The next morning Fritz couldn’t keep Cricket at the hotel. She was headed to the airport with Predator, and he didn’t want her in the P-51.
“You’ve had practically no sleep,” Fritz said, looking to Predator for support.
“You do the flying,” she said. “I’m just another pair of eyes, either with you or Mr. Jones.”
Predator said, “I’d like an extra pair of eyes in the Cub.” Both Fritz and Cricket went to tell Predator again how much they missed the two Bobs, and he stopped them, gently raising his hands, palms out. “My heart’s breaking for my pards, and I’m exhausted. Fritz, we’re at least low and slow. And the biggest thing we have to watch out for is the weather. The barometer’s dropping like a stone.” He eyed Cricket. “I need the help today.”
They’d had a short service for PJ and Cub Bob only minutes earlier, and Predator had read from the gospel of John, a favorite of PJ’s. The bodies remained in the hangar and the mechanics would be buried at the end of what everyone prayed would be a successful day.
They had found a slave warehouse near the river and freed the citizens, now being treated in two hospitals under the guidance of Wills’ men. Many of Becca’s and Ajax’s men disappeared or attempted to join ranks with Sergeant Wills. The news from the surrendering slavers was that Ajax had been mysteriously wounded and Lucy was dead. For the moment, his myth was shattered. Another reason for the defections.
Fritz started walking out to the plane, and Cricket and Predator followed, listening. “You two stay on the Ohio side and watch for any large groups of people moving toward the dock. There might be a slave house we don’t know about. The citizens remaining on the boat, we expect to be guarded by a skeleton crew. The Patriarchs will storm the boat, and once the people are freed I’ll sink it. Look out for any caravans of slavers. Wills’ men will be moving in school buses, very uniform-looking.”
“I sure would have liked to have gone over that Mustang with a fine-tooth comb,” Predator said.
“You’ll get your chance after the mission.” Fritz smiled.
Cricket shook her head. “A cowboy at heart.”
“And you two are flying in a plane that was also shot up last night,” her husband retaliated.
“Well, there’s not much to the Cub,” Predator said, pausing before his next smart-ass line. “Although Cub Bob would have strongly disagreed.” He smiled and continued.
“I went over everything crucial, ran it up, and taxied just like you. Wish you’d have taken the P-51 for a spin.”
Fritz said, “Didn’t want to wake up the slavers too early.”
84
Airborne
Predator was right about the weather. The dark sky to the west appeared full of trouble. Storms had a way of speaking directly to Cricket’s gut: duration, intensity, destructive capacity, yet today she had been fooled by the spring-like temperatures and the snow’s being completely gone, believing they had more time before the storm hit.
They wore David Clark headsets for noise level and easy communications. Cricket also monitored a two-way radio for Fritz’s calls. Predator flew from the rear seat and was pointing at the western sky, reading Cricket’s mind. “Years ago, my family was living in Columbus when the storm of ’77 hit. Just like today. Warm, no wind, very pleasant until my partner in aircraft crime told me the barometer was dropping fast with a cold front about to knock the warm air in the Ohio valley right on its ass.”
Predator reduced the power, and they glided toward the treetops above the northern side of the city. Cricket had spotted several cars in tandem heading toward the river. She radioed to Fritz only five miles away.
“Keep your distance. Let’s not let them get anxious. I need to hear from the sergeant if they pose a threat. He has men scattered all around the city.”
The sergeant was within minutes of boarding the sternwheeler. Everyone had synchronized their watches. At high noon the sergeant and twenty men would board the boat.
Dressed in 1940s style, like Ajax aka Angel and his closest guards and advisors, Sergeant Wills appeared appropriately attired to greet his “fellow slavers.”
A few minutes past noon the first report arrived, and it wasn’t good. Wills had the upper hand, but the slavers were murdering their catch and using them as hostages. The two planes kept their positions. Fritz also learned of a school near Cricket’s position, where officers were battling slavers who had taken refuge, and using their catch as human shields.
Predator banked the Cub, and Cricket searched the streets and businesses ahead. Snow streaked past the windshield, yet the visibility remained good.
“I’ve got the school,” she said. Predator circled and Cricket informed her husband.
“On my way,” Fritz immediately radioed back, telling them that the slavers who had gone to shore were engaging the police force of Sergeant Wills. The Patriarchs were decimating the slavers quickly just outside the warehouse, but Fritz was needed back.
Cricket had just put down the mic when she watched fire and smoke erupt from the sides of the school.
“Predator, right below! They’re blowing up the school.” More explosions followed, a many-throated beast belching fire from numerous windows.
She radioed Fritz, and he said to move off to the north so he could observe the school and watch for the slavers’ escape.
“Dear God, they’re on a murder spree.” Predator put the Cub in a steep bank and rolled out on a north heading. Their wings leveled when Cricket spotted two dark pickup trucks leaving the school playground and racing to the northwest.
Cricket radioed the information to Fritz.
“Stay with them,” he advised.
The entire western sky as far as Cricket could see to the southwest and the northeast was black with clouds. Cricket hadn’t felt this helpless since her dad’s plane had fallen to earth. She was an observer in an observation plane. Not even in the cage with Boots had she felt as helpless as she did now without a way to fight back. She thought of the children, Lawrence, and Sister Marie. Would they be safe in the coming hours? Was the hotel protected?
She had briefly taken her eyes off the trucks to search for the P-51, only to look back and see a white van in the lead. She radioed Fritz. He had spotted the trio as well.
Fritz said, “Only two pickups are targets. Officer just confirmed five slavers, two trucks. Unless I get confirmation in the next thirty seconds, I leave the van alone.”
Cricket’s intuition kicked in, and she got back to Fritz. “That’s Ajax’s van! A white van. I was in it.”
“Maybe, but you don’t know who’s in it now.”
The van sped away from the pickups. Fritz banked and dove the Mustang toward his targets.
“See, I’m right!” Cricket yelled into the microphone. “The van driver knows he’s a target, too.”
“My love, too much mind-reading,” Fritz said, adding, “the van’s running for safety. That’s how I see it. Going to work.”
Cricket turned in her seat and watched Fritz swoop in and blast the two trucks that had given room for the van to escape. Smoke and fire. One truck rolled several times, crashing into the side of a fast-food restaurant; the other crashed into a telephone pole. Cricket watched the Mustang quickly climb and level off.
Fritz said, “Wills made it to shore with thirty survivors. He wants the sternwheeler out of commission. Headed to my next job. Get back to Lunken. I’ll see you soon. Love you.”
“Maybe we can help at the river?”
“Fighting’s too intense. Stay clear… wait… dammit… hold on…”
Cricket watched the P-51, maybe five miles distant, a silver moment against the dark sky.
“Wait, he’s busy as hell.” Predator banked left and picked up a northwesterly heading to keep the Mustang in sight.
Cricket felt the passing of every second. C’mon, Fritz. Get back to me, honey. She squeezed the microphone hearing his voice.
“Overheating. Gotta land. Shutting down. Over and out
.”
“Let him concentrate,” Predator said. “We’ll land and pick him up.”
“I guess I’ll sit on his lap…” She couldn’t hide the tremor in her voice.
Predator banked again, keeping the plane in sight.
“No, that won’t work. You two take the Cub back. I have an old girlfriend on the west side of the city I can stay with.”
“You’re kidding?”
“Not at all.”
“Hey, he’s circling to the south.” Cricket now believed that they’d be in each other’s arms within minutes. “He likes something down there. Can’t see his landing area.”
“Hang in there, Cricket. We’ll see it soon enough.”
“He said ‘over and out.’ He never used that old phrase.”
“A lot in those three words. I heard: ‘I’ve got a job to do, I love my wife, and I’ll be home for dinner.’”
85
Emergency Landing
At a thousand feet above the ground, Predator crossed over Fritz’s emergency landing field, a city playground.
Fritz had already landed, and Cricket spotted the plane close to the bleachers.
The snow was streaming past the Cub, reducing the visibility, when a bullet tore through the floor near Cricket’s right foot and hit the ceiling.
“Shit the bed,” Predator yelled, starting a steep turn to the left. “You okay?”
“Yeah, bullet was close.”
Another shot grazed the strut.
“The shooter must have seen Fritz land. Small-caliber, thank God. They’ll have to get lucky to bring us down.”
They were headed away from Fritz when Predator aimed for the river.
“We’ll come in from the south. You mentally mark his location?”
“Sure did,” Cricket replied. Her hands tingled and a long-ago moment surfaced—her dad explaining pilotage when she was a child: ‘Take several unique landmarks and see how they point to a place on the map. Sometimes two isn’t enough. Nail where you’re at by making the place beneath you the only thing that looks like that on the entire earth.’ Her heart was on that map, along with a major street, railroad tracks to the north, and a baseball diamond just south of the tracks, where Fritz had landed.
“You take the plane,” Predator said. “Snow’s picking up. You see better than me anyway.”
The stick was cold. The dark sky was no longer ahead but right above the Piper Cub. She moved her legs and hands together to bank and climb and dive. Cricket felt at home in the first plane she had ever flown solo. She had visibility for maybe three miles in the snow and low clouds.
But she knew how quickly that would worsen.
The first landmark, the north-south road, came into view. She looked ahead for the ballpark and made sure it was the right one with the railroad tracks to the north. She was within a mile and didn’t see the tracks or an airplane in the open area. Then she saw the tracks. She looked back at Predator, and he was pointing down with his forefinger.
“You overflew him. That’s fine. Come back around and land to the west or north—your choice.”
She felt awful maneuvering the plane for landing. Another bullet up through the floor wouldn’t be as scary as missing her husband. Thank you, God, for Mr. Jones!
On final approach she saw the Mustang off to the right and adjusted power and pitch to hold at sixty-five miles per hour. A bit fast, but the storm’s energy made the air turbulent and extra speed kept the airplane flying.
Predator said, “Be careful taxiing. Who knows what’s there.”
Cricket drove the Cub onto the main wheels. Mostly headwind, the plane buffeted and shook even on the ground as Cricket danced on the rudder pedals to keep it moving in a straight line.
Visibility fell to less than a mile and Predator said, “No time for a lot of talking. You two need to head back.”
Predator kept the engine running and held the brakes. Cricket exited and ran for the Mustang, yelling for her husband. Predator shouted for her to check for bullet holes before she and Fritz took off in the Cub.
She ran up the wing of the Mustang, and her husband wasn’t inside. Standing on the wing alongside the cockpit, she scanned the field and saw nothing. A few houses lined the eastern side of the park. Inside the cockpit and down the wing there were no signs of blood.
Cricket ran back to the Cub. “I can’t find him.”
“Don’t want to shut down. I’ll stay here. Can you run the field once? Maybe he took shelter somewhere nearby?”
“But he’d be close by—watching the plane. He’d see us. Where is he, Predator?”
“Run. We don’t have any time.”
She took off for the bleachers, yelling her husband’s name. Farther away, the houses were dark and there was no sign of people anywhere. Dear God, please bring him back to me. My baby needs both of us. Needs a father. Needs him today.
As on many streets, there were cars at different angles, on and off the road, dead for months. This was a graveyard, and that thought squeezed her heart. Her lungs still breathed in the warmer air, but the sting of the growing blizzard soon replaced the day’s illusion of an early spring. It was the end of January and bleak.
A moment of hope arrived when she saw a figure near the wooded area of the park. Cricket ran up to a very old man, wearing a coat and hat. He was staring at the Mustang and Cub.
“Mister, the pilot—did you see the pilot?”
The man blinked and looked down at her. He was tall and ancient.
“That ship saved my life. European theater.”
“You flew it in the war?”
“Oh no. Infantry. But they came overhead one day when we were outnumbered and saved everyone. Never thought I’d see one arrive out of the blue.”
“My husband, the pilot, where did he go?”
“I’m sorry. That plane just appeared. I never saw it land. Maybe it was always there.” He pointed to his left. “I could see it from my house.”
Cricket took off running in a half mile of blowing snow. She screamed for Fritz. Tears streamed down her face when she saw Predator’s long arm reach out from the cockpit, waving for her to come back.
“I can’t leave him” were her first words.
“Bull! You get in. You have a child to think of.”
“I could stay. Wait for the storm to pass and find Fritz.”
“This is ’77 all over again. We’re gonna be buried for days. You’ll die out her waiting for the storm to pass. Let’s pray he’s found safety and shelter. I’d stay behind, but it’s gonna take both of us to make it back safely and find Lunken. Get in, Cricket. You fly. You have better eyes. We’ll be back here as soon as we can.”
She had Predator to help her line up for takeoff and was nudged by her dad not to run into a jungle gym or swing set. She brought the power in quickly and nosed the Cub into the wind, which was gusting to over twenty miles per hour. The ship became airborne within seconds.
Cricket’s breast heaved with sadness, and her child kicked twice. Love taps. The first kick was for mom’s bravery, the second for dad’s, who was really smart and knew a lot about the world and how to make it safely back home.
Epilogue
Heartbroken without her husband at her side, Cricket, at Sergeant Wills’ suggestion, went to the hangar’s lounge to sleep for a few hours before their trek to their new home in downtown Cincinnati. In the war-torn hangar, Predator Jones, aided by another mechanic, began troubleshooting and restoring his beloved, bullet-riddled J-3 Piper Cub.
Only weeks earlier, Cricket had almost fooled herself into believing that she and her friends had returned to a slice of the world she had grown up loving. That innocence had been shattered by Ajax’s and Becca’s plans for slavery’s return.
Criminal gangs and crazies swarmed the city. Death was everywhere, accelerated by the storm’s halting the distribution of food and medical supplies. But Cricket was assured by Sergeant Wills that the hotel was the safest place for the children and her loy
al black Lab, for all of them to wait out the storm and possibly the rest of winter.
She dove into sleep praying for her husband, the two Bobs, and all those she loved and had tried to protect, especially her unborn child. She awoke in her dream walking in a forest at twilight. In the distance many dead hung from the branches: the devil’s ornaments.
She caught glimpses of winged creatures overhead that made her fear for her life and soul. But a fragrant wind arose from somewhere deep in the forest and washed over her; a subtle light from outside of time and space warmed her skin.
Along with the wind and the light, Psalm 23 came to mind and she walked a little taller, less fearful, with verses that were always fresh with infinite room to explore. She heard “…Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over…” She would face her enemies with the words of the great Psalm at her side. It also helped that Boots now walked alongside Cricket. In this otherworld, the leopard, twice its normal size, roared with longing for the life it carried inside and as a warning to all evildoers afoot.
Acknowledgments
My thanks to David Swindle for his keen eye in critiquing the manuscript and offering great suggestions in order to realize the best possible story. To Bokerah Brumley for her many skills ranging from marketing to writing that helped shape the manuscript for its release, especially the concept and final creation of the cover art that she and Matt Margolis developed.
About the Author
Fred Tribuzzo spent his young adult life splitting his time between music and flying. He received a fellowship from the Ohio Arts Council for piano, oboe, and string compositions, played electric bass in a number of fine bands, and performed on several CDs while steadily building his flight hours. From grassroots aviation to flying the Citation Ten – the world’s fastest business jet – he incorporated those experiences into his memoir, American Sky: Good Landings and Other Flying Adventures, published in 2014. Fred also flew internationally for eight years on a Boeing 737. And it was on the far side of the world that he wrote Saint Nick, a modern-day Scrooge tale.
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