Story 8

How to Steal the Perfect Plane on a Deadline

"We've toured the airfields, the hangars, the control building, the supplies…would you like to tour the barracks, Colonel Newkirkheimer?"

Newkirk flicked his leather gloves dismissively. "That will not be necessary, Major." He caught the German's arm as he turned away. "But, I would like to hear more about your de-icing supplies."

"With the thaw this past week, we haven't needed them at all," he said, confused. Behind the major, Carter and LeBeau finished setting the timer and hiding the last explosive.

"But you are well supplied, ja? A hot January becomes a frozen February, Major!" Newkirk turned on his heel, heading for the door.

The man sighed with relief and followed them out of the building to Klink's staff car. Lights and a full moon lit up the runway, though no planes flew. The usual snow had melted to leave small puddles here and there. It was a quiet night…for now.

A lieutenant ran up to them, panicked. "Major! Major, the bridge is out!"

"What?"

"An ice jam! The thaw—"

The three POWs shared a grim glance. They needed a way across that river.

"Colonel, will you be accompanying us to the bridge?" the major asked.

"Ja, I would like to see the damage," he agreed, waving the other two into the car. Carter started it up, putting it into gear—

Newkirk reached over his shoulder and slammed the lever into reverse. Gears ground, and the engine stalled out. "Newkirk," Carter protested, aggrieved.

He popped his head out of the door, waving the major on. "Car trouble! We'll catch up."

"Have you gone mad?" LeBeau demanded.

"Calm down. I've got a plan."

"What sort of plan? Blow us back to camp with the explosion?"

"Carter, how long have we got?"

"Fifteen—no, fourteen minutes."

"Now look. The way I see it, we have to get across that bridge tonight, right? But the bridge is out."

"And?"

"LeBeau. Mate. We are surrounded by planes."

The silence only lasted a moment before they were out of the car and running for the airfield.

Newkirk pointed. "Heinkel?"

LeBeau shook his head, bringing up the rear. "No. Too big, too hard to land."

"Messerschmitt?"

"One for each of us? Are you crazy? We'd never be able to take off in time!"

"You said the bomber was too big, I was just trying to get you something more your size."

"Ten minutes," Carter reported.

LeBeau kicked the hard-packed ground with a French curse. "This was a stupid plan. None of the planes we can fly will fit all of us, and we're running out of time!"

Carter peered into the dark, pointing to the side. "What about that Fieseler Storch?"

They shared a glance, then bolted for the reconnaissance plane. Newkirk yanked out the chucks and started turning the prop to prime the engine while Carter took the controls and squinted at the wings. "Do the flaps look like they have full range of motion to you, LeBeau?"

"Go, Andre!"

He checked his watch. "Well, we do have seven minutes—"

"Fly the ruddy plane, Carter!" Newkirk squeezed past him to jam himself in the back with LeBeau. Claustrophobic didn't begin to cover it.

"If we crash, it's not my fault," Carter grumbled, starting the engine.

The propeller began to turn, slowly at first but quickly building up speed as the faint pops became a much louder thrum. The plane bobbed as Carter pulled out onto the main runway. It didn't take much at all for them to float up, the Storch's wide wings and generous flaps providing plenty of lift at low speeds. Carter ran the engine as hard as he dared, trying to get out of the blast radius in time. None of them were able to relax as the time ticked down with the airfield still in sight.

Seeing the explosion from above was magnificent. The Messerschmitts tore apart, pieces of fuselage fluttering through the air. The buildings disintegrated completely, torn apart by explosive gas expansion in a beautiful array of—

"I get the picture, Carter," Hogan interrupted, pinching the bridge of his nose to ward off a headache. "I'm just happy you're back. What did you do with the plane?"

The three bloodied airmen shared a glance. "When they find it tomorrow morning, they're liable to think it was thrown there by the explosion," Newkirk said brightly, smiling with a split lip. "The damage looks very realistic."

Hogan gave them an unimpressed look. "You pancaked it in a field."

"Mr. Henreich's field, oui," LeBeau confessed, one eye swollen shut.

From his position at Hogan's shoulder, Kinch stifled a laugh.

Carter took off his hat, sheepish, but hurriedly returned the handkerchief to his bleeding nose. "Gee, Colonel, it's been a long time since I last flew—and it's been even longer since I landed!"

Hogan sighed. "We'll say the three of you got in a fight."

"But Klink will throw us in the cooler!"

"I know." He waved them out of his office. "Go get cleaned up."

They left to do so, and Kinch stroked his moustache. "They did complete the mission and get back in plenty of time for roll call, sir."

"I know. But did they have to nearly get themselves killed doing it? It's like every time I turn around, they've found something even riskier to try. And now I have to explain a missing staff car to Klink!"

Kinch grinned. "Is that the burden of command, or of parenthood? I can't tell."

Hogan shook his head. "If I'm the father, who are you?"

"Me? I'm the mother who looks like she's got everything under control."

Hogan smiled reluctantly. "I'm glad to know somebody's running this camp."