In an office located in central Berlin, the man in the black suit extinguishes his cigarette. He looks at the map spread out on the table. "And you can promise me success in this endeavor?"
The other man nods. "The Culbra Cut in the Sierra de Panama, a mountain bordering on the canal. The Allies' eyes are not on it, but the canal is paramount to their supply lines. I recommend long-range bombers of the Condor-type; with the modifications I propose it can easily be converted into a specialized 'Amerika bomber'. Two of my bombs would render the entire waterway unusable in two minutes."
The man in the black suit looks up at him, and makes a point of yawning, showing a deliberate lack of interest in the speaker's recitation of facts with which he was intimately familiar. He speaks like academic, notes the man. "Two of my bombs, you mean." He taps out another cigarette from his gold case, placing it in his mouth and lighting a match on the side of his desk. "So tell me again, Dr. Tobor, what I need you for?"
The other man smiles encouragingly, putting on his best sales face. "My automated planes can fly and react several times faster than human pilots, as well as being able to travel indefinite lengths of time without needing support."
"Very well." The cigarette is lit. The map is rolled up and returned. "We will sponsor this test mission, and watch it closely. You are dismissed, Doctor."
As he leaves, the man in the black suit looks up at another man dressed in brown. "What do you think?"
"It is worth attempting, Herr Goering. The advantages would be considerable if he could actually deliver what he promises. 'Tobor' is not his real name, of course."
"Of course. I wonder whether he's a Jew? I don't suppose it matters. Keep an eye on him, after he leaves."
"Already done, sir."
"You are dismissed. Heil Hitler."
"Heil Hitler."
Neither of them noticed the fat man with the push broom working in the hallway outside the office. People never did, of course. That's why he was there.
Elsewhere, and later, three men sit around a table in a small office. It is in an airfield, overlooking the Panama Canal to the west. They seem unaffected by the sweltering heat, or maybe it is a point of pride to seem so. The man in the fox-head helmet swallows the last of his beer. "I admit, I had heard of you of course, but I always assumed you were British," says the Flying Fox.
The boy in blue looks down at his empty glass of coke. He tilts his head back, letting some of the ice fall into his mouth and chewing on it with a satisfying crunch. "Yeah, me too. And of course everyone knows the name 'Captain X of the R.A.F.' I'm glad you signed on, though. We can always use an extra pilot," says the Guardian Angel.
The man in the garishly colored red, green, and yellow flight suit smiles at the pair. He takes another sip of his beer. This stuff just tastes like cat's piss, he thinks. I have to get away from the American offices; I bet the local brews are better. "It's a long story," he notes, "but I've been there for a couple years now. Funny, when I got there most of the Europeans couldn't understand a word I said. I think I've managed to acquire something of a trans-Atlantic accent by now, because it doesn't seem to be a problem any more. Sort of an American accent with the rough edges polished off."
The Guardian Angel nods emphatically, "I thought you were British, the first time you spoke."
The Flying Fox scans the hanger field grimly. "I'm more interested in your plane. We didn't even see you arrive."
Captain X smiles to himself. "My aeroplane, 'Jenny,' was the result of a special joint project by the OSS and the RAF. It's constructed from a transparent plastic alloy and powered by uranium-235 ... when airborne it's nearly noiseless and invisible. Unfortunately, the lab which created it was destroyed by an Axis saboteur, so I have the only prototype. It's visible now, of course ... I can flood tiny slits in the plane with colored fluid when we're grounded."
He speaks like a journalist, notes the Flying Fox. He files that information away silently. "So you're confident in the information you were given?"
Captain X says, "Of course. I have friends working undercover in German intelligence, and the information they've supplied me in the past has always been impeccable. But I knew it would take for me to fly over from Europe, even in Jenny. I needed a contact closer to Panama. I'm glad you two were the ones to meet me; I always thought we had a lot in common. Maybe we ought to form our own squadron and compete with the Blackhawks!"
The Flying Fox barks a laugh, and Guardian Angel gives a cheer at the idea. The discussion is cut short by the sound of a siren filling the air. Guardian Angel grabs his helmet. "Ok, let's go!" The three men run out to the airfield.
As they soar off, Captain X radios, "I'm going to recon from above ... when you two catch up I can also eject Jenny's visibility fluid right in their faces, which should provide a nice surprise."
The Flying Fox and Guardian Angel spread out, widening the base of the triangle formation to flank the oncoming planes. Captain X radios back, "Looks like someone's got a contract with Focke-Wulf. Only two fighters and one bomber ... perfect for us, though I'm a little disappointed ... I expected more support." He dives down, releasing a cloud of ink in front of the invaders, obscuring their vision. One of the planes heads up to follow him. Captain X maneuvers out of its way, and the plane circles back, firing directly at Jenny knocking her guns out of action. The aviator swears. "He can see me!" He begins a series of evasive maneuvers, the other plane close on his heels.
As the two others close in on the remaining planes, the other fighter begins a series of dizzying figure-eight maneuvers, wrapping himself around the Fox's and the Angel's flight paths. "Who the hell are these guys?" thinks the Fox. Captain X's voice comes through his radio. "I can tackle the bomber, but I'm disarmed ... get this guy off my tail!"
"Take it kid," says the Fox. The Angel gives him a thumb's up and heads to join the other. The plane begins another version of the figure-eight strategy, shifting irregularly between the two aviators. Let's see how long you can keep this up, thought Captain X; Jenny's still faster than any German plane. He accelerates, and the other plane extends its flight strategy to match the greater distance between its two opponents.
The Guardian Angel grins to himself. He could practically see the sweat on the German pilot's brow. He was good, but he plainly couldn't handle Captain X's speed. Why doesn't he break off and just concentrate on me, he thought. The strain eventually tells when the Angel is able to get behind the Focke-Wulf and send a blast of bullets to disable its engine. As the plane plummets to the ground, the Angel breaks off to return to assisting the Fox, while Captain X circles around to match the path of the Condor bomber.
Below, the Flying Fox is engaged in a desperate duel. He loops and banks wildly, but the other pilot seems almost able to anticipate his strategies, evading any of his bullets with apparent ease, while the Fox's plane had suffered numerous hits. "Come on kid," he thinks to himself, smiling grimly as he spies the Angel's plane returning from its mission. "Let's take this rat down."
Meanwhile, Captain X descends over the bomber, Jenny matching its speed and extending a grapplehook to connect with the larger plane. The aviator slides down easily, and starts unbolting a top hatch to gain entry to the bomber. He jumps through, landing in a crouch, gun drawn and facing the cockpit, only to find the plane flying empty. "What th-?"
He walks over to the control panel. "The whole thing is on autopilot?" he thinks to himself. No, not quite, he realises, as he spies the unbelievably complicated mechanism attached to the dashboard. "Whatever it is, it can be broken," he says, firing his pistol into the main control bank. The bomber starts to lose altitude, and Captain X removes a control unit from his hip, beaming his special control ray at Jenny. "Take us down easy, girl," he says, as he guides the two planes into a safe landing.
The other two flyers resume their paired attack on the remaining Focke-Wulf. Guardian Angel attempts to circle around it, but his opponent pulls a tight loop, firing head-on and taking out the boy's right wing. "Damnit, kid," says the Flying Fox as the other ejects from his plane, his glider wings extending as he soars groundward. The opponent circles in to pluck him out of the air, but the Fox runs interference and the Angel manages to land atop the plane's cockpit. He leans down. "Hey, there's nobody in here!" he shouts into the screaming wind. In the center of the control panel, what appears to be a camera lens circles around, and focuses on the intruder, almost looking surprised.
The Flying Fox tries to wave the kid off; he'll take down the plane when its pilot is confused. The Guardian Angel recovers from his astonishment, diving off the plane just as the Fox's guns strike it out from beneath in a blaze of fire.
As he watches his allies depart in their separate and unique fashions, he silently gives them thumb's up. "Keep 'em flying, partners," he grins to himself.
"Two planes? Two planes?" Dr. Tobor grips the edge of the table belonging to the man in the black suit. "You were supposed to send a whole squadron!"
The other man taps out his cigarette in contempt. "The Reich does not have unlimited resources, Doctor, particularly to spend on crazy schemes. I suppose our planes will have to continue to be flown by our human pilots, who are after all the best in the world."
"But but "
"You are dismissed, Dr. Tobor."
Tobor opens his mouth to continue speaking, then whirls around and leaves in a huff. He'll never forget that foolish, boyish face in the transmission from the second fighter plane. One day he'd identify it, and roast that face over burning coals. One day.
The man in the black suit turned to face the man in brown. "So, that was disappointing, no?"
"I never had high hopes, Herr Goering."
The man in the black suit sighs and beckons to a file drawer. "So, on to the next item in the experimental division. Tell me what we have planned for Project No. 15. I believe we had a proposal entitled Projekt Bildergeschichte?"