Here's to Your Stealth
Part 1

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Higher for Hire
April 1937

Ploop!

Baloo cast his hook, baited with a triple-action twisted wiggly, into the Cape Suzette harbor with the practiced ease of a seasoned professional. He let the fishing pole dangle lazily between his fingers and leaned back against the signpost at the end of the dock with a sigh of satisfaction.

"Shouldn't we be on our way to Hounsland by now?" Kit said, glancing uneasily at his watch, then over his shoulder at Higher for Hire. "Miz Cunningham said..."

"Cool your engines, Li'l Britches. We'll make it. Right now, we've got bigger fish to fry. Much bigger. This is the day that we're gonna catch Ol' Flippy."

Kit twirled the net in his hands as he watched the red-and-white bobber rise and fall on the gentle waves. "Who's Ol' Flippy?"

"Only the biggest fish in these here waters. Fishermen have been tryin' to snag him for goin' on twenty-five years. They say he's nigh on fifty pounds an' could chomp a hole the size of a bowling ball in a boat with one bite."

"He sounds more like a legendary sea monster than a fish," Kit said skeptically. He had seen too much in his twelve years to swallow that whopper.

"Nope, Ol' Flippy's definitely a fish an' a slippery fish at that. Fame and fortune await whoever gets him, an' I think today's the day. After all, it don't get any better than this." Baloo waved his large hand at their surroundings. "The sun is shinin', the birds are singin'..."

Hearing footsteps on the weatherbeaten dock, Kit turned to see a petite brown bearess approaching them. "The boss is coming."

"Ba-loo!"

The big grey bear cringed. Despite the fact that he had only worked for Rebecca Cunningham for a few months, he knew that that tone meant that he was in trouble. Again. He turned his back towards her, hoping that if he ignored her, she would disappear.

Unfortunately for him and his fishing plans, that didn't happen.

"Why is it that every time I see you, you're goofing off?" Rebecca assumed the most common pose that she used around her lazy pilot - hands on her hips and a scowl on her face.

Baloo returned her scowl. "Fishin' ain't goofin' off. Fishin' is..."

"Making you late for your next pick-up." Pointing at her wristwatch, she said, "You were supposed to be in the air and on the way to Hounsland a half hour ago."

Baloo's attention returned to fishing when the end of his pole suddenly bent towards the water. Whatever was on the end of that line was so heavy that it was trying to yank the rod out of his hands. "Later, Becky, later. Right now, I got me a fish to catch." Excited, he stood and started to reel the line in, digging his heels into the dock to avoid being pulled into the harbor.

"You'll catch it if you don't get going. Give me that!" Rebecca wrenched the pole from his grasp, thereby yanking the hook out of the water. The humongous fish dangling from it slipped off and jumped back into the bay with a tremendous splash, drenching the three bears.

Water streaming from the bill of his baseball cap, Kit gaped a little at the size of the one that got away. "Was that...?"

"Sure was, Li'l Britches," the pilot replied, disappointed. His gaze was riveted to the ripples made by Ol' Flippy. "Sure was..."

Rebecca, even more angry now that she was soaked, wrung water out of her hair. "I want you two out of my sight now!"

"All right. All right." Baloo reclaimed his fishing pole, casting a dirty look at his boss. "C'mon, Kit."

The sodden pilot and navigator squelched their way towards the yellow seaplane moored nearby, leaving a trail of puddles in their wake.

Cupping her hands around her mouth, Rebecca called after them, "And don't drink the cargo!"

Hounsland
Several Hours Later

The Sea Duck splashed down in a placid lake near a picturesque alpine village where church steeples and rooftops pointed towards the clear blue sky. The verdant mountain rising behind the village was spread with a blanket of blue cornflowers interspersed between fragrant fir trees.

As Baloo guided the seaplane towards a stone dyke jutting out into the water, he said, "Ah, Hounsland. Home of the best polka, liverwurst, an' root beer in the world. Last time I was here, my quick pick-up turned into a week's pick-me-up. Brush up on your oom-pah-pahing, Li'l Britches, 'cause these Hounslanders like to party."

Baloo opened the back hatch and hurried down it, anticipating a good time. He stopped in his tracks when he noticed that the town was silent save for the chiming of the church bells. In fact, it seemed completely deserted.

"Some party," Kit said wryly.

"I don't get it." Confused, Baloo rubbed the back of his neck. Seeing a woman peering suspiciously at them from the second-story window of a nearby house, he called to her. "Hey, we're from outta town. Could you..."

Slam! went the window.

"Give us some info?" Baloo concluded lamely.

While Baloo and Kit stood on the stone dyke and wondered what they should do next, a truck pulled up next to them.

A canine truck driver, clad in baggy overalls and a cap with the bill pulled down to his sunglasses, got out of the vehicle. A muffled, "Guttentag," came through his long black beard.

"Hiya, pal," Baloo said with a friendly smile as he and Kit followed the driver to the rear of the truck. "Higher for Hire here to pick up a shipment of Wulff's Wunderbar Root Beer. Ready to roll out the barrel? The root beer barrel, that is."

When the man didn't reply, Baloo tried again. "Unloadin' cargo must be the wurst job in the world. Get it, wurst? As in bratwurst?" He chuckled wanly. Sensing that the driver was intent on his business, he asked seriously, "Say, ya want any help with them crates?"

"No."

"Whatever you say, mister." Baloo shared a look with Kit, who shrugged. They gave the driver a wide berth as he worked.

Wordlessly, the man transferred the crates containing bottles of root beer from the truck to the plane. Wordlessly, he handed Baloo a packing slip. Wordlessly, he clicked the heels of his boots together in a farewell salute, climbed into his truck, and drove away.

"I've gotten warmer receptions in Thembria," the pilot muttered, flipping the lever to close the back hatch. He and his young navigator squeezed through the maze of crates in the cargo hold in order to reach the cockpit.

Kit settled into the co-pilot's seat and spread the map across his lap. "Did you see that ring with the Swatzi symbol on his finger?" From what he had seen in the newsreels and read in the newspapers, he was becoming increasingly uneasy about the Swatzis and their doings.

"Can't say as I did, kid," Baloo replied, starting up the engines.

Kit glanced back at the cargo hold. He could hear the bottles clinking due to the plane's vibration. A thought crossed his mind: I wonder if it's safe to drink?

Meanwhile...

Kit's fears would have been confirmed if he could have seen the truck driver rip off his long black beard, revealing a brown goatee. He then removed his cap and sunglasses; a glint of triumph was in his intelligent eyes. He stuffed beard, cap, and sunglasses into the glove compartment. "That root beer will give a new meaning to that quaint Uslandian phrase - out of sight."

He chuckled a little as he started the truck.

The Sea Duck
A Little While Later

"Boy, my mouth is dry," Baloo said, smacking his lips. He set the 'autopilot', a crowbar slung across the control yoke. "I'm gonna go grab me one of them root beers. Want one?"

"No, thanks, and I don't think you should either. Remember what Miz Cunningham said about not drinking the cargo?"

"Don't worry. I'll pay her back." Baloo began rummaging in his shirt pocket for change. "One little ol' sody pop don't cost that much." Finding nothing but lint and a gum wrapper, he asked, "Uh...ya got a dime, partner?"

Kit sighed, thinking, How did I know that was coming? He pulled ten cents out of his pocket and flipped it into Baloo's outstretched palm.

"Moochus gracious," the big bear said, disappearing into the cargo hold.

Kit could hear the plink of a bottlecap as it hit the floor. Then, he heard noisy gulping followed by a reverberating burp! The boy shook his head, knowing the scolding that awaited them when they got home. When will Baloo ever learn?

A moment later, Baloo dropped into the pilot's seat, saying, "Take a gander at this, Li'l Britches. Wulff's got a new bottlecap. This'll be a honey for my collection."

When Kit glanced over at Baloo, his jaw dropped.

The bottlecap seemed to be tossing itself up and down in midair over the empty pilot's seat before flipping itself into Kit's hand. The boy blinked, rubbed his eyes, then stared again. "P-papa Bear?"

"Hey, what's wrong, Li'l Britches?" Baloo released the autopilot and hung the crowbar on the back of his seat. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

A bewildered Kit gulped. His gaze traveled from the crowbar, which had seemed to move on its own accord, to the bottlecap in his hand, to the empty pilot's seat. He gulped again. "I don't know what I'm seeing or not seeing."

"Whattaya mean?"

"I can't see you, Baloo." Kit fought to keep his voice even. His hand holding the bottlecap trembled slightly.

"Is this some sort of April Fool's joke? I'm sittin' right here. Large as life."

Kit's voice cracked when he said,