Baloo!  Mind your manners,” Rebecca snapped, plucking her pilot’s cap off his head.

 

Even in person, the ursine Colonel Conrad seemed larger than life.  Perhaps it was the accumulation of his past heroic deeds that hung on him like the many medals on his uniform. Perhaps it was his square, broad shoulders that seemed to be able to carry the weight of the world.  Or perhaps it the handsomely charming effect of his frank, lopsided grin coupled with an unruly mop of curly blond hair.  Whatever it was, Col. Conrad had it, and had it in abundance.

 

Baloo fidgeted a little, not knowing whether to salute, bow, or shake this great man’s hand.  Col. Conrad resolved that by grabbing his paw and pumping it as if they were old friends. With a smile that crinkled the corners of his twinkling brown eyes, he drawled in a southern accent, “It shore is a decided delight to meet a fellow flyboy.”

 

“Did ya hear that, Becky?” Baloo said, nearly dancing with joy.  “Col. Conrad’s delighted to meet me!”

 

“I heard,” Rebecca said wryly.

 

Molly tugged on the hem of Baloo’s shirt, saying, “Did you know that Col. Conrad got all those pretty medals for bravery?”

 

From Baloo’s other side, Kit chimed in: “And Col. Conrad’s flown everything from an Aironca P-39 Thunderbuster, a Douglas Dolphinfin, and that Martinique PB&J Seafarer sitting out there is the very first of its kind.”

 

“Brand-new too,” Conrad added. “Though I prefer the classics like your Conwing L-16, Mr. Baloo.  I’m sure the MovieToon clips and newspaper pictures didn’t do it justice. I’d be delighted if you would let me take a little look-see.  Maybe take her out for a spin sometime, just the two of us?”

 

Baloo beamed.  Nothing made him happier than talking about ‘his baby’. “Well, sure, Connie!”

 

“He’s been telling us about all his parades. He’s had fourteen!” Molly exclaimed.

 

“Thirteen-and-a-half,” Conrad corrected modestly.  “Hero work waits for no parade.”

 

“You ought to see him fly.  He’s...he’s...wow!” Kit said, gazing up at the ambassador with hero-worship. “Can we go for a ride in your plane, Col. Conrad?”

 

“Please?” Molly pleaded, clasping her little hands.

 

Col. Conrad flashed his famous smile. “Maybe a little later on, kids.”

 

Rebecca explained, “Col. Conrad has more important things to do now.  He’s here because Baloo’s being honored with a position on his staff.”

 

“Me, sir?”

 

“You, sir.  Your exploits are quite well-known, ya know,” Col. Conrad said, causing Baloo to blush.  “My next mission requires someone with your skills, your expertise, your...”

 

“Hero-ing abilities?” Baloo supplied, puffing out his chest.

 

“Precisely!  This mission calls for a huge hero.  Someone able to attract all the attention of the Gle-orious Thembrian People.”

 

“Shucks, I’m used to attracting attention.”

 

“I reckon ya are.  That’s why I’ve chosen ya’ll to be my official chauffeur,” Conrad said with the air of a man conferring a great favor.

 

“Chauffeur?”  Baloo’s chest - and ego - deflated.  “Wait a prop-spinnin’ minute! If you’re such a hotshot pilot why don’t you fly yourself to Thembria?”

 

Indignantly, Rebecca said, “Whoever heard of a very important ambassador flying himself to a very important peacekeeping mission?”

 

“I guess ya got a point there, Becky.  What happened to your last chauffeur?”

 

“I reckon he’s not longer, er...available.” Conrad’s famous smile flickered, but only for a moment. “I promise ya’ll be fairly recompensed.”  He pulled a big wad of cash out of his pocket and offered it to Baloo.

 

Snatching the money greedily, Rebecca said, “You’ve got yourself a pilot.”

 

“Now that that’s settled, I reckon we’d better hit the sky,” Col. Conrad said, giving Baloo a friendly whack on the shoulder.

 

“What?  Now?” Baloo exclaimed, his face falling.  “B-b-b-b-b-but I just got home and...”

 

“The countdown’s on.  No time to lose. Besides, we’ve got to settle this little old Thembrian fracas so Ms. Rebecca and I can make our date tonight at my regular table at the Carousel Club.”

 

“Date?  Tonight?” Baloo’s gaze went from Rebecca to Col. Conrad, then back again. He didn’t like the way they were looking at each other.  In fact, he had the strange urge to rearrange the ambassador’s gleaming teeth. “But, Becky, I’ve been lookin’ forward to you and me gettin’ burgers all week.”

 

“We can get hamburgers anytime,” Rebecca replied.  She shoved Baloo’s hat in his hands and pushed him out the door and down the dock towards the Seafarer while everyone else followed them.  “Besides, if you don’t fly Col. Conrad to Thembria, hamburgers will be the least of your worries.”

 

“But...”

 

Rebecca gave him a rough shove that propelled him through the open cockpit door of the ambassador’s plane.  “Go!”

 

“Whatever you say, Ms. Rebecca,” Baloo said grumpily, slinging his hat on his head.

 

“I bet you’ll get the biggest and bestest parade ever after you stop this war, Col. Conrad,” Molly said brightly.

 

“I’m not stopping this war just for me, little lady.  I’m stopping it for you,” he patted her head, “and you,” he patted Kit’s head, “and especially you.”

 

Rebecca tittered like a schoolgirl when the colonel bent to plant a gallant kiss on the back of her hand.

 

“Somethin’ ain’t fair here,” Baloo muttered under his breath as he sank into the pilot’s seat, a scowl etched on his face.

 

On the Way to Thembria

 

Baloo had cooled his engines and warmed up to the mission after a few hours in the sky.  He decided that chauffeuring Usland’s biggest hero to a summit to stop a war was, in fact, a very important job.  Besides, it wasn’t every day that he got to fly in a brand-new Martinique Seafarer.  It was no Conwing L-16, but he grudgingly admitted to himself that it had its merits.

 

“Say, this is some fancy-pants plane ya got here, Connie,” Baloo said, glancing over at the ambassador lounging in the plush co-pilot’s seat.

 

Not even the prospect of spending hours negotiating with the austere High Marshall seemed to shake the cool Colonel’s nerves.

 

“It’s got all the bells and whistles and then some,” Baloo continued.  “But what’s this picture that’s stamped all over everything?”

 

Col. Conrad proudly display the seal that was emblazoned on the sleeve of his navy blue uniform - a blue silhouette of two men shaking hands superimposed against a white shield.  Across the bottom of the seal was ‘Uslandian Ambassador’ in red lettering.  “That is the official ambassador seal.  It means I have diplomatic ee-mmunity.”

 

“Is it catching?” an apprehensive Baloo asked.  “I’ve never come down with that illness.  Diplomatic, I mean. When I was a boy, I got lots of immunity to measles and mumps and chicken pox and...”

 

“It’s not a dee-sease,” the ambassador chuckled good-naturedly.  “What it boils down to is that it’s a passport to go an-y-where and do pretty much an-y-thing I want to in a foreign country.”

 

“You mean you can break all the cockamamie Thembrian laws and not be shot or anything?”

 

“Yessirree,” Conrad said, flashing his famous lopsided grin.

 

“I’ve gotta get me some of that diplomatic immunity for Christmas!” Baloo chuckled.  “Speakin’ of Christmas, here we are in Thembria - the land that’s colder than Santa’s jolly red nose.”

 

After landing the plane on the snow-packed runway, Baloo flung open the door.  A frigid gust of wind smacked him in the face and instantly chilled him right down to the bone.  “Baby, it’s cold outside!” he cried as they jumped down to the ground. “What, no red carpet or welcoming committee?”

 

“Here he comes,” Conrad replied, pointing to a small figure moving towards them.

 

Col. Spigot was hurrying across the frozen tarmac to greet them as fast as his short legs could go.  When he reached them, he peered at both Uslandians suspiciously.  Frostily, he said, “Mr. Ambassador, I’m Colonel Spigot.  Perhaps you’ve heard of me?”

 

“Shore have.  Why, you’re that fella who commanded the battle of Tiny Tundra in the

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