.

SAN
JUAN, PUERTO RICO:
STAINLESS
STEELE

"Bri,
can you check in with flight control in San Juan while I start our
descent."

"You
got it." Brian keyed the mic and called the air controller.

After
running his fingers through his dark hair, Steele settled in for the
task at hand. He eased the throttles back, watching the RPMs drop on
the gauges and nosed the B25 down for its long descent. The engines
dropped to a low rumble. Darkness had come early, the sky a
deep-blue twilight, the storm had seen to that. But there was just
enough afterglow to see the island below. The moon was only about
half full and not high enough, but every little bit of light helped.
It was dark enough to clearly see lights twinkling all across the
island but the airport was not discernible yet. The descent was
uneventful, local air traffic was light, and the Sweet Susie's crew
received an easy, straight-in approach for their glide path. "We're
cleared for final." Brian spoke matter-of-factly. Landings,
especially night landings, left no room for anything but strictly
business, especially at an unfamiliar airfield.