spotted. According to my calc-u-lations, it should be right around heeeeeere!" Unexpectedly, Baloo had stepped off the solid rock shelf and plunged into the not-so-solid stream with Kit still hanging onto him.

Spluttering and splashing, the two bears were speedily propelled down the mountain, tumbling in the strong current. The farther they went, the faster they went, picking up momentum down the steep slope. Flipping head over heels in the natural snake-shaped waterslide, it was difficult to tell which way was up. The forest flew by them in a blur mingled with flashes of blue water and bluer sky.

"H-how do you...glub...st-st-stop this...ouch!...crazy t-thing?" Baloo choked out.

A second later, they found themselves hurtling through the air and landing with jarring jolts. They lay on the warm grass as dazed and as wet as a couple of fish out of water.

"You had to ask," Kit mumbled, shivering from his dip in the icy stream. "What was that thing?"

When Baloo's eyes focused, he was able to see what had caused their abrupt stop. "A paddlewheel." He plugged his nose, closed his eyes, and forced air through his cranium, causing twin streams of water to spout from his ears.

Kit was more interested in the building attached to the paddlewheel. "That's the famous Wulff's Wunderbar Root Beer Factory?" He got to his feet and wrung out his sweater.

It looked more like a picturesque medieval house than a factory. Wildflowers nestled against the mud and stud walls, their yellow and white heads bobbing in time with the spring breeze. On one side of the edifice, an ancient wooden paddlewheel steadily, creakily pulled water from the stream and dumped it into a shoot leading into the factory.

However, like Baloo and Kit, the factory seemed to distrust the dark forest crowding in around it as evidenced by the windows furtively peeking out from underneath the shaggy thatched roof.

"They're definitely makin' more'n just root beer in there," Baloo whispered, taking in the high electric fence that separated the forest from the clearing.

"Ya think?" Kit murmured wryly. He had noticed that there were armed guards posted at every door and gate. "How did they know we were flying over? We're invisible, right?"

Just then, a pudgy young German shepherd hurried out of the factory. Bread crumbs scattered in his wake with every flap of his lab coat. He waved his arms and shouted, "Stop! Stop!"

Alarmed, Baloo and Kit tensed. He was running right towards them.

"Maybe we're not so invisible after all," Baloo mumbled, putting a protective arm around his young navigator.

To their astonishment and relief, he ran past them and clomped across a wooden bridge that spanned the sparkling stream. He was headed for an older German shepherd with a goatee streaked with grey, who was standing next to a curious-looking contraption.

"There's something familiar about that guy," Kit whispered as he and Baloo crept across the bridge.

"Dr. Howlitz, I've been looking all over for you," the young man gasped out upon approaching the older German shepherd. "I need to know how the new soda flavor is coming along and...?" Upon observing Dr. Howlitz's uncharacteristic occupation, he asked, "Are you playing with toy rockets?"

"Must you always hound me, Hansel? These are not toys and I'm not playing." Dr. Howlitz continued to hurriedly pour the contents of two bottles of root beer into two separate funnels. The funnels were connected to a convoluted series of tubes that fed into the holes in the tops of dozens of small rockets sitting on a gigantic launcher. "If you must know, these are pop bottle rockets."

"Pop bottle rockets?" Hansel echoed faintly.

"Pop bottle rockets," Baloo murmured to Kit grimly.

Hansel, Baloo, and Kit watched as Dr. Howlitz removed the tubing from the top of the rockets, quickly corked each rocket, and began working the bicycle pump attached to the launcher.

A second later, thanks to carbonation and pressure, the rockets screamed high into the air. Then, with a surprisingly bright flashes of light and loud bangs,root beer sprinkled down on them.

Viewing his handiwork, Dr. Howlitz smiled triumphantly. "Gutt, eh?"

"Yeah, but what are they for?" Hansel asked confusedly.

"To keep the enemy away, what else?" Dr. Howlitz started to load up the launcher with new rockets.

"B-but we don't have any enemies." Nervously, he pulled a liverwurst sandwich from his lab coat pocket and chomped into it. Between bites, he said, "This is a family business. We all trust each other."

Dr. Howlitz gave Hansel a condescending pat on the shoulder. "When are you going to learn that you can't trust anybody these days? You have a lot of growing up to do before you can fill your father's shoes as president of this company, and no amount of eating will accomplish that."

Hansel's normally placid face grew red with rage. Throwing the remainder of the sandwich on the ground, he spluttered, "G-get back to work! And you have to do what I say because I'm in charge!" When he was halfway across the bridge, he turned and added as an apologetic afterthought, "Right?"

When Hansel was out of earshot, Dr. Howlitz murmured, "I wouldn't be too sure about that." He turned his attention to the sky, his Swatzi insignia ring glinted on the hand that thoughtfully stroked his goatee. Because he didn't see or hear anything, he smiled with satisfaction. "Gutt, I scared them off. Now to contact headquarters."

"Headquarters?" Kit whispered. Both he and Baloo quickly stepped back to avoid being plowed into by the doctor as he strode purposely towards the factory.

"Let's tail him. See what he's up to."

"Roger that," Kit said with a thumbs-up.

Just as Dr. Howlitz reached the door, an armed guard barred the way. "Password?"

"I work here, Gunther. And watch where you're pointing that gun," the scrawny doctor pushed the barrel of the rifle away from his face. "It's not a tuba, you know."

"Sorry, Second-Cousin Twice-Removed Georg."

Between clenched teeth, the scientist said, "It's Dr. Howlitz to you. Now let me in. Schnell!"

The burly, if not exactly bright, guard shook his head. "Just following your orders, Second...uh, Dr. Howlitz. No one enters without the password."

"All right," Dr. Howlitz said with a heavy sigh. "Bluebells."

As Gunther the guard stepped aside, Dr. Howlitz muttered, "Such an idiotic password!" He wrenched open the door and stormed into the factory closely followed by Baloo and Kit.

Dr. Howlitz swept through the warehouse, his lab coat billowing behind him as he skirted around mounds of crates, bottles, and packaging materials.

Baloo and Kit had to trot to keep up. They nearly collided with each other and with Dr. Howlitz when the scientist screeched to a halt and made a sudden U-turn.

"Where is that going?" Dr. Howlitz demanded, hurrying over to two young women loading bottles of root beer onto a truck.

The first woman, a pleasantly plump German shepherd in a brown jumpsuit emblazoned with the Wulff's Wunderbar insignia, paused in pushing a dolly up the ramp leading into the truck. "Café Minsk-Pinsk in Smolensk, right, Cousin Gretel?"

Gretel, another pleasantly plump German shepherd, nodded her head so that her blond braids bounced. She chimed in from inside the truck, "Ja, Cousin Heidi. I hear they have good borscht."

Baloo's empty stomach growled at the mere mention of food. "Mm...borscht."

"Shh!" Kit whispered, giving a fierce yank on Baloo's sleeve.

"You ninnies!" Dr. Howlitz exclaimed, waving his arms so wildly that Baloo and Kit had to dance to avoid being smacked. "You're supposed to load the bottles with the brown caps. The bottles with the red caps are a special shipment for Usland."

Heidi shared a confused look with Gretel, who consulted her clipboard. Flipping through a few papers, she said uncertainly, "Brother Hansel didn't tell us about a special shipment, Second-Cousin Twice-Removed Georg."

"Hansel doesn't know everything around here." As the disgruntled scientist passed through the doorway leading into the production area, he shouted, "And it's Dr. Howlitz to you!"

"He needs to lighten up, Cousin Gretel."

"Ja, Cousin Heidi." When both women jumped down from the truck, it sprang up with a boing.

Unlike the quiet, dim warehouse, the production area was bright, busy, and boisterous. Sweet and spicy root beer bubbled in gigantic vats, so big that they almost reached the rafters. Workers rushed to put empty bottles onto the conveyer belt, workers rushed to take filled bottles off the conveyer belt, and in between was the steady, automatic whoosh, click of bottles being filled and capped. It was a happy environment where the workers laughed and chatted to each other, obviously enjoying their occupations.

But not everyone was happy. Dr. Howlitz paid no heed to any of it as he dourly stalked past the conveyer belt with Baloo and Kit silently trailing him.

"Guttentag, Second-Cousin Twice-Removed Georg!" shouted a pleasant, portly man from his precarious perch atop a ladder. He was using a garden hose to fill one of the mixing vats with fresh mountain water. "You're just in time to taste our newest batch."

"I can't, Helmut," Dr. Howlitz said, not pausing in his race across the room. "And neither should you."

"Is this another special order for Usland?"

"No, it's because the company will never make a profit if you drink it all."

"That sounds familiar," Kit