Call to Arms

by kwfinley

Jake is called back to China, Sarah goes on a mission and disappears. Jake has to choose between duty and friendship.

Call to Arms 68

TGM - Call to Arms

Author's Note:

This story is a labor of love. Love of Grumman Goose Seaplanes, 1930's adventure stories, and the TV series "Tales of the Gold Monkey". Although I borrowed the characters from the series, I intend no infringement on any creative copyright by the original authors. The Goose has starred in adventure stories and pulp fiction such as the Turk Madden and Ponga Jim Mayo series by famed Western author Louis L'Amour and stories written by songwriter and novelist Jimmy Buffet. Frankly you can see some of Turk and Ponga Jim in the bare-fisted, ready for anything Jake. For me the magic goes way beyond written text and video images. When I started building vehicles for my HO model train layout I just had to have a similar seaplane. There were no seaplane kits in 1/87th scale, so I made my own inspired by the Grumman G-21. Before long I intend to have molds and be able to make as many model kits as I want of this venerable bird. Creating the Goose in scale, and writing these stories are my way of helping to keep the adventure alive. The prototype model is above my laptop on my desk as I write. I frequently look to it for inspiration. I hope you enjoy the result.

Ken Finley - March 2006

kwfinley

The Call

The small, twin-engined red and white seaplane flew low over the drab gray destroyer resting at anchor. Any fan of aircraft on the deck would have recognized it as a Grumman G21 or "Goose". Since its design, it had become a staple of adventurers and explorers. This one looked like it had multiple layers of tape and paint just to hold it together. It carried three occupants; the pilot, Jake Cutter, his derelict partner and mechanic, Corky, and a black and white terrier named Jack. The pilot looks as patched together as his plane, with a Detroit Dukes baseball shirt, leather bomber's jacket, short billed aviator's cap, and khaki pants coming down over worn brown brogans. His face is slightly weather-beaten, still attractive, and the hair looks perpetually blown back. His eyes have a slight squint from trying to see through too many sunsets and sun rises. The eyes are confident, but have seen too much. Now, the eyes are looking down, at the American naval warship. The scene triggered one of Jake's constant inner debates about the deeper meaning of life as represented in his favorite adventure literature.

He couldn't help thinking about how Haywood Floyd novels portrayed the Hero as always ready to rally to the good old US of A in times of trouble. Floyd was a true patriot – champion of the needy. Jake wanted to see himself that way. That's one of the reasons he let General Claire Chennault talk him into joining the Flying Tigers - besides the money he always seemed to be out of. General Chennault may have run a lot of cons, but Jake was convinced he was right about Japan and America. They were on the brink of war. Some of Jake's old friends from Cornell had believed that Japan would overrun China and use the increased resources to come attack the US. Jake saw Chennault's Tigers as a chance to fight America's war before it came to America. Getting shot down put a whole different feel on things. Nobody ever wrote about Haywood Floyd getting shot and being grounded – out of the action; he was too tough for that. Floyd may have been invincible, but now Jake knew he wasn't. For the last year or so, there had been way too much time to think over this patriotism business …

In spite of his introspection, Jake never stopped flying the plane, his moves a form of unconscious competence. The Goose floated lightly from the sky, settled into the water of a nearby lagoon, fell off the step and began to bob with the waves. Clamping his teeth more tightly to the stub of an old cigar, Jake reached overhead to the twin throttles. He leaned forward to peer through the salt-splashed windscreen, out over the flat black foredeck, and added power to taxi to a ramshackle dock crowded with various boxes, crates and bales of cargo. Corky, transitioning from passenger to crew, moved forward under the dash. He was an off-key symphony in rumpled white – stained white t-shirt, grubby white denim jacket, and white dungarees, topped by a grimy white cap, contrasted by a ruddy alcoholic's complexion and a black two day growth of beard. When he felt the Goose nudge the dock, Corky popped out of the bow hatch, squinting in the bright afternoon sun. He juggled the hatch, a small black and white dog, and a mooring line. As if resolving some difficult mental puzzle, he braces the hatch on his shoulder, tosses the dog to the dock, and throws him the line. The three observers standing on the dock could see that they had worked this routine a hundred times. This time the dog simply looked at Corky from his one good eye, the other being covered by a leather patch, barked once and trotted off the dock and across the beach. His objective appeared to be a two-story building with upper and lower balconies, setting among some trees, trying to lend faded elegance to a poor and otherwise dilapidated village.

Corky called out, "Jack! You come back here. Jack, get back here - you hear me?" Another bark. "Please, Jack?" Jack trotted up the beach, apparently unwilling to repeat himself.

"Never mind, Corkee" spoke a cultured, smooth voice. Corky, still standing in the hatch, noticed for the first time the three men standing in the shade of the tarp he and Jake called a shed when working on one of the interminable things needing repair on their seaplane, Cutter's Goose. A slender, and very dapper gentleman picked up the line where Jack let it fall and wrapped it fast to a cleat on the dock. He displays the dexterity of a dock hand, at odds with his elegant tan summer weight linen suit and air of sophisticated gentility. Corky does the same with his end to the cleat on the nose of the Goose, but with much less grace.

"Thanks, Louie." Louie smiled. He is the Magistrate du' Justice of the island, and owner of the two story building that serves as bar, restaurant, hotel, and government center for the island.

"Pas de qua, mon ami."

Waiting until Corky cleared the hatch, Jake started to climb out. A tall figure in the painfully white uniform of a US Navy Lieutenant Commander stepped smartly up to him. "Captain Jake Cutter? Lieutenant Commander Waverly at your service. You've led your government a merry chase."

Jake's jaw dropped, then closed, as he shook his head in puzzlement. "Sorry pal, you must've confused me with someone else."

"Are you denying you're Captain Jake Cutter?" The final figure of the three, burly, well muscled, and wearing a black sleeve band with the white letters S and P moved silently to stand watchfully at Jake's side as he climbed from the nose to the dock. The holstered sidearm at his side looked about as necessary as a hook and eye to keep a bank vault door shut.

"Well you sure have the Jake Cutter part right," dusting off his hands, "but I don't know anything about the Captain part. When I was flying the Clippers I never made it out of the co-pilot's seat."

Lieutenant Commander Waverly steped back as if afraid Jake's dusty hands will contaminate his uniform. "Aren't you one of the mercenaries flying with Chennault's so-called Flying Tigers? I believe you've got five kills to your credit. That would make you an Ace in a real Air Corps – but then you wouldn't have $2500 worth of blood money in the bank."

"Well, I was. Until I was shot down. They said I was grounded until the leg healed enough for combat flying. I've been here ever since." Jake massaged a cramp in his right leg for emphasis. "As for being a real Air Corps, it's real enough when people are shooting at you. And for your information, pal, we didn't think much about the Ace business, we just celebrated staying alive. Same for the blood money – you couldn't exactly count of the regularity of General Chaing paying his "prize" money."

Waverly extends his right hand with an envelope in it. "You're officially an ace now. The status becomes official with your new orders. You won't be getting the pay you're used to, but you will be serving your country."

Jake steps back from the envelope in the Lieutenant Commander's hand as if it were a snake about to bite him. "Orders?"

"Yes. You've managed to stay inactive for over a year now. Don't you think that's long enough?" In a more formal tone, "You are to report to the nearest qualified surgeon for evaluation for returning to active combat flight status."

"Uh, finding a flight surgeon way out here will be quite some trick."

Waverly smiled grimly. "That's one excuse you can't use. We've a qualified surgeon aboard our destroyer - the Hancock. We're to escort you there – at your convenience of course." Jake wasn't sure about the sincerety of the last comment.

Corky slipped away from the group and stepped from the dock, following Jack's direct paw prints up the beach. He trudged, head down, until he almost collides with a slender, young, auburn-haired woman in a light cotton print sun dress. Her shoulders have a light freckle from frequent exposure to the sun.

"Corky …"

"Uhhhh. Hi, Sarah."

Corky was facing Miss Sarah Stickney-White. Graduate of Vassar, world traveler, and then beached in Boragora; singing for her keep at Louie's Monkey Bar. She stood directly in front of him, hands on slim but shapely hips, trying futilely to make eye contact. "Corky, where's Jake?"

"He – he's talking to some guys down at the dock."

"Corky, what's wrong? You look like you just lost your best friend."

Finally Corky's hangdog eyes met Sarah's. "That about sums it up. I'm going for a beer." He tried to step around Sarah.

"Corky? What's that mean?" As she deftly cut back in front of him, one hand on his chest as if to tilt him back enough to see his eyes. "Corky, don't you think it is a little early for a beer? Jake might not like it."

Twin beacons of misery shone through unshed tears as Corky replied "that isn't going to matter much longer." With that he pushed Sarah's hand gently away and continued up to the bar. Mystified, Sarah watched him go and, shrugging, walked on down to the dock.

She strolled up to the group overplaying a wiggle in her walk and a vamping tone in her voice. She's too well mannered to get it right. "Louie, who are all the sailors in the bar?" Before Louie could answer, she turned to Jake with her head to one side. "Hi, Jake. I just saw Corky and he was acting very strangely. He said something about …"

"Just a minute, Sarah. Waverly, this is a pretty poor joke. I'm not in the Air Corps anymore."

"Apparently you've forgotten the papers you signed when you joined up with Chennault's band."

Sarah stamped one dainty foot. She wasn't used to being ignored. "Jake, what's this all about? You didn't tell me you joined the Army."

Jake held up a hand to stall Sarah. "This makes no sense. I was in the Air Corps flying mail years ago. I resigned when I took another flying job. When I was a Tiger, I flew as a civilian contractor. I'm not in the Air Corps. "

Waverly began to look less cool and detached. "C'mon Cutter. You signed the agreement. If the US became involved in the hostilities in Southeast Asia, General Chennault's pilots automatically transfer to the US Army Air Corps. According to Chennault's TO, he's appointed himself a General and you're listed as a squadron commander with the provisionary rank of Captain. We know you have 'other combat flying experience' and that counts toward your rank as Captain."

Jake thought back to the fluidity of General Chennault's organization. He never had a proper TO. Too many people were coming and going, and too many never came back from missions. Pilots flew in whatever squadron had the most working planes. Corky, for all his faults with the bottle had kept him in a flyable plane more often than most. But, no one had ever called him a squadron commander.

Jake shook his head. "This has to be a mistake."

Waverly thrust the envelope back at Jake. "The only mistake here will be your continued refusal to report, Cutter."

Jake finally took the envelope and stared at the sealed flap. "Well, when am I supposed to report?"

"You're overdue."

Jakes thumb paused under the edge of the flap. "Overdue? – this is the first I've heard of it."

"You were sent formal notification when the tensions between Japan and the United States increased."

Jake moved his head in emphatic negative motions. "I never saw any such notification …"

"Jake, mon ami." Louie stepped between the two men. "I have already assured these gentlemen that had such a communication come for you I would have presented it immediately. I explained to them the irregularity of the mail, especially foreign mail." Louie's voice dripped disdain as if only French mail could be on time. Bonne Chance Louie looks back at Lieutenant Commander Waverly as if to re-emphasize his point. "The mail is somewhat slow here in the French Marivellas."

"Thanks Louie." Jake tried a different tack. "So, you guys off the Hancock?"

Waverly held his formality like a shield. "That's right. We're holding station a few miles off shore."

"I crossed over you when I came in. I was surprised to see an American warship in these waters."

"It's just a short distance from our assigned duty post."

"Pretty lonely for a duty post out in the middle of nowhere. What are you guys doing out there?"

"As far as you are concerned, we are just on routine patrol. We received authorization to do some limited reprovisioning here and soak up some shore leave. BuPers heard you might be hiding around here and asked us to see if we could get you to respond to your notification. Frankly, I don't understand your reluctance, your country needs you."

Jake looked at the piles of cargo on the dock. Some of them were goods he had contracted to deliver. Their customers needed him. "I have some commitments here I need to honor."

Waverly shrugged. "We're instructed to escort you to the Hancock in the morning, unless you would rather go this evening. After your physical, we will escort you back here to pack what you will need. You'll have until the clipper leaves to resolve any important issues." Again, the tone of voice implied that nothing Jake was concerned about could be very important.

Sarah tried to protest. Louie gently took her arm and placed his finger upright in front of his lips signifying she stay quiet.

Jake's shoulders sag. "What do I do then?"

Waverly sensed victory. "The clipper is here in a week and you are authorized proceed to China aboard her. You'll be able to rejoin your unit by supply transport."

"You guys take a lot for granted."

Another white suited shrug. "Your country needs …"

"… you. Yeah, you already said that." Jake wiped his forehead, knocking his cap askew. "Well, I guess that says it all. With this news, I think I need a beer." Jake starts to turn to leave. He stops. "Oh, do you have orders for Corky?"

Waverly shook his head. "The Air Corps isn't required to provide employment for surplus personnel."

Jake looked at Louie and back to Waverly. "You don't understand - he was my mechanic when I flew for the Tigers. Surely he's part of the agreement."

"He's not required."

"But he's the best mechanic in the Pacific. I'll need him if I'm flying combat."

"The Army Air Corps has all the mechanics they need. The biggest need is for experienced pilots."

Jake started to shake his head. "Hey, Corky is more than just a mechanic - he's my friend. We look out for each other. I can't just go off and leave him."

Waverly was unmoved. "Our only concern is to make sure you report for duty."

"Well, we'll just see about that." Jake stormed ahead of the others up the hill. He barged through a pair of bat wing doors into a dark wood-paneled room filled with hot, sweating patrons and cigarette smoke. He headed straight for the long low Mahagony and leather bar, passing Jack, who laps beer from a china soup bowl. As Louie entered the bar, Sarah in tow, Jake turned to ask "Louie, can I borrow your radio? I need to straighten this out."

Louie looked sad. "Jake, I am sorry, but I'm not able to do that."

"Why on earth not? It's not right they are leaving him out. Do you think I'm going back into combat without Corky?"

"I don't think that would be a good idea, my friend."

"Well, what am I supposed to do?"

"You might leave Corky here. We will take good care of him until you return."

Corky stood looking like a lost pup. "Jake, you go ahead. I can stay here."

"Corky, I need you. You are the best mechanic there is. You are my best chance for coming back."

"Aw Jake, they don't want some booze-brained loser like me. They'll find you a good mechanic."

Jack barked once.

"I'll be ok here, and I can look after the Goose till you get back."

Jack barked once more.

"Besides Jake," Sarah pleaded, "Corky is my piano player. I need him here."

Jack, determined not to be ignored, barked once more, loudly.

"Oh be quiet, Jack. You aren't helping any."

"Sarah's right, Jake. Corky can stay and work off your considerable bill to the Monkey Bar for lodging and damages."

Jake looks at the warm brown bottle in his hand. "You've got it all figured out, don't you?" He took all of his friends in in one angry glance. "All of you."

"It's for the best, mon ami."

Jake placed the empty bottle on the bar. "Who's best? I'm going for some air."

As Jake starts to leave, Sarah turned to follow. Louie stopped her with a hand and gently shakes his head no. Sarah stopped and watched Jake push through the door into the late afternoon sun. Louie shook his head and turned to go to his office leaving Sarah and Corky at the bar.

Sarah tried to cheer up her friend and piano player. "Corky, we'll figure something out."

"Sure. I think I'll go work on the Goose - though it doesn't look like Jake'll need her, or me, much longer." With that he trudged through the door and down to the docks.

Sarah Meets a Friend

Just after dinner, before her first set, Sarah sits at her usual table, alone. A sandy-haired, nondescript Warrant Officer in a white uniform walked up. "Is this chair taken?"

"I'm not in the mood for company, sailor." Sarah's voice was as frosty as the ice blue color of her evening dress.

He pulled the chair out. "Oh, I'm sorry. I was going to ask how your father was."

"My father? How do you know my father?" Sarah's voice took on an excited tone.

"My name is Josh Winters. I was a sociology major before I joined up. I took his course in Ancient Egyptian studies. Thought it might help me understand the world a little better."

Sarah smoothed her dress as she sat up straight in her chair. "Oh, well sit down. I'd love to hear what daddy was like in the classroom."

Josh gingerly sat down. "Are you sure? You said you didn't want company."

"Well, if you knew my dad, that's different. I never sat in any of his classes. I just went with him on some of the digs. He was a terror to the students there. Can I have Gushie bring you something from the bar?" She turned to try to spot Gushie weaving through the crowd. This wasn't easy as Gushie's head rarely rose above the heads of seated patrons. This was a function of his lack of legs and constant confinement to a wheel chair.

"No, that's OK."

Sarah turned back to look at Josh. Her expression is strangely distant. "Well all right. He's dead you know."

"I beg your pardon?" Josh looked sympathetic.

"My father, he was murdered in Egypt just a few years ago." Sarah's voice is flat as if she is trying to restrain a strong emotion. One she is not willing to share.

"I was sorry to hear that. He was a brilliant man." Josh waited, wondering just how empty-headed Sarah Stickney-White really is.

"OK, you knew my father, still, how did you recognize me? Wait a minute … you knew he was dead? And you still asked me how he was?"

"Please, Miss White, not so loud." Josh leaned forward. "I really did know your father, both in and out of the classroom, if you get my meaning. You've done a pretty good job following in his shoes."

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about. Just who are you?"

"Like I said, I'm Warrant Officer Josh Winters. I'm assigned to the Hancock for my communications specialty. We spend a lot of time in this area. I thought this would be a good chance for us to finally meet face to face."

Sarah looked at him suspiciously. Her first thought was that this wasn't the first graduate student of her father's to make a pass at her. "Whadda you mean, finally meet face to face?"

"Well, usually we are just dots and dashes to each other."

"Oh!" Sarah turned to stare at her drink. "Oh!"

"So, Miss White, I'd love to know more about your father." Louder, more obvious.

"Oh! … Oh!" Sarah tried to collect herself, knowing that right now she sounded like one of Louie's old, scratched phonograph records. The ones he used to play before she started singing in the bar. "Please excuse me, I just never really expected to meet someone … out here … who knew my ... my father. This is quite extraordinary."

"He talked often about you. You must have been very close."

"Yes, when Mother died, we only had each other. I sort of took over taking care of him. I wanted to help his work then, but he insisted I finish my studies. I arranged to be with him as often as I could." Sarah is impressed by how Josh never stops scanning the bar. He is always aware of who comes and goes.

A tall slender man in white suit, black shirt and priest's collar entered the bar. He removed his white hat to reveal thick yellow hair. His walk is almost a march, and his carriage very erect. The face was strong, even handsome. The eyes are very blue, and somehow disciplined. They seemed to look at, and evaluate every person in the bar. Josh turned away from the door as if to focus more on Sarah. He couldn't help thinking that that was not such a horrible task. The delicate, pointed face with large eyes and dark auburn curls provided a pleasing vista, and the freckles seem to contain a Morse Code message he would love to decode. "Do you know that German who just came in the door?"

Sarah had to lean toward him "What did you say?"

"The tall German in the priest get up – who's he?"

"OH," Sarah smiled. "That's just Reverend Tenboom. He's no German, he's Dutch. He's a missionary on the island. I can introduce you if you would like."

"No. No. I've seen him before, and he's no Dutchman. He's Wehrmacht. Do you know what his game here is?"

Sarah smiled tolerantly. "You must be mistaken. He's a Dutch Reformed minister. His church is located at the other end of the village. He has a small flock he's very devoted to – some more than others – if you get my meaning." Sarah feels a small core of doubt. Reverend Tenboom has always seemed more old-world Prussian to her, than Dutch, but many of the New England pastors she had known growing up had the same sort of stiff formality.

Josh started to rise. "Maybe, but I can't risk being seen by him. I'm going out by the private dining room. Washington needs to hear about this. We had no idea Germany was interested in this island. Come to think of it, maybe we'd better contact them from your room. It would look less suspicious than me going back to the ship right now."

Sarah looked uncertain. "Do you think you ought to do that? It might call attention to us."

"We've already established our bona fides to any eavesdroppers."

Sarah still wasn't happy. "But you know what people will think we are doing."

"It's all part of the business, baby. Let's go." Reluctantly Sarah lead the way out of the bar with Josh keeping his face tucked close to her shoulder. He snagged a bottle and two glasses off a table as they walk by. "This will make it more convincing."

"I don't know that I want to be that convincing." Sarah looked around hoping none of her friends noticed her departure in Josh's company.

In Sarah's room, they contacted the ship and relayed a message to Washington. Little did Sarah know that that simple coded message would start Willi Tenboom on a five year journey to a cold, empty death near Leningrad in wintry Russia. Josh reviewed the rest of the message.

"Says here that there's a German sub in the area and Washington wants to know where its tender is. They want to use it to find the sub. A sub in these waters could cause our allies a lot of problems. Wants us to check it out. Any ideas?"

"What's a tender?"

"That's the ship that keeps the submarine supplied with fuel, ammunition, and parts. Any replacement crew usually serves aboard the tender until needed."

"What does a tender look like?"

Josh shrugged. "That's just it. It could look like anything as long as it has the cargo space, and ability to lift loads on board. It could be a tramp freighter, fake passenger liner, even a bogus hospital ship."

Sarah checked some notes in a tattered notebook she kept with her radio. "Well, there haven't been any strange ships calling here. If they're coming in to get supplies, they'd have to be going to Tagataya."

Josh stares at the floor. "How would we check that out? We sure can't take a destroyer in there looking for it."

"Louie needs medical supplies. I could offer to get them and take some time to look around."

Josh looked at Sarah's costume for signing. "Will he let you?"

She waved a hand in assurance. "Oh sure. I've run errands for him before."

"I see. OK. How will you get there?"

Sarah smiled. "That's easy, silly. I'll just have Jake fly me there."

"Jake? Oh, you mean Captain Cutter. Is that a good idea? I mean, can you trust him?"

Sarah looked at Josh as if he were a retarded child. "Jake Cutter's not just the best pilot in these islands, he's the only pilot. If you need this information quickly, he's your only choice."

"Well, all right. I'm just concerned about him disappearing on us." Josh replied unhappily.

"I don't think I like that crack, mister. Jake's my friend and a good one. He's as true blue as you. Now, I've got to get back downstairs for my first set. I have to keep up my cover, you know."

Josh eases out of sight of the door. "You go ahead. I'll slip out behind you. Even if we don't care what people think, it wouldn't do to be too obvious."

"I'll be very happy if you aren't seen. I'm afraid I do care what people think. I've a reputation to uphold." Sarah started for the door.

"Trust me, this'll only enhance it."

She paused, her hand on the door knob. She spoke over her shoulder, almost as if speaking more to herself. "I've never liked that phrase. It seems every time I hear 'Trust me', something awful happens. Like when my daddy was murdered." She left the room.

Jake was hurrying up from the beach to catch Sarah's show. He wanted to apologize for being a heel. He also hoped one of the sailors had brought in some new songs for Sarah's routine. Much as he liked Sarah, he was honest enough to know that she wasn't a very good singer and relied more on her looks than her talent. He saw her on the balcony. He didn't call out; he knew she probably wouldn't hear him over the sounds from the bar below. He started forward out of the shadows just as a dim white figure exited Sarah's room, looked furtively about, and goes the other way. Jake stops to watch.

Jake Starts a Fight

After the unknown sailor faded from sight, Jake walked on into the bar. There're the usual locals, some passengers waiting for the Clipper to come in, and a number of sailors. He didn't want to admit how disturbed he was over what he thought he had seen. He never saw Sarah that way. He admitted he'd always kind of kept her on a pedestal.

She wasn't what you could call a beauty. The auburn hair was nice, and the dusting of freckles across her nose were fun to study. Many of the local girls, at first glance, were more exotic looking. And her figure, while trim, wasn't outstanding. Again, at first glance, any number of native girls had her beat. Except, you found yourself looking forward to her walking by. The curves were there, and they moved together so well. No matter what she wore, you were conscious of her movement. She was just fun to watch. If she were an airplane, Jake would have had to classify her as a purebred racer. Yeah, other planes could have bigger engines, more aggressive lines, but you just knew at the end of the race she would be out in front. That was the problem, Sarah was all class. Clear out of his class. But what Jake had just seen didn't fit with the image. Absent mindedly he ordered a bottle of beer, looking down the neck into the foam as if it were hiding an answer.

"So you're the one we're chasing all over this ocean for."

Jake looked up startled from his reverie. "I beg your pardon. You speaking to me?"

Sailor lurched forward. "Yeah, I'm speakin' to you. Why'd they send a destroyer to this god-forsaken hole to find a chicken pilot?"

"Hey pal, it's not like that. I just hadn't heard, that's all."

"An' I say you're chicken."

Jake started to turn away. The sailor made clucking sounds to his pals who laughed. Corky spoke out.

"Hey, buddy, you ever hear of a Messcherschmidt 109?"

"Yeah, that's the hot little German number giving our fighters such a hard time in Europe – it's on our recognition cards for gunnery training. What about 'em? He ain't likely to find one of those here."

"Naw, he shot them down in Spain, using an open cockpit biplane, a Breguet BR 19." Jack, who'd been watching Corky, barked twice.

"Aw, I don't know what all that means, but I figger he's just lucky." Jack barked once. "Be still you mutt."

Jake turned to Corky with a bottle of beer in his hand as an offering. "Corky, let it go."

Corky blasted on, eager to defend his friend. "If … if he'd only done it once, you'd be right. He did it more than once."

Jack barked twice and the sailor kicked him. Jack yelped.

Jake held out his hand. "Hey, there's no need to kick the dog."

"Worthless mutt's been under foot all evening."

Jake carefully held onto his temper. "Mister, I'll tell you this just once. Please don't kick my dog. You shouldn't do that."

"Your dog. It figures. He's as useless as you are." The sailor looked at his buddies for support.

Jake felt like his face was about to crack from the effort of keeping a smile on his face. "Look, say anything you want about me, but Jack doesn't deserve that."

"Chicken pilot, chicken dog. Nobody here can keep me from sayin whatever I want."

Jake's reply was a roundhouse left that sent the sailor flying back against his friends' table, mashing it and his nose flat.

As sailors leapt up to avoid the falling body, one used his momentum to rush forward, butting Jake against the bar, knocking bottles and glasses all around. Gushie glided back from the action, getting out a note pad and listing damages.

Jake kneed his attacker in the face as he attempted to duck the awkward swing of yet another sailor. Corky, seeing his partner out numbered, attempted to haul one sailor back only to be knocked against the piano where he dazedly sank to the stool.

Louie came from the office, to see Sarah backed against the bar trying to hold her drink above the fray, and Jake take a hard thrown punch in the face. The punch opened a gash above Jake's eye.

Tsking, Louie walked down the stairs to the bar floor. Gushie held up his pad as Louie walked by, earning an approving nod.

"Enough." Without raising his voice he gained the attention of half the room. Some sailors starting to enter the fray stopped and sat down at an undamaged table.

Another sailor, recoiling from one of Jake's hastily aimed punches started to collide with Louie, who stepped back, tripped him, and placed an immaculately polished black left shoe on the man's chest, preventing him from rising.

"Enough!" although only marginally louder, this caused all combatants to pause. Jake took the opportunity to shake his head, trying to clear the blood from his eyes. Louie shook his head. "What's the meaning of all this?"

Jake swayed forward. "Louie, it's my fault. I lost my temper and threw a punch. I should have known better."

Louie held out his hand and Gushie placed the totaled inventory of damages in his fingers with a smoothness born of much practice. Louie's eyebrows peaked at the total.

"Wait a minute, Jake." Corky blurted out. "That's not fair. Louie, he only punched the bozo for kicking Jack."

"Is this so?" Louie looked at Jack.

Jack barked twice. He trotted over and placed one paw on the arm of the downed sailor with a small whine.

"That one." Corky pointed at the same sailor under Louie's foot.

"You?" Louie looked down at the sailor as if he were something unpleasantly odorous sticking to his shoe. "Kicking a dog is a very serious offense." Jack barked twice. "Thank you, Jack. We have laws in the mandate about abusing animals, monsieur."

Louie leaned down and placed Gushie's bill in the sailor's pocket.

The sailor managed to pull the slip from his pocket and read the total. "Hey, you can't pin this on me."

Jack barked twice.

Louie smiled. "You are unhurt, Jack?"

Jack barked twice.

"Bien. You are fortunate, monsieur that the dog is uninjured and does not wish to press charges."

The sailor squirms, still unable to rise with Louie's foot on his chest. "What kind of looney bin is this? Dogs doan understand talk."

"This is no looney bin, monsieur. Jack is a respected patron of this establishment."

"He's a stupid mutt."

"You are entitled to your error, monsieur." Louie leaned more heavily on his left foot, crossing his arms on his raised knee to look in the sailor's face. "You are also entitled to pay the damages in lieu of a fine. I shall expect the payment in the morning or I shall speak to your commanding officer. I'm sure he will take a dim view of your failing to – how you say – square your debts – with the establishment." Louie lifted his foot, leaving a black mark on the white shirt. "Oh, and you are through here for this evening - fini."

The sailor continued to protest as his friends lead him from the bar.

Sarah started to look at Jake's eye. He shrugged off her attentions, more brusquely than usual. "I gotta see if Jack is OK. Jack, come here boy."

Jack barked once.

"What's wrong? It wasn't my fault was it?" Two barks.

"Aw c'mon, Jack. I didn't swing until he kicked you. I was trying to protect you."

One bark.

"It figures. A great end to a great day."

Sarah tried once more. "C'mon, Jack. Show a little gratitude. Jake, let me look at that eye."

"It's all right. I don't need your attention."

"Well, that's a fine attitude." Sarah pointed at a stool, eyes flashing. "Now you sit down here and let me look at that eye."

"It'll be ok."

Sarah points again. "I'm going to make sure. I need you to fly me over to Tagataya."

"What for?"

"I'm going to pick up medical supplies for Louie. It might take a couple of days to get them together so I'm going to stay over." Sarah gently sponged blood away from Jake's face. She leaned against him to wash the rag out in a bowl of water Gushie obligingly put on the bar for that purpose.

"Don't do that." Jake pulled slightly away from her.

"Do what?"

Jake tried to set some space between them. "Do you have to lean against me like that?"

Sarah stood straight, cloth in hand. "Jake, what's wrong?"

Jake looked down. "I don't want to talk about it."

Sarah looked faintly hurt, and puzzled at the same time. "Jake, is there something I've done?"

"I said I don't want to talk about it."

"Well, all right." Sarah resumed sponging the cut above Jake's eye. "We'll talk about something else. What was it Corky said? He said you flew against Messcherschmidts in Germany?"

"Corky's got a big mouth. Ow!" Jake winces. "No, I flew against them in Spain."

"During the Spanish Civil War? You were there?"

"Yeah, I was there until they started pulling the American brigades out.

"I never knew." Sarah said softly as she attempted to get the cut to close with crossed strips of tape. Her deft manner suggested that she had had a lot of practice on Jake. "What on earth were you doing?"

Jake shrugged, wishing he hadn't. "I wasn't going anywhere with the clipper run and I ran into an old school buddy from Cornell. He talked me into it. When he joined the Abraham Lincoln Battalion in the Republican Army, Corky and I tagged along. I flew whatever I could find that would fly. Corky's Spanish let him be my interpreter as well as mechanic."

"But why'd you go fight in someone else's silly old Civil War?"

Jake finally met Sarah's eyes. He noticed again how lovely they are. "Well, it was an opportunity to fly."

"But people're shooting at you. That's dangerous." Sarah shakes her head.

"That was the point." For a moment, Jake forgot why he was upset with Sarah. He spoke with intensity. "Flying mail I went up against every combination of wind and weather and machine you could imagine. Combat was the final test - someone doing their best to kill me. You always tried to make sure the other guy did the dieing, but the chance of death put an extra edge on the flying, made you feel more alive.

"But, Jake, was it worth it?"

His voice softened. "There was a guy in our unit, Bill Bailey, who wrote to his mother explaining why he was fighting. I remember the gist of what he wrote because it spoke for all of us … He told his mom about how many of the things you do in life are little more than just existing. How, in Spain thousands of mothers never had a fair shake in life. They'd elected a government that mattered to them, but a bunch of bullies wanted to take it away. We were there to help those poor people win the battle for their better future. Some folks thought it was about Communism, but it wasn't really. The Hitlers and Mussolinis out there were killing Spanish people who didn't know the difference between Communism and rheumatism. We just wanted to help them try to win what was rightfully theirs."

"Golly, Jake. You sound like a crusader."

Jake looked embarrassed. "Someone had to do something. At first, I didn't think about why. I guess when someone starts shooting at you; it really clarifies in your mind why you're doing whatever it is you're doing."

Sarah put the bandages and other materials away. "So joining the Flying Tigers was just bouncing from one crusade to another?"

"When they started pulling the American brigades out, I had Corky head out with the ground troops. I flew out a little later. Corky and I managed to link back up in all the confusion and we grabbed the first ship heading toward home. We actually ended up down in South America. Was bumming from one flying job to another, when I ran into Chennault and he made his pitch. Seemed like a good opportunity."

Suddenly Sarah changed the subject. "Jake, can I ask you a favor?"

"I don't know how much I can promise these days."

"This is easy. I really do need you to fly me to Tagataya for a couple of days and then bring me back. Can you do that please?" She whispered "I'm on a mission."

"Sure, I guess. As long as you're coming back before the Clipper leaves for China. When do you want to go?"

"Day after tomorrow. I've got a lot to do to get ready, and Louie is radioing tomorrow to arrange the shipment."

She pressed down on a corner of tape over a gauze patch she had used to protect the ridge of Jake's eye and stepped back to evaluate the result.

Jake felt his brow and winced at his own touch. "Thanks, Sarah."

She gave him her best smile. "What are friends for?"

Jake felt guilty for the way he'd acted but he was still upset. The battling emotions give him a headache. "Yeah. Think I'll turn in. Tomorrow could be a long day."

Friends Aren't What They Seem

As Jake moved away from the bar, Louie moved to take his place. Reverend Tenboom slid furtively in behind him.

Sarah looked at Louie. "Can you believe Jake actually fought in the Spanish Civil war?"

"Our Jake is not what he seems, ma Cherie. I've made a few inquiries. Discrete, of course. It's really quite amazing." Jack, still hanging around in hopes of another beer, barked twice.

Sarah looked for and found where she had set down her glass of wine. "What do you mean?"

"Jake seems to have a knack for flying in out-of-the way places – dangerous places. Unlike the circus, there is no safety net. In Spain he was assigned as air support for the Republican Army ground troops. He was young and inexperienced. They gave him a very out of date Nieuport-Dulage NiD 52. A very fine open cockpit biplane fighter for its day, but certainly not up to the standards of the modern aircraft appearing against it in Spain."

Taking a sip of her wine. "Why were all these people meddling in a Spanish affair?"

Louie's face breaks into a humorless smile. "There were many reasons, I suppose. I think we all knew that war in Europe was coming. Soldiers wanted experience, equipment needed testing. Where better than on someone else's soil, n'est-ce pas? And of course, there were the idealists, like our Jake."

Sarah looked disgusted. "That's pretty cold blooded."

"Oui. But it is reality." Louie looked around to find the Reverend Tenboom listening over his shoulder.

"Ja, dere iss always someone to take advantage of others' misfortune. What did Jake do in Spain?"

Louie half turned to include both in his conversation. "Well, as I said, he flew the Nieuport, and, as Corky said, the Breguet. He was one of those, even though an American, selected to fly the Polikarpov I-16 when it was delivered by the Russians. When things started looking hopeless for the Republican army, all American's were told to evacuate. He said he flew out. That is a poor description for what he really did. He sent Corky out and stayed behind against orders. He continued to fly."

"He vas committed. Dat iss gut."

Sarah disagreed. "That was stupid! He should have left when ordered."

"Maybe, ma Cherie, but he did not and saved many lives. When the Russians pulled out their new aeroplanes, he went back to flying whatever was there to fly."

Sarah appeared to feel that proved her point. "Wasn't that dangerous?"

"Oui. According to my source, who was my aide when I was ambassador, Jake was shot down near an enemy airfield manned by the German Condor squadron. He survived the crash and infiltrated the airfield perimeter. He attacked a Condor pilot and took his place just before a squadron of Bf109 Messerschmitts took off the next morning. When he found the Condor Squadron were about to attack Republican ground troops, he shot down six before making his escape."

"Mein Gott! That was either very brave or very foolish."

"D'accord. He landed at an aerodrome in my native France with guns empty and no petrol in his tanks. He landed the plane … how you say … dead stick."

"No… dat iss no easy task. The Bf109 is very tail heavy, and the landing carriage very close together. It is very difficult to control without power."

Sarah looked surprised. "How would a Dutch minister know that?" She remembered how Josh had said Willi was actually a German soldier. Now she had to wonder.

Willie looked uncomfortable.

"When I was a little boy I always wanted to be the fighter pilot. Alas, I grew too big to fit in the cockpit." He holds out his arms to illustrate his size. "Me und my friend Axel both wanted to fly the aeroplanes.

"My friend Axel, he run away to Churmany to become a Luftwaffe pilot. He came home on holiday before leaving for Africa. His mother und father were very angry. But he looked so good in der uniform. I vas preparing to come here. We had one last evening together. He told me he vas to fly der Bf109 and vas very proud of it. But he said it vas not for everyone. The Bf109 is not a forgiving aeroplane."

"How did Axel feel about you becoming a minister?" Sarah asked curiously.

"How did he feel? Oh, he vas surprised. Ja, Axel was very surprised with my taking holy orders. We were considered very wild growing up." Willi leaned toward them as he warmed to his story.

"Dere vere these twin sisters who lived on de farm where our families vould buy milk." His hands described an exaggerated hourglass shape. The top held more capacity for sand than the bottom. "Axel and I vere growing boys. We were very interested in milk. We vould often valk to der local dairy farm. They vere very accommodating." Seeing the look from Sarah. "ja, they vere very accommodating." A slight smile crossed his face at some memory. He saw Sarah's face and the smile died. "They would help us mit our needs. For milk. That vas vhat they did."

"I'll just bet they did."

"Oh ja! They were such devout girls. Always speaking of seeing the priest and seeking blessings. They taught Axel und me much about a woman's need for blessings. Their devotion … inspired me. Dat iss zo very true. I must say that I would not be the priest I am today vere it not for their … example … their utter devotion."

With that, Willi turned his head, his body following, and he marched out the door.

Sarah giggled.

Louie sighed, "C'est la vie. Do you suppose, my little bird, that we could have just one little song before the time for your first set is over? Vite, Vite."

Jake Sees the Surgeon

The next morning, Jake walked down to the Goose to find that Corky had once again pulled the starboard engine carburetor to rebuild it. Since that killed his plans to fly the Goose out to the Hancock, he hunted up the Lieutenant Commander and requested a ride. The Lt. Commander detailed two sailors to the duty. One had an eye as black as his mood and spent his time glaring at Jake. The other, a young Ensign named Riley was full of questions.

"I'd give anything to be going where you're going. Isn't it great?"

Jake tried to be non-committal. "It's OK, I guess."

Riley leaned forward waving his arms about the empty horizon. "OK? It's a whole lot better than just sitting on an empty ocean scrubbing decks. At least you'll be doing something."

"Look, Riley, I've already been there. I've sat hours, just like you, waiting for something to happen. Then I've had to watch men give their lives for a piece of ground only to have the survivors lose it the next day. I've seen men bombed by people on their own side. Sometimes you're glad to be doing nothing."

Riley didn't get it. "But you at least see the enemy."

"Not really. One set of goggles and helmet looks just like any other. Besides," now Jake leans forward, "are you sure he's the enemy. He's just another guy serving his country, like you."

If Jake hoped that would stall Riley he was wrong. "But you get to prove you're better than the other guy."

"Yeah, sometimes - and sometimes you're the one shot down."

"But you're an Ace - a hero."

"Being a hero doesn't put fuel in your tank or pay the bills."

"Your parents must be proud."

Jake turned to look out to sea – hoping to see the Hancock. "My mother is dead, and my father is embarrassed I'm alive."

"I'm sorry."

Jake was ashamed for his slip. He hasn't talked to anyone about his past. That's been one of the advantages of Boragora. People don't tend to ask about your past. "Don't be. You didn't know."

"Why would any dad be embarrassed his son is alive? I just don't get it."

"Look … Riley … it's what happens when your parents aren't married. I don't even know why I'm talking about this. If your dad is rich and influential, he might not want to have an illegitimate brat hanging around. Get it?"

Jake couldn't be upset or rude with Riley. He just didn't know. He probably had a real family. For him, war was what he'd read in dime novels and pulp fiction. He hadn't seen pieces of friends you'd just been talking to strewn on the ground. He hadn't been in a trench face to face with a kid just as scared as he was – each of you expected to kill the other. Jake'd rather started a baseball game and let the winning team run things. It would have made as much sense.

Riley appointed himself as Jake's personal guide about the destroyer and eventually led him to the infirmary. The surgeon was waiting. The next forty five minutes were a pretty routine flight physical. The surgeon looked closely at the scars on Jake's leg, had him do some deep knee bends and run in place for ten minutes.

"Well son, you look fit to me. Does the leg ever bother you?"

"Not really."

"Why hadn't you tried to return to your unit?"

"I don't know. I was just taking one day at a time and there didn't seem to be any hurry. My friend Gandy had managed to take some time off to go treasure hunting so it didn't seem there could be anything too urgent about getting back."

"I never would have thought of treasure hunting out here. Did he find anything?"

"Yeah. In a manner of speaking. He died from a native's poison arrow. The people he was helping buried him like the son of a King."

"I'm sorry. But you've had a good break from combat flying, at least."

"You know, doc, that's funny. One day, flying a mission, I flew against two brothers. I shot one of them down. A few months ago the other brother hunted me up. It was a vengeance thing. He called it honto ni. To keep him from killing my friends I had to duel him in the air, with a pair of stolen Kawasaki fighters."

"What happened?"

"We shot each other down. I bailed out – he didn't. I don't think he wanted to."

"So you have six Japanese kills."

"I'm not counting that one. In fact, I'll never keep count again."

The surgeon looks at Jake for a long time. "Son, I have to pronounce you fit to fly. I wish I didn't, but your country needs you."

"Thanks, doc. I've already heard that speech twice."

As Jake leaves the infirmary, he finds Riley waiting for him in the passage way.

"Did he pass you?"

"Yep."

"That's great. You'll be back in the air in no time, with a real airplane."

Jake tenses at the slight to the Goose. "I've got a real airplane."

"That broken down old boat. You can't compare that to a fighter. No speed, no maneuverability."

"Don't sell the Goose short. It may not be sleek, but it is fast enough, and she's got a few moves you wouldn't expect. Besides, it takes more brains to fly her than a fighter."

"I can't believe that."

"It's true. You've got to keep those big radials in synch, keep her trimmed, and you want a challenge, try landing out on that water. You do that with a fighter, you're goin' down."

"Maybe, but at least with a fighter you can shoot back."

"You know, one thing I've learned here, is that you don't always want to shoot back. If you don't hunt trouble, you have a better chance of staying alive."

"I didn't expect you to say that. Not with five kills to your credit."

"Sure, five kills, two probables, and how many families wrecked. Five men dead. They follow you, wherever you go."

"Say, I was thinking. They only counted the planes you shot down in China. How many did you shoot down in Spain?"

Jake stops to consider. An old movie reel runs behind his eyelids as he sees his tracers ripping through ground troops and smoke trails as planes spiral out of the sky. It seems so long ago, except in his nightmares. And the final image of a Japanese fighter crashing. His memory plays a nasty trick on him and shows the pilot trapped inside on the way down. Not so much mechanically trapped, but trapped by his version of tradition and honor.

"Riley, I don't know. Everybody was too busy fighting for their lives to keep score."

Jake was starting to get annoyed and walked away before he lost his temper. As he made his way back to Boragora he finally figured out what bothered him about Ensign Riley. It wasn't Riley's fault his naive enthusiasm made Jake feel old.

The Rest of the Story

It's evening when Josh approached Sarah at her table. Sarah was between sets, relaxing, and sipping a glass of white wine. "Mind if I join you?"

"Please do, I'd love to hear you tell me more about my father." More softly "everything's arranged. Jake is flying me to Tagataya in the morning."

"I wanted to talk to you about that. Why are you using him? The surgeon said our flyboy wasn't in any hurry to return to duty. We also suspect he has Communist sympathies."

Sarah's eyes flashed and for an instant Josh saw past the fluff that he had almost begun to believe. "Now you listen here, buster. Jake Cutter is as much a patriot as you or I. I mean look at it. Look how he turned in that German spy. That cost him plenty. Don't you think I don't know it. Look how he stopped those German scientists when your man was down. Do you think those the actions of someone who wasn't a patriot, or a coward?"

"Actually, Miss White, I wasn't aware of his involvement in those episodes. It wasn't mentioned in your reports."

Sarah withdrew behind a defensive expression. "Well, I, ah, I had to keep transmissions short. I couldn't broadcast every detail."

"I see, so you left Captain Cutter out of all of it."

Sarah looked down at her glass of white wine as if it had suddenly turned to vinegar. "Yes, I did. It seemed too complicated to explain."

"And you didn't want to admit you had help …"

"So what if I didn't. I've had a hard enough time getting you people to take me seriously after Sam was murdered. I've a job to do here and darn few resources. I've had to use everything, and everyone, I could to keep up with your requests. I've used Jake, and I don't like admitting it."

"Do you care for him?" Josh was concerned. The last thing he needed was Sarah becoming emotionally involved with a potential traitor.

"That is none of your business." The indignation died down a little. "I don't know, really. We're friends at least – most of the time. We kind'a look out for each other. Sometimes I want to wring his neck – but when everyone thought I was dead in the Philippines, he was the one who risked everything. He flew that wreck of his all the way out there to find me. He wouldn't believe I was dead. He found me and saved McArthur at the same time. And he never asked for anything in return. Sometimes I think he's just swell, and others I think he's just swell-headed. He's had some hard knocks in his life, but he can still be charming when he wants to. It's part of what drives me so crazy."

Josh replies, "Yes, Ensign Reilly told me what he said about his father."

Sarah's indignation flared again. "I just think that's just wrong. He should be proud of Jake. And I don't want him to go away and die in China."

"Sarah," Josh said gently as he took her hand. "Somewhere, someday, I hope to have a friend like you."

Sarah looked up in surprise, her eyes glistening in the light. "Why surely you have friends."

"I have associates. I've never been close to anyone. It's too easy to lose them in this business. I hope for your sake, you never have to face that with Captain Cutter."

Thinking back to a tall, brown-haired man who seemed to have more hands than an octopus has tentacles, and the smiling face of her father, Sarah's face turned determined. "I've had all of that I wanted."

The Princess or the Snake

That same evening, in Tagataya three German Army officers walk into Princes Koji's establishment. The Captain looked exactly like Reverend Tenboom, except for the uniform. He walked up to Todo as he stood guard near a door discretely concealed by lush foliage in large pots.

"I vish to see the Princess. She iss expecting me."

Todo bowed to the officer, but somehow it seemed more mocking than respectful. He opened the door and slipped through before the Germans can move to follow. The door closed firmly in their faces. A few moments later the door opened allowing a young girl to leave, who looked at the three men, hiding a soft giggle behind her ceremonial fan. Todo opened the door wider.

"You may enter."

AS the Captain stepped into the office, Todo stepped past to the bar and closed the door behind him. The remaining two officers, startled, begin to protest. Todo placed his hand on his sword.

"Silence. You wait here."

Seeing no choice, the Germans step back not knowing what to do with themselves. Todo merely stood there smiling. It was not a nice smile.

Inside, a beautiful woman stepped from behind a desk and moves forward. Some called her Dragon Lady. Others called her a Princess. Both were right. She glided toward the Army Officer with a mocking half smile on her face. She's wearing a form fitting silk sheath dress that looks like cherry blossoms cascading all the way to the floor. The low neckline and long slit up the side of the skirt teased the eyes away from the woman's face. Which was the intent.

"Kapitan Tenboom, how nice to see you." She stopped to look him over from head to foot. "You know, I haven't decided if I like you better in uniform or in your priest garb. Which is the real you?"

"You should consider a man without his clothes, Princess."

The flash of an instant leer. "Oh, I assure you I do, Willi."

Willi sputtered. "That is nodt what I meant, Princess. The man is vhat he iss midtout the clothes."

"I completely agree."

The mocking tone and knowing smile defeated Willie. The Princess changes the subject. "I trust the arrangements for your vessels have been satisfactory." Even this business-like query had the tone of another ribald comment.

Willie decided to duck. "Most excellent, Princess. The fuel deliveries have been on time, und most discrete. Our sailors are getting tired of smoked fish, but of course, that iss what ve haff. And the Japanese weapons are almost as good as those of the Reich."

"What do you know about the American Destroyer at Boragora?" Koji knew this was as much a concern to Willi as to her own interests.

"Would you believe that they are there to collect Jake Cutter?"

"Jake? Why ever for?"

"It seems he iss to return to China. As a Captain in their Army Air Corps."

"Do you believe that?"

"Nein, Princess. I believe it is a ploy to search the islands."

"Hmmmm. That … would … seem more logical. Do they plan to carry our Jake away?"

"Not even that. They merely delivered his orders."

"So much effort for just one man, even our Jake?"

"Exactly, Princess. I believe they are using Jake to spy. If they come here, they could start snooping around our sub tender. I cannot have that. They must be stopped if they come too close. But I cannodt have supposedly neutral Swedish sailors walking about with German arms. Ve would like some assistance mit security on der docks."

"That can be arranged, I think. My mercenaries could do that - for a price."

"Of course, Princess. I'm sure the Fuhrer would agree to anyting reasonable."

"But Willie, I'm always reasonable."

"Of course, Princess. Just tell me the price."

The Princess moves very close to Willi. "Let's consider the man instead of his clothes."

Later, two Wermacht officers turn from the bar where they stand waiting, to see Willi leaving the Princess' office. He is still trying to get his uniform straight.

"That woman und her demands. Vat I do for the Fatherland."

An Unpleasant F(l)ight

The next day, Jake and Sarah ate breakfast on the veranda, enjoying the cool air of early morning. They were both subdued, but trying gamely to carry on a conversation. One of the sailors had, the night before, provided Sarah with a paper with recent baseball scores. Jake was grateful, but couldn't help wondering what she had to do to get them. A certain innocence had left the relationship, one not knowing how to deal with it, the other not knowing why. Finally they walked down to the Goose and prepared for take-off. As the Goose lifted out of the water of the lagoon, Sarah leaned back in the co-pilot's chair. Jake, chewing on the ever present stub of a cigar, used the pretense of adjusting the throttles to look over his sleeve at Sarah. He admired the trim look of the khaki slacks and tailored white shirt.

Sarah turned and caught him looking. He flushed and turned away.

"Jake, it's going to be hard, not flying with you until you get back."

"I probably won't be coming back."

"What?" Sarah turned fully to face him, curls flying. "You just gotta come back."

Jake held up one finger off the yoke of the Goose's control column. "Not really. If I get shot down, I won't be coming back." He extends a second finger. "If I survive crashing, I'll probably end up in a Japanese prison camp. So I won't be coming back then either." A third finger joins the first pair. "If I survive the war, my unit will be mustered back to the States. I doubt they'll allow a detour to the Marivellas."

"Jake! You've simply gotta. We'll all miss you. Think about Corky, 'n' Louie, 'n' me, and … and Rev. Tenboom. You have to come back to us."

"I'll send money for Corky to join me in … wherever I'm stationed."

"But what about the rest of us?"

Jake looked out the windscreen. "We'll all just have to get on with our lives."

"Well, Jake Cutter. You can't just let all this go. I for one don't want to even imagine a life continuing with out you."

Jake looked defensive, and confused. He thought about his personal history.

"Sarah, your life will definitely go on without me."

"What's that mean?"

"Well, you're high society. You're popular. Men are attracted to you." Jake's feeling very uncomfortable with the conversation. There's nowhere to run in the cockpit of the Goose.

"What do other men have to do with us?"

"Well, you know … "

"Actually, I'm not sure I do!"

"Sarah, I saw the sailor coming out of your room the other evening. Just before your first set."

"Jake, surely you don't think I'd … you don't think we … OH!"

"Well, what am I supposed to think?" Jake's voice contained more than one question. "You sneaking out of your own room and him a few moments later."

"Nothing happened. He was up there to …." Sarah paused.

"To what? Go on."

Sarah looked at her hands. "I can't tell you that. He … he knew my father."

Jake grips the yoke too tightly. "He didn't have to go to your room for that."

"Jake, I can't say any more." Her eyes pleaded for him to understand.

Jake, staring back out the windscreen denied the appeal. "Fine!"

The rest of the flight Jake kept thinking that he was missing something. And the silence gave him a lot of time to think. He knew he should say something but didn't know what. He saw Sarah off when he landed and she promised to radio for him to pick her up before he had to leave on the Clipper. But the conversation is stilted, too formal, and neither was willing to make the first move to break the barrier grown between them.

The adversaries meet

When Jake arrived back at Boragora, Josh was loitering on the dock. He'd been pawing through some of the paraphernalia collected, including spare parts for the Goose.

Jake was glad to have something legitimate to be upset about. "Hey, buddy. What do you think you're doing?"

Josh tried to look innocent. "Doing? Nothing. Just looking around. By the way, my name's Josh Winters. Do you really call this stuff spare parts? It wouldn't pass as junk in the Army."

"We do OK, Winters. Parts are hard to come by out here."

"Sure. And this is preferable to flying in the Air Corps?" Josh made no effort to conceal the disbelief in his voice.

"I got news for you." Jake picks up a piece of worn wiring harness. "In China, some of these parts would have looked as good as new. We swapped parts on planes depending on which one had the fewest holes in it that day."

Josh examined some neat, evenly spaced patches Corky had applied to the skin of the Goose. There's some interesting patches on that plane of yours."

Jake didn't even need to look to know what Josh is hinting at, or spend any time remembering how the holes got there. "Yeah. Sometimes the natives don't like us."

Josh decided not to reveal his observation that the "natives" would have had to been behind and above him. Instead, "You know, I'm kinda surprised you came back. You could've kept going."

Jake's startled. It hadn't even occurred to him. "Why do that?"

Josh looked at him more closely, suddenly not believing what he was about to say. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe you're gun shy."

Jake didn't recognize the lack of conviction in Josh's voice – he wanted to take the statement at face value. He wasn't sure why, but he wanted to be offended with this guy. "No. But I've been face to face with the guy trying to kill me, Winters. Can you say the same?"

"Once or twice."

"All right. Then you know what it's like. I don't look for it, but I won't run from it either. There're important things to do here as well." Jake turned to start unloading the Goose and reloading for the next flight.

"Those don't concern you, Cutter."

Jake stopped lifting one box to turn and look at Josh. "What would you know about that?"

"Oh, Nothing. This just isn't where you're supposed to be."

Jake picked up the box. "Pal, where I'm supposed to be is not any business of yours."

"Guess not." And Josh walked away leaving Jake mystified and angry. He starts unloading some boxes from the Goose to work off his anger.

She Doesn't Write, She Doesn't Call

Two days of asking Louie if he has heard from Sarah didn't help Jake's mood. He couldn't help but feel something was terribly wrong. Part of it, he figured, was his conscience. He hadn't handled the goodbye very well when they parted. Still, Sarah should have radioed by now.

After lunch, Jake walked out of the Monkey Bar and down to the Goose. He hadn't consciously decided to go to Tagataya but some part of him knew. His aimless puttering around took on the essence of pre-flighting the Goose. Josh found him there.

"Look, Captain Cutter, I've been out of line with you. The Magistrate has been telling me some of your exploits. I'd like to say I'm sorry." Josh holds his right hand out toward Jake. "Like you, I'm worried about Miss White."

Jake barely looked away from the port aileron where he inspected the cotter pin securing the outboard hinge pin. "She should have radioed the day before yesterday. It's not like her."

Josh tried a casual response. "Maybe she's having a good time and forgot."

Jake shook his head. "Not Sarah. Not when she's on a … trip for Louie."

Josh moved to look at Jake across the wing. "You started to say something else."

Jake moves to the inboard hinge. "It was nothing. I just couldn't think of the right word. That's all."

Josh decided to let it drop.

"You look like you're getting ready to go somewhere."

"What?" Jake looked around as if for the first time realizing what he is doing. "No, I just want to leave her shipshape. More of a way to say good bye. I am leaving in the morning."

Josh, now suspicious. "You're not thinking of going after Miss White, are you?"

"No. No. There wouldn't be time. She'll have to find another way to get back." Jake wiped his hands on an already dirty rag. "I just hate leaving before I know she is OK."

"She'll be OK. Look, come on up to the bar. I feel like I owe you a beer."

"No, thanks. I think I'll just stay here and putter around some more. A beer will just keep me awake tonight. You go on up though." With that, Jake climbed through the back hatch and into the Goose. Josh watches through the open windows. He moves closer as Jake settles into the pilot's seat.

"What do you think you are doing?"

"What? Oh nothing. Saying good bye, just like I said."

Josh pulled a small pistol from his pocket. "I hate to do this, Captain. But get out of the plane."

"You're joking." Jake couldn't help wondering why a Warrant Officer is carrying a non-issue concealed pistol

"Captain, I know what you're thinking. You can't. Get out of the plane. I will shoot."

Jake started out of the seat. "OK, OK, don't get excited. Those things have a habit of going off at the wrong times."

Seeing the guards at the Navy shore boat, Josh shouted "Shore Patrol! Over here."

Jake tried a different tack. "Look Winters, if I'm a Captain, I out rank you. Don't make me order you to put the gun down. I'd have to report you for refusing the command of a ranking officer. I don't want to do that."

Josh didn't buy it. "I have to stop you, Cutter. Even if Miss White is in trouble, the US can't be involved. She knew that when she took on the job."

"All you're doing is making me realize that I have to go. Don't you see – we argued on the way over the other day. In fact, we argued about you. I didn't wish her luck. I know she's in trouble, and it's my fault, and I have to go get her."

"Like you flew all the way to the Philippines?"

"You know about that? What's your part in all this?"

"Never mind, but I can't let you do that again."

A sudden departure

Corky sat alone, except for Jack curled at his feet, in his room. His mood was as gloomy as his room with the doors and window shutters closed. He couldn't stand goodbyes and knew that he wouldn't see his friend ever again. Suddenly Jack's ears popped up and he lifted his head toward the door. Corky doesn't seem to notice. Jack walked to the door and whined. Corky ignored him. Jack walked back and grabbed Corky's pants cuff in his teeth. He growled as he tugged. Corky shook his foot. "Go on Jack, I don't feel like playing."

Jack barked once and walked to the door. He barked again.

"You want out?"

Jack barked twice.

"OK, OK."

Corky opened the door, blinking at the bright light. Jack stepped onto the veranda. He looked back as Corky started to close the door. He barked once sharply.

"You don't want me to close the door?"

Jack barked twice.

Corky shrugged and headed back into the room.

Jack barked once, sharply and growled.

"Jack, I'm not in the mood for this." Finally, Corky heard the commotion down at the dock

"Jack. I get it. There's something going on down at the Goose and you want me to go with you."

Two hurried barks.

"All right. Let's go."

Jack and Corky rushed down to the dock just in time to see Jake start priming the number one engine.

"Jake, what are you doing?"

"I don't have time, Corky. I've got to get going before those Navy guys wake up."

Corky noticed for the first time the two Navy Shore Patrol ratings laying half in and half out of the water. Then he saw the Warrant Officer lying face down on the dock.

"You running away, Jake?"

"No. Sarah's in trouble and I've got to go help."

"How'd you hear? I thought we hadn't heard from her."

"That's right. Now stand clear."

"Oh, this is like when we went to … to …"

"The Philippines" Jake finished for him.

"Right. Jack and I'll come along."

"I don't think that's such a good idea, Corky. I don't know what's going to happen."

Corky's face fell. "You mean you don't need to be watching out for a booze-brain."

"No, Corky. It's just that this is going to get rough. The further you stay away from me the better. I'm going to be in a lot of trouble."

"Good. Then we're coming." Jack barked twice to confirm.

Jake shook his head, smiling. "Come on then. Hurry!"

Josh came to just in time to see Corky toss Jack into the Goose's back hatch and scramble in. He made a dive for the door himself and barely cleared the opening as Jake taxied the Goose into the bay, both engines at full throttle. Josh hit the floor rolling until his head met the partition between the passenger cabin and the small cargo space in the tail.

In the bar, Louie and Gushie were talking about the evening's menu and dinner reservations.

"Louie, that sounds like the Goose."

Louie cocked his head to the left as if to hear better. "Oui. Perhaps Jake is taking one last flight. He's very fond of that plane."

"You don't suppose that he's …"

"Running? Mon Dieu! Jake has never run from anything in his life. I wager he will buzz the bar shortly. A last prank."

Just then two soaking wet Shore Police stumbled into the bar. They immediately reported to the Lieutenant commander what had happened. Gushie and Louie both hear Sarah's name in the conversation.

Gushie looked up at Louie from his wheelchair. "Do you think that …?"

Louie stared out the door. "That our Jake has gone charging off like some knight errant to rescue the damsel in distress? Oui. That would be just like him."

"He's going to be in a lot of trouble."

"D'accord." Louie starts as if shifting from introspection to action. "We'd best do what we can to calm down the good commander over there and try to buy Jake some time. Go to the wine cellar and pull one of the better vintages of our burgundies. Offer it to Commander Waverly with our compliments. That should mellow him out some. We can always add it to Jake's bill." Louie looked up as an aircraft roared over the island and the Monkey bar. "I do hope he is successful."

Gushie looked doubtful. "Yeah, that is about the only thing that will save him."

To the Rescue

What started out as a fool's errand was looking more like a full fledged circus. Jake found himself with a forgetful mechanic, a grouchy dog, and a Warrant Officer who couldn't be what he seemed in tow.

"Sorry about the rough take-off, Jack. I wasn't counting on the extra weight."

Josh studiously ignored the double-barreled glare he received from Jack and Jake. He held a once clean handkerchief to the split on his mouth.

Jack barked once and walked back to his blanket in the aft cargo space.

Corky looked confused. "Would someone please tell me what's going on?"

Jake finished adjusting the Goose's trim before answering. "Corky, I've got a hunch Sarah is in trouble."

Corky looked indignant. "Again? How can a bar singer get into so much trouble?"

Josh started to answer. "In her line of work …"

"Some people don't like her singing, Corky." Jake interrupted.

Corky folded his arms. "Well, I've heard of people being critics, Jake, but this is ridiculous."

Josh tried to assert some order over the situation. "Cutter, what do you plan to do?"

"Seeing as we're all in this together, you might as well start calling me Jake. I'll need to find someone who knows what is going on in Tagataya."

Corky gave Jake an uncomfortable look. "Jake, you don't mean the Princess, do you?"

Still dabbing the cut on his mouth. "Who's the Princess?"

Corky drew a hand across his throat. "She's pure poison, but she likes Jake."

Jake attempted to give himself some space. "I don't know that she likes me all that much. But it's a cinch, if there's something rotten in Tagataya, Koji's involved. Josh, you've got to tell me what Sarah was looking for."

Jake saw Josh looking at him with a lot of doubt in his eyes. There's no way he can divulge government secrets to an AWOL American pilot suspected of communist sympathies. Sure Miss White presented a completely different picture, but was that assessment reliable? Jake realized that Josh was caught in the middle. He prayed that Josh had good instincts and the courage to follow them. Then the eyes changed.

"There's a sub working in these waters. She was supposed to find out if the tender was basing itself out of Tagataya."

Corky looked puzzled. "Why would she do that?"

Josh realized that Corky doesn't know about Sarah. "I asked her to look into it as a favor to me. I thought a woman could ask sailors questions that a man couldn't."

Jake stared through the wind screen. Somewhere he'd picked up his usual cigar stub to chew on. "How are you involved in this?"

"Do you know what a 'control' is?"

"OK, I get the picture. And this sub is a big deal."

"We've got to keep it from interfering with shipping in the region."

Jake nodded understanding. "That settles it. The Princess is definitely the person to ask. If there is piracy going on in these islands, she'll know about it."

The Goose landed in the late afternoon sun. The heat and humidity hit like a blow to the senses as the three of them left the plane. Jake headed towards the Princess' Casino without a word. When they arrived, he cautioned Josh and Corky to let him do the talking. He suggested Jack stay outside. With a whine, Jack curled up under a bush to wait.

Inside, Josh watched with interest the approach of a tall Eurasian woman, the same who had given Willi such a rough time three nights earlier. He stared in disbelief at the small old warrior following her in full red lacquered leather Bushido armor. The eyes are black holes that have seen too much.

"Jake, darling. I thought you would leave without saying goodbye. What an unexpected pleasure." She looked distastefully at Josh and Corky. "Pity you didn't come alone."

"Princess, you know I couldn't leave without saying good bye. We've had too many … adventures … together. Besides, I promised to show Josh here the sights."

"Captain Cutter, this woman is Japanese. Surely you haven't had dealings with her?" Todo hisses at the implied insult.

"She's only half Japanese, the other half is Irish." Jake wasn't sure he's helping.

Koji's mood visibly cooled. "I am unaccustomed to being insulted in my own place, Jake."

Josh attempted to be apologetic at a dirty look from Jake. "I'm sorry. The tensions between our countries require me to be cautious."

The Princess pouted. "You must be from that ugly American destroyer that is barging about our islands."

"As you know, we are very concerned with your war in China."

Koji waved the comment away as if it were of no value. "The war doesn't reach us out here, unless we bring it in. As Jake can tell you, we've had many friendly dealings." She smiles pointedly at Jake. "Very friendly."

"Captain Cutter would be wise to watch his associations."

Koji refocused her attention on Jake. "Jake, I can't get over this – Captain?"

"That's my rank in the Air Corps."

The pout returns. "My sources told me that you had been called back to China. Pity. You could stay here with me."

"Princess, as pleasant as that sounds, I must decline. I must do my duty. I think you, of all people, understand that. Speaking of duty, have you heard anything about Miss Stickney-White? I promised to say goodbye to her as well."

"Oh, the skinny singer? What ever do you see in her?"

"She's a friend, Princess. And, uhhh, she came to Tagataya to pick up some medical supplies for Louie. We haven't heard from her."

The Princess held both hands out as if inviting search. "Why would I trouble myself to know where she is?"

"Oh, I don't know. You hear things."

Todo stepped forward to speak. "My Princess. The other night, she was here with the two sailors."

"Oh, Todo. I had forgotten. Yes, she was here with two sailors. Low types. Suited her actually. Hardly spoke any English. Northern European, I think. Yes, I think they were off some sailing vessel trading among the islands. It may still be in the harbor somewhere."

Jake gave the tiniest of bows. "Thanks, Princess. We'll check that out."

Koji acknowledged the bow. "If you don't find her, you could always come back here. I'd love to give you a proper send off."

Jake took a hopefully casual step backward. "Thanks, Princess, I'll consider that. Well, let's go."

Todo looked from the retreating trio to his mistress. "Princess, if he finds the ship, you have sent Cutter to his death."

"Pity. But what could I do, Todo. The man was going back to China to fight. I can't let my personal pleasures get in the way of Imperial victory, can I?"

"I thought you liked Jake Cutter."

"Oh, I do, Todo. That's why I'd rather the Germans disposed of him."

Mystery Ship

When Jake was well clear of the Princess' Saloon his whispered "Hssst!" brought Jack out of his resting place. Jake bent down to look the dog in his good eye.

"Jack, we need to find Sarah. Any ideas?"

Jack whined and started to wander around the open area. Josh looked at Corky. "He's talking to the dog?"

"Yeah. Jack's pretty smart."

"Surely he doesn't think the dog can find …"

Corky's muttered "shush" came over his shoulder as he and Jake followed Jack down a dark street.

Josh shook his head and followed.

Jack wandered through the darkest part of Tagataya, past the seediest bars and flop houses. It's clear the waterfront was his goal. Finally, after walking along almost two miles of waterfront warehouses and docks, he stopped in the shadows of a building across the street from a nearly abandoned dock. At the far end is a huge sailing ship with tall thick masts and an incredible amount of rigging. Jake stopped beside him and looked about.

"Is she here, Jack?"

Soft whine.

"On the boat, Jack?"

Another soft whine.

Josh and Corky caught up "Have you found her?"

"I think Jack thinks she's on that ship."

"What do we do now?"

"I'm going to go over there and see …"

Jack barked once and took off.

Before Jake can respond, Jack was across the street and running out on the dock. Half way down, a dark skinned native in black pants and tunic jumped out at Jack brandishing a long curved sword. Jack ran between his legs and continued out the dock, where a second native stepped out as well.

Josh stared in amazement. Corky tugged his arm. "See, I told you Jack was pretty smart."

Jake studied the situation. "Why do you suppose native guards are watching a Swedish sailing ship? If it were a native boat I could understand, but that's not a native boat."

"Didn't the Princess say something about a northern European trading vessel being in port?"

"Yeah, but that thing's too big to go amongst most of the islands. It's no trader."

Corky looks thoughtfully at the boat. "Jake, do you suppose that's the – the"

"Sub tender?" Jake finished. "Josh?"

"Washington would never have suspected a sailing vessel as a tender. It's sure got the cargo capacity."

"Yeah, and the masts and spars are heavy enough to serve as cargo booms if they had the right block and tackle."

"Jake, what's Jack doing?"

They all turned to see Jack dashing back and forth between the two natives. They put up their swords and advanced, hoping to trap Jack between them. Just as it looked like they would catch him, he feinted left, dashed right, and slipped past the guards and started to limp toward the street end of the dock. The guards follow. Jack leads them, unsuspecting right past the waiting trio. Josh dispatched one with a complex karate blow. Jake, taking a simpler approach, clubbed the other with the barrel of his pistol.

"Good job, Jack."

"What now, Jake?"

"Jack, is Sarah on the boat?" Two soft woofs. "OK. Corky, you and Josh sneak aboard and see if that thing's got engines. If so, disable them. Maybe you can find a radio. Disable it. Do whatever you can to put her out of action. I'll take Jack and try to find Sarah."

Josh peered into the shadows on deck. "What about whoever is on board?"

"Avoid them if you can. I'm thinking we should slip aboard over the bow rather than the gang plank." With that, Jake led the group through the dock shadows to the ship.

It's a four-masted schooner, broader of beam than most with no cabin amid ships. It looks to be one long hold with smaller holds on each end. Crew quarters appear to be up front, and the bridge and officers' quarters located at the extreme rear.

Jake tucked Jack into his jacket and crawled up the anchor chain to the bowsprit and the head. He carefully helped Josh and Corky over the low rail onto the deck. Crawling to the first hatch he uses his hat as a muffler while knocking loose a wedge used to batten the hatch down. Not wanting to leave any sign of his entry, he slides the wedge into his back pocket. Looking under the cover he saw all kinds of equipment. All of it with German labels. He looks at Jack, and hears one woof. Corky and Josh have quietly stolen to the second, large hatch and similarly opened it. All they see is the reflection of water down below.

Corky's voice carried softly across the space. "Jake, the ship's hollow."

Josh stared down. "No wonder we couldn't find it. The sub doesn't surface beside the ship. It surfaces under it. All the supplies are loaded from the well. And if the ship needs to move quickly, the sub can be the primary propulsion."

Jake moved over to hear the explanation. "Can they do that?"

Josh nodded in affirmation. "I don't know how they do it, but there's no doubt that they are. It's some kind of piggy back system."

Jake pulled back and looked quietly around. "Yeah, well, let's keep moving."

Opening the rear hatch, Jake sees crates of food and Japanese arms and munitions. He looked at Jack. Two woofs.

"Jack, are you sure," he whispered.

Two soft woofs in reply, and Jake dropped over the side, carefully taking Jack with him.

Jake looked around, picked up a small Japanese pistol and some magazines for it. He found a small cloth sack on the floor. He loaded it with small Japanese grenades. Jack walked over to a small storage locker door. It was secured with a makeshift hasp and a nail. He nosed it and whined. Jake broke the hasp, and opened the locker to find all kinds of ropes and cans of paint. Curled up on one of the rope coils, was Sarah. Dirty and disheveled, she's a vision to Jake. He gently covered her mouth and tried to wake her. She started awake and began swinging both fists. Jake kept ducking until she realized who it was and wrapped both arms tightly around his neck. She kissed him like they hadn't kissed since he rescued her on the volcanic island.

Unashamedly, he kissed her back until he felt her catch her breath. "Jake, we're right under the radio room. I heard them. The sub is going out to sink the Hancock in the morning."

"Right. Let's get out of here." He handed her the small Japanese pistol.

Sarah led Jake to a small stair at the side of the hold that climbed up to the main deck. They met Josh and Corky emerging from the radio room. "Quick, we've got to radio the Hancock to look out for the sub."

Josh looked at the broken pieces of bakelite in his hand. "Not on that radio. It's out of action for good."

Jake looked around. "We'll radio from the Goose. Let's go."

Just at that moment, a sleepy sailor, returning from the head sees the group. "Halten Sie!"

Jake herds his group toward the gangplank. Sailors appear from various places on the bow and stern where they had been trying to sleep in the cooler air. Several stood in the way to cut the intruders off from freedom. Jake pulled the wedge from his hip pocket and bashed one sailor over the head. Sarah, feeling she has no choice, took aim at another sailor about to hit Corky and shoots. Her near miss has Corky looking at her, eyes wide open and unusually sober. Sarah looks at him wide-eyed.

"Sorry, Corky, it just went off."

Josh and Jake waded into the mass striking in every direction. Jack growls once, and runs for the dock.

On the shore, a solitary patrolman heard the noise. Seeing all the combatants, he wisely decided this is no place for an honest policeman. As he considered himself an endangered species, he prudently walked hastily the other way.

As Corky, Sarah and Josh fought their way to the gang plank, Jake pulled a grenade and lobbed it toward the rear hold as a makeshift diversion. It bounced once and dropped in. The resulting explosion almost blew them off the ship. The sailors dropped their combat and rushed to deal with the new danger to their ship.

As Jake, Corky, and Josh departed the smoking ship with Sarah in tow, they head for the Goose. Part way there, Jake stops. He hands the bundle he has been carrying to Sarah. "Sarah, I want you to head for the Goose. We need to go get something. Jack, you go with her." Jack barked once.

Josh protests. "Jake, we need to go now." Jack barked twice.

"We'll be off shortly." Josh can't tell if Jake is explaining to Sarah or the dog. "I just thought of something I need to go get. I need these guys to go with me to help carry the stuff."

Sarah looked puzzled. "Maybe I should go along?" Jack seemed to understand and barked once.

"Not now, Sarah. Please, just trust me. Thanks, Jack. Go to the Goose. Sarah, see if you can raise the Hancock. They'll need all the warning they can get before that sub gets there." Jack barked twice and disappeared into the dark.

"OK, Jake." And she followed the dog.

Josh looked hesitant. "Should I go with her?"

"No, you come with me."

Jake led the two men back to Princess Koji's night club. They walked in casually, Jake having draped his arms over their shoulders, almost as if they are supporting each other. Koji sees them with a slight start. She collected herself and moved gracefully toward them, once again giving Jake the impression of a deadly Cobra in a low cut blue silk gown.

"Jake, what a surprise. Did you find the ship you were looking for?"

"No, Princess. It must have already set sail."

Koji looked over at Todo. "Then you didn't find your skinny little singer, although I think I'm generous when I use that term."

Jake shook his head very carefully, as if afraid it might explode. "I'm sure she is somewhere in the city but frankly, looking for her has been thirsty work. Right now, I would like one of your famous draft beers. I'm buying for Corky and our new friend here as well. Join us if you like."

Corky and Josh both protest at the same time.

"Jake, you don't let me drink when …"

"Jake, I don't drink when I'm on …"

"Be still! Both of you. I don't buy that often, and this is a special occasion." Jake made an attempt to look slightly pie-eyed.

Princess Koji looked at Jake, puzzled, and raised one hand. Instantly a hostess in the full costume of a Japanese geisha appeared. "Jake, this is a side of you I've never seen. Three cold beers for the gentlemen. Use the iced mugs."

With a silent bow, the hostess backed away and hurried off. Jake swayed back and forth on his feet acting nonchalant. He smiled in relief as the hostess returned with a tray holding three frosty mugs filled with a dark brown liquid. Jake took the first, motioned the others to take theirs. He smiled and saluted Koji and raised the mug to his lips. As if by accident he looked at his watch.

"Goodness, I didn't realize it was that late. Guys, we'll need to drink these on the run. Princess, flying is thirsty work and we've got a cargo to unload in the morning. Could we have three more of the same for the road?"

Princess Koji looked tolerantly amused. "Jake, you haven't finished these."

"Ah-h-h-h, we'll take them with us. But they won't last the evening. When I drink, I'm serious about it. Please, three more, just like these?" Jake held his mug up hopefully.

Koji, both mystified and curious, waved her hand, and the hostess hurried away. Jake stalled counting out the money until the hostess returned with another tray. As soon as they collected the mugs, the three men dashed out the door carrying mugs in each hand. As soon as they are out of sight, Jake stopped and dumped out both beers.

"Jake, what are you doing?" Corky wailed.

"Dump 'em, Corky. I didn't need the beer, just the mugs."

Josh, looking at the dark puddles at his feet, couldn't take any more. "I don't get it."

Jake motioned to them to dump their mugs. "We've got to stop that sub."

"How?" Josh and Corky asked together.

Josh continued. "Are you going to throw these beer mugs at them?"

"Exactly." With that, Jake headed off into the dark.

Josh looked at Corky, shrugged, dumped both mugs, and followed Jake toward the Goose.

Corky hastily grabbed one gulp from each mug before dumping the rest on the cobblestones. He looked about to cry.

Bombs Away

Once aboard the Goose, and in the air, Sarah finally told everyone how she located the ship and was grabbed when trying to look it over. Corky, once that was out of the way, wanted to know why Jake dumped out six perfectly good mugs of beer.

Instead of answering, he looked to Sarah, "Sarah, hand me that bag I gave you."

She picked it up from below her feet. "What's in there?

"Just some grenades I stole from the ship back there."

Josh looked puzzled. "What are you going to do with them? Grenades aren't made to be thrown from an airplane. They go off too soon."

Jake shook his head. "I'm going to show you a trick. Corky, hand me a mug."

Jake locked the mug firmly between his knees. He grinned maniacally at the gasps when he pulled the pin on one of the grenades. Still grinning, but very focused, Jake slid the live grenade into a mug. It just fit and kept the handle in place.

Josh whistled. "I've never seen that trick before."

"We did it in Spain all the time. When you couldn't get bombs, you could always find grenades. We did a lot of close support bombing this way. It had the advantage that the Francoists couldn't throw them back up at us."

Jake handed the mug to Corky. "Put that somewhere where it won't tip over, willya." Corky nodded, his face white as he held the mug gingerly in both hands.

Very quickly the six makeshift bombs were assembled and stowed in a small box that Sarah held on her lap. Jake returned to concentrating on flying, and the others tried to grab what sleep they could.

The sun was well above the horizon when Jake and a very weary crew neared the location of the Hancock; Jake took the Goose up to just below the clouds. Everyone grabbed a window trying to spot the sub.

Corky shouted "Jake, I don't see anything."

"Keep looking, Corky. That sub's got to be here somewhere."

Just then Jack barked twice.

Jake's head snapped around to see Jack standing on one of the wicker seats on the co-pilot side of the passenger cabin. "Do you see it, Jack?"

Two more barks and Jake tossed the Goose up on its starboard wingtip in a steep bank. Jack yelped in indignation.

"There it is" Sarah shouted excitedly as she tried to hang on to the "primed" mugs. Far below was a v-shaped wake in the water, pointing at the Hancock.

Jake looked across her to see his objective thousands of feet below. The sub was still a good ten miles out from the Hancock. Jake's grin turned predatory and Sarah, watching from the side, saw for the first time, Jake the Killer. She didn't know this man, and wondered how many people in the last ten years had had their lives ended by this face – this hunter. She felt a chill in spite of the heat of the cockpit and the moment. Unaware of her inspection, Jake snapped out of the turn heading directly away from the sub's low stern.

Josh looked at Jake. Although used to being in charge, Josh knew that this moment was Jake's. He just hoped Jake knew what he was doing. "OK, what's the plan?"

Jake lifted his left hand off the yoke to sweep it over his right arm from elbow to fingertips. "I want to basically come at the sub from behind and run the full length of her."

Josh looked skeptical. "What if they submerge?"

Jake shook his head. "They won't. German subs like to attack on the surface whenever possible. Part of the wolf pack tactics they practiced on Spanish shipping. They'll rely on the guns mounted on the railings to keep us away. They aren't really gonna believe a civilian seaplane can do much damage."

Sarah looked worried. "Do you think we can?"

"We've got to." With that, Jake turned the wheel to the left, pushed forward on the yoke and kicked in full right rudder. Controls crossed, the Goose dropped, nose and port wingtip first, out of the sky like its wings had been yanked off. Sarah shrieked as she watched the altimeter wind downward at better than 2000 ft per minute. It looked to her like Jake planned to crash into the water.

Jake calmly opened his window and motioned for one of the mugs with his free hand.

"When I pull her out of the slip, Josh, see if you can drop one of the mugs on the sub from the back hatch. We'll both aim for the right side. Maybe we can make it veer away from the Hancock."

Seconds later Jake eased back on the yoke, centered the wheel, and straightened the ailerons to bring the Goose smoothly out of the slip perfectly centered behind the sub with about a mile to run to it.

Jake approached with engines screaming at full throttle, just 50 feet above the deck. "Fire ONE!" he shouted as he dropped the mug toward the sub.

As soon as he heard Josh's "Two's away" he pulled into a climb, circling back to the rear.

Both mugs broke as they bounced off the pressure hull of the sub and their grenades exploded in the water. The approach had been so fast, and so unexpected, the Germans never had a chance to realize exactly what was happening.

"Did we get it, Jake?" Sarah's face looked hopeful.

"I don't think we hurt it. But, we may have shaken them up some." Jake's voice was disappointed. The sub continued its straight course toward the destroyer.

Josh worked his way forward. "I can't believe that stunt really worked. What now? We've distracted them if nothing else."

"We make another pass from the stern. I've got to keep them from getting a shooting solution on the Hancock. If they have to change course because of us, they have to refigure. They'll be waiting for us, but I think I can bring her in tight enough off the deck to mess up their shooting. Aim for the conning tower this time."

"Right."

Sarah had picked up a pair of binoculars laying on the floor of the cockpit. She was watching the Hancock.

"Jake, there's a lot of sailors on the rail of the Hancock. I think they see the sub. They are pointing this way. I think the Hancock's turning away from the sub."

Jake grinned. "Good, at least we've warned them. If they turn stern to the sub, they will be a lot harder to hit. It buys us a little more time."

Jake's second run was essentially the same as the first – only lower and faster. The Germans turned both rail mounted machine guns toward the Goose. Tracers streaked their way as Jake bobbed up and down to disturb their aim. Several times, Jake was low enough to the water that the spray from the big props rose up to obscure all but the nose of the Goose. Jake prayed that it would foul up their sight picture. At the last moment he and Josh dropped their improvised bombs at the conning tower. Both bounced and exploded next to the hull.

Jake pulled up so sharply that the stall indicator screamed in protest. It cut out and began again as Jake sharply swung the seaplane around.

Corky looked pale under his usual tan and grease complexion. "Jake, they'll be ready for you this time."

"I know. We'll try something different this time." Again, Jake pantomimed his plan with his left hand rising it high in the air and dropping it straight toward his right arm. "I'm going to come right out of the sun, on top of them. Josh, come up here where we can both have the best shot out these windows."

Josh complied. Sarah gave up her seat with a reluctant touch of Jake's shoulder. Her whispered "Luck" seemed intended for him alone. He nodded, but couldn't quite find the levity to smile. He only had bombs enough for one pass and knew it. Then the sub would be free to maneuver however it wanted to open fire on the Hancock.

"Sarah, Corky, this could get rough. I wish I could drop you guys off, but I don't have time."

Sarah tried a smile and an indifferent shrug. "Hey, we're all in this together."

Corky tightened his grip on the back of Jake's seat. "Yeah, right. One for all and one for … for … aw, get'm Jake."

Jake dove out of the sun, the Goose wound up like a fighter. He pointed the nose directly at the conning tower hatch. Briefly Sarah and Corky looked at each other. Was Jake really crazy enough to fly his beloved Goose down the conning tower hatch to save the lives of the hundreds of crewmen of the Hancock?

Jake's eyes never left the black dot of the conning tower hatch. "Josh, choose your best shot."

Jake thought of all the Detroit Duke pitches he ever threw. Even in championship games, a pitch never counted for so much. He focused on the sub commander standing on the conning tower. "Batter up!" The open hatch was home plate. The roar of the straining engines took on the persona of the home crowd. He imagined the windup and pitched a sidearm swing at the hatch. Time slowed to a crawl for Corky and Sarah as they watched two black dots drop from the Goose as Jake pulled her out of the dive. Both bombs struck the conning tower fair, shattering the mugs, and one grenade bounced twice before dropping down the hatch. The double explosions were followed by a third as the hull of the sub ruptured from the inside.

"Strike!" … "Bullseye!" The two exclamations came together as the Goose swooped around to see smoke billow out of the sub as it began to list to starboard. No one stood on the deck or the exploded tin can that had once been a submarine conning tower. Sarah squealed in delight and grabbed Jake around the neck in a fierce hug. He doesn't complain. Josh is left with shaking Corky's hand and patting Jack.

They're still laughing like maniacs as Jake set the Goose down next to the Hancock and taxied to a landing platform used for the ship's launch. Crew members lined the railing, cheering and tossing caps as Corky opened the bow hatch and heaved a line to a waiting sailor. The cheering grew impossibly louder as Josh, Corky and Jake step from the forward hatch onto the platform. The cheers turned to wolf whistles as a disheveled Sarah stood up in the hatch and she gloried in the adulation. Josh and Jake help Sarah and Corky start up the ladder. Josh starts up as Jake turns to make certain the Goose's bow hatch is secure. As Jake lifted his left foot to mount the boarding ladder from the bobbing platform, his wobbly knees betrayed him. He slipped and fell to the wet surface.

Josh immediately dropped back down to help him up.

"You OK?"

Jake held to the boarding ladder for a moment, head down. "Yeah, sure. Just a bit washed out from the excitement. We've been up all night with nothing to eat. I'll be fine with some food and a little rest." Nevertheless, when they are safely on deck, Josh urged Jake to see the surgeon. Jake protested, but Josh insisted, and the Captain weighed in with him.

As soon as the heroes were aboard, the Hancock sent boats to recover survivors from the sub. They were a despondent, disheveled group. The ship's surgeon finished looking at Jake before going down to the now crowded brig to check on the prisoners' welfare.

Later, after hot food, showers, and a bit of rest, the victors are involved in a rousing celebration. Josh radioed Louie to let him know that everyone is OK and that Jake will not be in any trouble for missing the Clipper's departure. He can catch the next flight. Late that afternoon, Jake gathered Corky, Sarah, and Jack to head back to Boragora. He wanted to reach the lagoon before dark. The grateful Hancock crew topped off the Goose's tanks before they finally let him taxi away and lift off into the sunset.

Josh waved until they are out of sight, frowned thoughtfully, and headed off to the infirmary.

The next morning, Jake and Sarah's veranda breakfast table was crowded as Corky, Louie, Gushie and Reverend Tenboom eagerly pressed them for details of the adventure. Only Reverend Tenboom seemed less than delighted about the success of their exploits.

Louie placed his coffee cup on the table. "So, Sarah, you were kidnapped by German sailors masquerading as Swedes? Mon Dieu, while I admire their good taste, I cannot countenance such behavior. I will send a protest to the regional governor."

Sarah put down her fork to reply. "Thanks, Louie. I can't say I was thrilled by the experience."

Reverend Tenboom leans over the table one hand jerking up and down as if chopping his words out. "Vat I don't understand iss how you knew the sailing ship was involved mit der submarine."

Sarah leaned back and shook her head. "I didn't. At least, not at first. I was locked up below their radio room. I heard them transmitting but couldn't understand a blessed word, except I kept hearing them mention the Hancock. When Jake was looking for me, he found German supplies for the sub and Japanese weapons and food. He's the one who put two and two together."

"Idt was careless of dem to let you overhear der conversation."

"I don't think they thought it mattered. I think they were pretty sure I wouldn't live to tell anyone about it." Sarah shuddered.

"So, Jake, you haff saved our Sarah's life."

"And it's a good thing, mes amis. Where would I have found another singer?"

Jake just shrugged modestly and is saved a reply as two sailors, one of them Ensign Riley, walk up to the group. Both salute Jake. Startled, he returned it.

"Captain Cutter, sir! The surgeon requests that you come to the ship this morning. He wants to make sure you are OK."

Jake smiled, his hands open in an expansive gesture. "That's not necessary. I'm fine. Like I said, a little rest and some food, and I feel great."

"Please, sir." Riley looked and sounded uncomfortable. "Although he phrased it as a request, I think he meant it. I promise sir, we'll have you back by lunch."

Sarah placed her hand on his arm. "Jake, go ahead."

Louie nodded. "Yes, mon ami. I will have something special prepared when you return."

Jake gave in gracefully. "Gentlemen, lead the way."

In the Hancock's infirmary, the surgeon carefully examined Jakes eyes, felt his neck, and checked his reflexes. "That right knee seems a little slow."

"Oh, it's fine." Jake protested, more from habit than any desire to change the verdict. "I just need to get more exercise."

The doctor tapped the knee, much harder this time. "I'm not so sure," shaking his head at Jake's wince. "I'd like to keep you on limited flight duty for a while longer. I certainly don't think you should be flying a fighter."

"What? Sir, I can't do that if I'm going back to China."

The doctor put the reflex hammer away. "I'm afraid that is exactly what I mean. I don't want you flying combat until you are one hundred percent. Why, I'd be sending you to your death."

"That's crazy. My leg didn't bother me at all yesterday."

The doctor probed the knee with his fingers. He was none too gentle. "You weren't in a fighter. A flying boat is a far cry from a P-40. And if that fall wasn't your leg bothering you, I'm not the finest flight surgeon in these islands."

"Sir, no disrespect, but you're the only flight surgeon in these islands."

"Exactly." A cool smile. "There is no chance for a second opinion. I can't afford to be wrong. I'd be risking your life and the lives of anyone flying with you. You're on limited flight duty until I clear you for combat. Now get out of here. I've got reports to write, thanks to you."

Jake, completely mystified, buttoned his shirt as he walked out of the infirmary. He bumped into Josh in the companionway. "Sorry, I wasn't looking."

Josh stepped to block Jake's path to the outside. "What did he say?"

Jake tried to look downcast. "That he doesn't trust my leg. That I'm on limited flight duty until further notice."

"Really? That's convenient. It fits perfectly with your new orders"

"Huh?" Dumbfounded replaced downcast.

Josh handed Jake a fat envelope. "You are to remain in the Marivellas as unofficial liaison with the local French government. We'll have some things for you to do, now and then, but you are pretty much to act on your own initiative."

A stunned Jake asked, "What idiot cut those screwy orders?"

Josh grinned. "I did."

Jake looked at the papers. They are signed by Major Joshua Winters, US Army. "Well, I'll be damned."

"Not right now. Officially, you are not recovered enough to return to active duty. That's what you tell anyone who asks."

Jake looked up, his eyes wary. "Officially? Is there an Unofficially?"

"Unofficially, you are to assist Miss Stickney-White in any way you can. You will be on full Captain's pay for the duration. It will be paid to an account stateside so you don't have to worry about explaining the extra income. Sorry, I couldn't get you flight bonuses, but the cover story kind of blew that."

Jake is very confused. "I don't get it."

"That's a very special lady. You watch her back. That's an order."

"I'd do it anyhow."

"I know. But now, it's unofficially official. Just keep on like you've been doing. I'll check in occasionally." Josh held out his hand.

Jake took it with a big smile. "Do that, pal. You can fly with me anytime, anywhere."

The Letter

Back at the Monkey Bar in time for lunch, Jake recounted how the doctor pronounced him unable to fly combat for the time being, but that he was to report back in six months for re-examination. Just then, Gushie wheeled up with something in his lap. "Jake, this came for you off the clipper yesterday afternoon. I just got the mail sorted."

Jake picked up the envelope. "Looks official."

Sarah looked across the table, her eyes alight. "Well, open it."

Jake opened the envelope and scanned it for a few moments. He didn't say a word he just handed it to Louie.

Louie read it and smiled "Jake this is quite serious. You have been called up for active duty as a combat pilot. Does anyone know where we can find a qualified flight surgeon?" Early afternoon laughter brightened the air.

- Fini! -

Copyright Kenneth Finley 2004

Revision date: 5/20/2015