Magnolia Gods (River Sunday Romance Mysteries Book 2) (32 page)

He moved forward again. The brush opened up and he reached the trail to the water, the same one on which they had brought the plane down yesterday. Soon he climbed down the bank, through the vines, to the waters edge. He kept low, watching for the Aviatrice men and entered the creek. He swam quickly out to the channel. The plane, he assumed, would be upstream at least a mile. He tried to swim without splashing or creating any wake to show reflections in the darkness. After a few minutes in the water, he passed by the former location of the small fishing boat where he and Robin had been yesterday. The boat had been moved, anchored closer to shore and away, he figured, from the seaplane flight path. No one wanted to repeat the accident that had caused Captain Lawson’s original crash. Mike grew tired as he swam, and he thought about Robin, the mental images of her giving him strength.

Finally, he thought he saw a reflection of metal in the darkness ahead. The glint did not appear again. He moved toward the spot where he thought he saw it. He kept thinking that he had imagined this spark of light. The lights from the helicopter fire flashed out over the water. Perhaps that was what he saw glimmering on the waves. On the shore he saw movement, a shape against the flames as a figure slipped into the water and moved out to the channel where he was. He prepared to fight this new intruder.

Just as he was ready to pull up the wet automatic pistol and fire it at the head of the swimmer, he heard a voice.

“Don’t shoot,” said Jesse, his voice low.

“Where are the others?” Mike whispered. “I heard shots.”

“Hobble’s boy is dead,” said Jesse.

“Jim had guts,” Mike said.

Jesse said, “He climbed up on the chopper and lit off the fuel. One of the bastards shot him when he was halfway back down the fuselage. Jonathan hid him over at the side of the field. He thought he should stay with the kid to keep the bastards from doing anything to the body.”

“I’m sorry about that,” said Mike.

“They got me too,” said Jesse. “In the shoulder.”

“Can you make it?”

“Don’t worry about me,” said Jesse. “Bullet glanced off. I can still run the radio.”

“How far is the plane?” asked Mike.

“Not far.”

Then the shape of the great plane appeared dully in the night. The glare of the old metal started first as small glints and then large shapes, finally looming above them. A makeshift cloth covering was stretched over the whole seaplane, its folds providing cover. They swam in under an edge of the covering.

Inside the cloth the air was moldy and stifling. Above them on the top of the plane, Jeremy and Regal were quickly dissembling the cloth of the cover, and, already, starlit sky was visible through a large opening.

“We were worried,” Jeremy whispered down to Mike. “Get aboard quick,” he said. “Robin was worried she’d have to fly this plane all by herself.”

“Do you have the papers?” Mike asked.

“Right,” said Jeremy. “They’re up in the nose. We didn’t want to leave them behind. Hobble was afraid the documents might be captured.”

Mike helped Jesse board the ladder at the gun window. Then as he clambered inside, he heard Jesse say, “Jeremy, I hope you got those leaks fixed, friend, because this plane is the only way any of us are going to get out of here alive.”

Chapter Twenty-One

10 PM, July 4

The Tabernacle, Maryland

“Come on up here, co-pilot,” said Robin.

Mike smiled and reached across the old fashioned seat to give Robin a hug. He was glad to see her, to know that she was unharmed.

“This is going to be rough, old friend,” he said.

“I’m not worried. We’ll get out of here.” She picked up some of the charts and pilot checklists.

“Here. Sit down and help me get her airborne.”

“Ready to start the countdown?” Mike said.

“Jeremy stored the box of documents right in front of you,” she said, pointing to the small metal safe.

Mike moved the box to the side, away from his control pedals.

“OK,” he said.

Regal poked his head into the pilot’s compartment. “We’ve got the tent down. I’m ready with the turbines.”

“Where’s Jeremy?”

“Down here,” came a familiar voice. Mike looked down into the bombardier compartment. Jeremy grinned back at him, his earring twinkling, his face white against the dimness.

“I’ll be here trying to keep these seams closed.”

“Your professor at school would be impressed, Jeremy,” said Mike.

“You really should be pilot, Mike,” said Robin.

“We already talked about that. OK, folks. Jesse, what are you doing back there?”

“I’m trying to get the radio up.”

“What about the regular aviation frequencies?”

“The radio won’t get them because some of the coils are ruined. We’re staying off the air anyway in the major frequencies where the Aviatrice people might be tracking us. I’m telling you, we’ll be lucky to get any signal out of this old set.”

“OK,” continued Mike, reading from the checklist. “Is the auxiliary power running to spec, Regal?”

The small gasoline engine was putting along. “Sounds all right to me,” said Regal. “We got enough power for the burners and the lights. We can go.”

“The radio is working, Mike,” said Jesse.

“OK so we have electric power. Jeremy, this is your party. It says here to check the hull interior for signs of leaks. Any accumulated bilge water should be bailed out by use of the bilge pump and hose.”

“We better skip that part,” said Jeremy.

“Are we sure the loads are balanced?” asked Mike.

Regal shouted from the engineer’s compartment, “Mike, I’ve studied all the Captain’s load leveling schematics. The water and fuel are set as trim as she can be. One fuel tank below the water line was emptied to allow Jeremy a place to work inside the hull. I’ve adjusted for that, and by my figures we still have enough fuel to get up the coast.”

“Let’s get all loose gear secured,” said Mike. “All the controls free. Make sure nothing interferes with rudder and elevators, ailerons.” Robin and Mike moved the controls side to side and set them for takeoff.

“Regal says we got enough fuel. You agree, Robin?”

“Regal already read me the tank levels,” she replied. “She’s full of mineral oil for the steam generators. Turbines are lubricated. Water tanks are topped off with distilled water.”

“Hydraulic system looks to be ok,” said Mike, checking off the list.

“Batteries?” Mike went on to the next item.

“Full charge,” answered Robin.

“Any radio yet, Jesse?” asked Mike.

“I’m trying to find a ham radio band that we can get into.”

“Let us know as soon as you get something we can use,” said Mike. “Compass reading set, says we’re headed north to northwest up this river.”

“Signal lights work, Regal?” Mike then asked.

“I just discovered we have no internal communication,” replied Jesse. “We’ll have to yell at each other. The Captain flew alone a lot so I guess he let that alone. Probably never hooked it in. No radar either. We’ll fly by dead reckoning like the old seaplane pilots did.”

“Blackout curtains over portholes so they can’t see us,” said Mike.

Mike looked up at the sky through the pilot window. “Keep a lookout for that second helicopter.”

Regal called, “Steam increasing to takeoff level.”

“Are we headed into the wind?” asked Mike.

“What little breeze we have, yes,” replied Robin.

“Windshield wiper?” asked Mike, looking for the control. “We’ll get a lot of splash taking off.”

“First thing I checked out,” answered Robin. “Yes, it works.”

“Boilers are running with pressure at full level, 1600 pounds per square inch,” Regal reported.

“Set starboard turbine to operate gyroscope instruments and set vacuum line for gyroscope on port turbine,” ordered Mike.

“I don’t think we ought to trust the autopilot,” said Robin. “We should fly hands on all the way.”

“Roger,” said Mike. “Begin operating starboard turbine. Hydraulics appear ok from starboard engine.” A whining sound grew in intensity.

“Starting port turbine to turn at one thousand rpm,” said Robin. “Pray they don’t hear the turbines over on shore.”

“Check to see landing gear up and nose wheel door is locked. Jeremy, any leaks there in the nose wheel?” asked Mike.

“No, I found it dry.”

“Ok,” said Mike.

Mike continued, looking back at the checklist. “Turn up revolutions to two thousand and check oil pressure and cooling of turbines. Regal, are the boilers all right?”

Regal called back, “All reading fine.”

“Water pressure?” asked Mike.

“OK. Hydraulics a-ok at 80 pounds pressure.”

Mike said, “Move propellers to high pitch and back to low pitch and back again. Check feathering.”

“Ok,” said Robin.

“Gyro pilot vacuum gage OK,” Robin then said, looking at the dials in front of her.

“Fuel pressure OK,” said Mike.

“We’ll have to cut loose that anchor,” said Robin.

“I can do that,” said Jeremy.

Jeremy clambered out the forward hatch. After a few moments, he reported back,

“We’re drifting, guys.”

Mike climbed out of the seat, “I’ve got to go aft and seal the gun blisters. If they are open when we take off, we’ll flood the stern fuselage.”

“I’ll keep her taxiing against the current, as long as I can. Then, I’ll have to fly her out,” said Robin. “Hurry. We’ll drift into shore.”

As he went back, he passed Jesse working in the dim radio room light, trying the different coils in the radio. “I can transmit. It’s receiving that’s the problem.”

“Will I be able to talk from the cockpit?” asked Mike.

“Do you know Morse code?”

“Not that well,” answered Mike.

“All we can transmit and receive is code. I can read and send well enough. Don’t worry, we’ll pick up someone.”

Then Mike glanced up at the engineer’s compartment where Regal was busy monitoring several steam control dials.

“Just remember, Regal, this isn’t one of your tractors back at the farm.”

Regal smiled. “It’s not as pretty.”

Mike reached the open blister window. He pushed the large mounted machine gun to the side as he tried to get the canopy down. He knew the problem in these seaplanes was to get the canopy into the waterproof seal; otherwise water from the acceleration could get in. Outside the flames of the burning helicopter made bright reflections on the water.

He searched the sky through the canopy opening. Mike felt the turbines rev slightly as Robin tried to steady the plane against the river current. Mike tried again to seal the window in the darkness. His head and shoulder was against a girder of the airframe as he pulled on the window. Robin tried the power. The plane trembled again with the revolutions of the turbines.

At that moment rifle fire from the shore raked the seaplane. Mike saw several muzzle flashes. Bullard had obviously scattered his men along the shore. More small bursts of gunfire and quick light broke the blackness and trailed, quickly fading, over the water.

A bright flame zoomed by the open entry canopy. It exploded on the far shore and a small fire began to lick at the dry river grass.

Robin launched. The plane began to pick up speed.

“Rockets, Mike,” she called.

“Another one that close and we’re done for,” he replied.

“I’ll help you with the blister,” called Jesse from the darkness.

“Keep down. Your bad arm won’t help me. You work on that radio.”

A stray rifle shot hit the canopy, putting a jagged hole in the old plastic. Shards of plastic were scattered on the metal floor of the plane as Mike struggled to close what was left of the blister window.

The seaplane was moving faster. Water splashed against the sides of the craft and came through the hole in the window. The propellers increased their noise as the turbines whined higher. More bullets chopped at the side of the hull. Robin rocked the hull to break suction with the water. The seaplane got up on its step, like a hydroplane racer. It left the water, bow first, the rise only a few inches, then more, and then the plane began to climb slowly like a beautiful heron, taking time but gradually gaining the air.

Mike could smell the oil burning in the hot boilers above him on the wing.

Shots ripped through the compartment, putting holes neatly spaced in the metal along the far wall.

“Everyone alright back there?” yelled Robin.

“Lot more holes in the hull from that burst. Might be wet when we come in again,” yelled Jeremy from the bow.

Mike turned one more time to try to close the gun blister. Then he lost his balance and fell back as Robin rocked the ship. Mike looked up from the floor just in time to see a human shape in the canopy opening, the figure outlined against the light from the burning helicopter.

Mike knew what had happened. One of the Aviatrice men had managed to swim to the seaplane and had climbed onto the hull as it taxied. The intruder got halfway through the still ajar blister window. The man began to straddle the window frame, half in the plane and half outside, as he struggled to get in. The plane rose higher in the air as the intruder perilously held on, the altitude growing to over a hundred feet above the creek surface.

The man had not seen Mike. Mike moved up from the floor. A cartridge had stuck in the intruder’s assault rifle that he held in his right hand, and he was slapping the chamber against the side of the seaplane, in a rage, trying to unjam it.

The plane lurched and the man fell back, partly out of the window. Mike almost fell out the window too, saving himself by grabbing the mounting bracket under the large machine gun that was fixed at the window. Mike’s head spun for a moment as the side of his face slammed against the steel of the gun breech. The plane lurched again as, up in the pilot’s compartment, Robin pulled sharply back to raise the nose.

As the seaplane lurched again, the intruder spotted Mike. As he fought to pull himself out of the air current rushing along the side of the plane and to get to safety inside, his left hand found and locked on the barrel of the machine gun. With the other hand he flailed his jammed rifle at Mike’s head. Mike ducked back from the weapon as he continued to hang on the steel support of the gun.