7

eastbound

The responsibility of arranging the trip to China was left to Polly after Dex conspicuously focused more attention than normal on his gadgets and Joe vanished into his office saying he had some paperwork to do ("You've always left that to the secretary," Polly had said, but Joe had conveniently not heard her).

The task was hair-rippingly difficult. China was divided into two political parties: the Kuomintang, or the Nationalist Party, and the burgeoning Communist Party. They had distinctly different values, beliefs, and leaders, but they attempted to set aside their differences in the face of much larger threat: the Japanese invasion. Hungry for resources, the Japanese stretched in northern China, conquering slices of land and were inexplicably moving down to Beijing. The country was in a state of potentially deadly confusion as the dominant Kuomintang wavered before the Japanese threat and the Communists, poorly equipped but determined, took their stand against the foreign attackers.

For one of the few times in his life, Joe's impulse of making a quick trip alone to wherever he felt like going had to be restrained—flying right into the chaos of Asian political affairs and a budding war would not be wise. He had been poised on flying to Beijing in the blink of an eye after the sightings were reported, but through Polly's insistence he had settled down to wait for the arrangements to be finalized, and decide on the pilots that he would take with him. He would have to compromise strength with subtlety—the more planes, the more notice, and that notice might not be beneficial. However, the less planes he took with him, the less notice, even though it meant less firepower. It also meant—and a simple look at the faces of the Legion pilots told him this—that if he faced the five remaining mystery planes with less than their number and triumphed, he would restore all his former glory and more.

And so the pilots were lined up in the hangar, carefully surveyed by Sky Captain. His keen olive eyes swept over each one of them, so intense that each seemed to shrink in stature beneath his gaze. And then he glanced at two. His voice rang out, metallic and grating, "You two." The other pilots stared in wonder as Charles Lufbery and Benjamin Harker stepped forward. What quality had the captain seen in tem? What had singled them out of all the rest? And two new people, too. Not two veterans, but two recent additions to the Legion—and they weren't even the best fliers.

"Dismissed, the rest of you." The pilots slouched away in a disorganized mob, relaxing the instant they left the line. A few tossed looks behind them at Ben and Charlie who stood still rigidly at attention, their faces blank and impersonal, but eventually filtered away to their old haunts to exchange gossip about the new turn of events.

Sky Captain approached the pair, looked them both in the eye. Charlie had a difficult time keeping his face straight, feeling that he would collapse or look away, every fiber in him tightened to nervous tension. And then the captain spoke, "Pack your necessities. Sergeants Harker and Lufbery, you are heading for Beijing."


The same precious copy of the Independent had finally gotten into Joe's hands after it had been read through and through by the Legion. He smoothed out the crinkled pages and spread it over his desk by the dim lamp though it was daylight outside. When Polly made her entrance, he had the pages scattered every which way with an expression of intense unconcern on his face. But she knew well enough.

"Any interesting news?" she asked, occupying herself with the filing cabinet by the door. Joe tossed an absent look in her direction and tapped a column: NEW ANTI-PLANES GUNS BOUGHT BY BRITISH. He gazed meaningfully down at the words and began to read aloud: "'Military experts are especially enthusiastic about one extremely efficient 40-millimeter anti-aircraft gun that fires tracer projectiles and has an automatic adjustment to a moving target.'" Polly disengaged herself from the filing cabinet and swept the page off the desk, revealing another that read: VERSAILLES PACT WHITTLED AWAY. She took it up and scanned the text, pursing her lips.

"'Ignoring the Treaty of Versailles, Germany is constructing a navy up to 35 percent of the British Navy and this navy includes treaty-forbidden submarines. By imposing conscription Germany has recruited an army far beyond the treaty limit of 100,000 men. She is equipping complete mechanization, including weapons forbidden by the treaty. Despite treaty terms, she has organized a combative air force. Germany no longer respects the treaty stipulation that she leave her western frontier unfortified and unoccupied by armed forces. The German Rhineland is now in the process of militarization.' Joseph—" Polly began, but Joe had stood up.

"I want to warn you, Polly," he said. "I go to avenge Moore, not to follow a false lead. I'm going to shoot down planes, not be a damn detective. And once I shoot down those planes, I'll be back here when the storm breaks. No stories, Polly, and no damn photographs either. We're flying straight into the middle of a war, and I'm a commander. If lose a man because of some idiotic delay…" A heavy silence. Polly appeared hurt, and Joe almost regretted having said what he had said. She knew more about Eastern affairs than he did, after all.

"I understand," she said quietly. "No stories." She avoided his eyes, laid some papers on his desk. "I have arrangements for a empty aerodrome in Beijing, evacuated earlier in October. We'll have to be quick because the Japanese are rapidly moving down from Manchuria. We have no official clearance to bring any planes into the country, but in its state of war no one will pay attention. The Nationalists are corrupt, and the Communists are too busy fighting the Japanese…" She explained the rest of the logistics in a monotone voice, impersonal and mechanical. At last she made to leave, reached for the doorknob.

"Polly, wait…" Joe caught her arm and held it. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," she replied coldly. Joe grinned mischievously, and with one easy, smooth motion brought her lips to his.

"Just in case," he said, detaching himself and returning to his chair, "I don't have the chance in Beijing." Polly sighed noisily in response and left, but a smile had spread over her lips.


As the three Warhawks swooped up into the lonely sky, the pilots and mechanics left behind cheered and wished last good-luck's. Charlie glanced back at the now tiny figures until they disappeared behind a cloud. He then turned to his controls, checking the altimeter and curling his toes with satisfaction. He had worn his fur-lined boots today.

The "baggage", so to speak, had been divided out among the three planes: Polly flew with Joe, Dex with Ben, and Charlie was left with anything inanimate. He was not, however, disturbed at having a heap of suitcases behind him—he was not a talkative person when flying, finding the solitude heavenly, a sort of paradise so different from the mundane, solid ground. Dex and Ben, however, both possessing active minds and temperaments, began to feel the weight of doing virtually nothing as the hours dragged on. To alleviate the boredom, Dex began to bombard Joe with questions of the trip, but was met by a sharp reprimand.

"Stop hogging the radio. I'm trying to reach Franky," Joe snapped, tinkering with the transmission. Behind him, Polly burst out after a moment's thoughtful hesitation, "Franky?"

"No need to yell," Joe said, wincing.

"Franky Cook?"

"Yes, Franky Cook. But I can't find her anyway. Last week she simply cut off any contact."

"Good," Polly muttered. Joe didn't hear her.

"I've tried tracking her down, but she's covered any traces of her progress." Joe leaned back in his seat, his brow furrowed. "What was that, Polly?" Polly brushed a strand of golden hair off her shoulder and sighed.

"Nothing. Nothing at all."


A/N: Newspaper articles are not from the Independent but taken from the New York Times.