Wings of Steele - Destination Unknown (Book 1)

by Burger, Jeffrey

  "Maracaibo or Caracas in Venezuela, where we'll stop for fuel again. We'll have to see how the fuel holds up. We have an estimate on her fuel consumption, but it's not carved in stone."

  "Are all these places safe?" asked Brian with raised eyebrows.

  "You got me, as far as I'm concerned, we sleep with the plane. Oh, and we sleep armed... just in case." Steele's face had become momentarily serious, and Brian wondered whether he should be concerned or not. The copilot hesitated, then lost his train of thought as he watched George unhook the tow tractor from the nose gear of the B25. He unhooked the mechanism free with almost motherly care. Jack and Brian exchanged glances as they quietly watched the mechanic. He gave the warbird a loving pat on the fuselage, wiped an unseen smudge off of the starboard engine nacelle and strode toward the tractor without looking back. Without words, the two airmen turned back to the chart table to finish their flight plans. As they resumed reviewing their flight plan, the reclining Shepherd jumped to his feet and awoofed, softly, but loud enough to get the attention of the two fliers engrossed with their paperwork. A white pickup truck had pulled through the gate and was headed straight toward the Sweet Susie. Jack could see Stephen's company logo emblazoned on the door of the truck as it slowed to a stop in front of the right wing of the plane. A burly young man stepped out of the truck on the driver's side, while Stephen exited the passenger door.

  "I couldn't let you leave without saying good luck and bringing you a going-away present," shouted Stephen.

  "So, what did you bring us?" the two pilots queried, almost in unison, grinning widely as they strode out to the tail of the truck.

  "Come see," chided the owner. At the back of the truck sat two long, skinny wooden crates and fourteen small metal boxes Jack recognized as military ammunition cans. Fritz jumped into the truck and gave all the containers a close examination. The dog stared blankly at his master.

  "Well it's not drugs," said Steele candidly with a smirk.

  "You know me better than that," Stephen injected with a hurt look. He opened a wooden crate to reveal twelve neatly packed M1 carbine rifles. "They're for the movie, so is this stuff." He pointed to the metal boxes. Brian opened two of the metal containers. One contained ammunition for the carbines, the other, for the .50 cal guns of the Sweet Susie.

  "Hey, this is live ammo..." Brian exclaimed, pulling back in concern. "What are we doing carrying real ammunition? And real guns?”

  "Relax, relax..." Stephen waved his hand in an attempt to quiet the copilot. "All this stuff is for the movie company. That..." he said, pointing at the ammo boxes, "we could only get one way. It will have to be converted by the techs on the movie site before filming begins." Stephen handed Jack a bulging sealed envelope. "All the proper documentation for this stuff is in here." Jack took it and left it sealed.

  “Ok, so let's load it up already, we're burning daylight." Jack slapped the apprehensive copilot on the shoulder to punctuate. "Quit worryin' will ya?" The pilot looked at his watch. "Let's go, let's go, it's after ten already!”

  “Give him a hand, Kevin," prompted Stephen. The burly driver of the truck, who had stood silently and unmoving, hefted a crate of carbines to his shoulder, in one clean motion. Brian grabbed two of the metal ammo containers. The two men carried their burdens to the open bomb-bay doors of the plane. Jack offhandedly wondered if carrying any of that cargo was illegal. He dismissed the thought, he trusted Stephen. Besides, with as much as he had invested in that plane, Jack couldn't see him taking such a foolish risk as to do something illegal with it. But he promised himself he would open the envelope and check all the paperwork while they were in the air before they left US airspace. Jack and Stephen walked back to the shade of the hangar and the flight plans on the chart table. Fritz chose the shade under the wing of the B25 so he could more closely watch the loading of the plane.

  "These look just fine. Your fuel will be arranged and waiting, I'll see to it personally." Stephen handed the pilot another envelope, "There's ten thousand dollars here... just in case. Use it if you need something, or whatever..." he said with a shrug.

  "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.

  CHAPTER THREE

  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.

  Jack went down the checklist as the airfield came into view and grew beneath th
em.

  "Flaps, one-quarter."

  "Roger, flaps one-quarter." As the copilot moved the levers controlling the flaps, the hydraulic pumps hummed.

  Jack glanced out over the left wing to watch the flaps extend, "Landing lights, please."

  Brian reached up and toggled the switches for the landing lights, "Landing lights on."

  "Good..." Jack paused to run his hand through his hair, "Gear down..."

  "Gear down..." the copilot slid the levers and the lock lights on the indicator panel, winked on, as the landing gear dropped down and locked into place with a thump. "Down and locked, Skipper."

  Steele adjusted the flaps to one-half. "Ok, lets take her in." He reduced power further and the Susie dropped smoothly and gently.

  Brian checked with the control tower. "The runway's all yours."

  The runway lights shone brightly, leading the B25 onto the long black ribbon of tarmac... the warbird touched down softly. Jack cut the throttles back to idle and applying the brakes, slowed to a manageable taxiing speed to swing off the runway at the third exit skirt. A small Jeep with a rather large sign and flashing lights joined them, then pulled ahead to lead the plane. The illuminated sign read, FOLLOW ME. The pilots looked at each other and smirked. Proportionately, the vehicle looked ridiculous. "Geez..." laughed Brian, "check out Captain Obvious here."

  Jack shook his head, "Wow. Just wow. I mean seriously... what the fuck..."

  "Holy shit..!" snorted Brian. “I wonder if anybody's ever lost him...” Laughing, they executed an exploding fist bump with the appropriate sound effects, obviously tired from the long flight and anxious to get out of the confines of the aircraft to stretch their legs.

  Jack retracted the flaps between jokes, as they rolled along behind the lead vehicle and cut off the landing lights. They passed the main concourse, they passed the commercial hangars, they passed the smaller private hangars... "Where the hell is this guy taking us?!"