too late.  We need someone with his special talent now.  This is serious business, Mr. von Bruinwald.   Thousands of lives are at stake, maybe even the outcome of the entire war.”

"What about all them parachuters ya got?”

“Parachutes can be seen and heard, making them an easy target, but with this...this...”

“Airfoil,” Kit supplied enthusiastically.

“Airfoil you're virtually silent. You got your pilot's license?”

Proudly, Kit said, “Yes, sir.”  Here was someone who treated him like the adult pilot he was. He dug his license out of his pocket to show to the general.

Baloo was wishing that he’d left this uppity general to the pirates. “He may have a license, but he's still got a lot to learn.  ‘Sides, you haven’t even told us what he’s gonna be doin’!”

Ignoring Baloo’s protests, General Stately said, “Perfect.  Welcome to the Army Air Force, von Bruinwald.”

Kit was more than eager to shake the general's proffered hand and get a chance to fly a P-51 Stallion, but something in Baloo's expression made him hold back.  “What do you say, Papa Bear?”

Baloo uneasily rubbed the back of his neck. In thirty seconds, he felt like he’d aged thirty years. Half of him wanted to drag his underaged kid's tail section back home, but the other half thought of all those other men’s sons whose lives were on the line.  The fate of the war, not to mention the world, was a lot to put on a seventeen-year-old's shoulders, but he knew better than anyone that Kit was no ordinary seventeen-year-old. Feeling he had no choice, he engulfed the boy in a tight embrace. “I say Becky's gonna give me an earful.”

Hours Later
Aboard the Army Air Transport Plane

Kit, standing between the pilot’s and copilot’s seats, adjusted the uncomfortable flight helmet that left only his eyes exposed and wondered how much longer it would be to their destination. The navigator-turned-pilot glanced at his pocketwatch then out the window, immediately deducing from the position of the stars, airspeed, compass position, and the time that they were somewhere over Hounsland. As luck would have it, his nose started to itch, but he knew it was dangerous to remove his oxygen mask at these high altitudes.

Wriggling his nose in a futile attempt to alleviate the itching, Kit listened as General Stately informed him about his mission.  “We brought you on board for this.” The lion held out a photograph.

“Whoa!” Kit couldn’t believe his eyes.  In the glow of the instruments’ lights, the airplane in the photo looked eerily like something straight out of his old Space Riders comics.  It was basically the same shape as his airfoil complete with cockpit and engines.  Jet engines at that.  Squinting, he could make out machine gun turrets sticking out beneath each wing. “Is this real?” he asked into the oxygen mask microphone.

Stately nodded. “That’s the fastest, most sophisticated plane on the face of this earth.”

“I’ll say!”

“We need you to steal it and bring it to us.”

Kit gulped, his confidence taking a slight nosedive.  There was definitely nothing in the flyer’s ed manual about jet planes.  Gathering his courage, he said, “Yes, sir.”

“Allied intelligence has sighted the jet on the ground here, here, and here.”  Stately pointed to places on a map.  “We’re going to drop you here,” he tapped the map twice, “near the last known location, but since it’s deep within enemy territory, landing is out of the question.  So you’ll be jumping and gliding down with that...that…”

“Airfoil,” Kit said thoughtfully.

“Take us down to 10,000 feet, Captain, and take evasive action.”

“Yes, sir!"  With every punctuated 'sir', Grogg snapped a salute.   "I’ll keep my eyes peeled for martians too, sir!”  

General Stately sighed and shook his head. “I’ve got to have a talk with his uncle.”  

When they decreased their altitude, anti-aircraft guns began firing on them, giving the plane’s occupants a very bumpy ride.  Kit redoubled his hold on the seatbacks in an attempt to stay upright.

“One last thing, von Bruinwald,” the general said, pitching his voice over the bombs bursting all around them. “Don’t get caught and don’t get shot.”

Removing his flight helmet, Kit muttered, “Technically, that’s two things.”   With a determined expression, he staggered back to the cargo hold and opened the side door, letting in a gust of cold wind laced with the acrid stench of gunpowder.  He pulled his airfoil from underneath his air force-provided insulated flight suit.

The teenager, clutching the door frame in one hand and his airfoil in the other, looked out at the night sky being punctured by intermittent flak, trying to ascertain the right time to jump.  This was the craziest thing he’d ever attempted in his life.  Surfing through bombs, infiltrating enemy territory, stealing a jet plane he didn’t know how to fly. Baloo would never let him do any of those things, but Baloo wasn’t here now.  He hadn’t known danger - or freedom - like this for a long, long time. Adrenaline coursed through his veins as he jumped out of the plane, sliding his trusty airfoil beneath him.

“Wahoo,” he said quietly, grinning from ear to ear.

Kit made a tight circle in an attempt to slow his descent. All around him, the sky was lit up by artillery, the echoes of which mingled with the fading hum of the transport plane’s twin engines.

He was enjoying the light show until the blast of a nearby bomb blew him off his airfoil.

Freefalling!

Forcing himself to stay calm as the wind roared in his ears, Kit saw a flash of silver silhouetted against the sky.  His airfoil!   With herculean effort, he lunged for it. As his fingers closed around the cold metal, he found  himself bouncing once...

“Ouch!”

Twice…

“Oof!”

Three times down a steeply sloped roof.

“Yeowch!”

Then…

“Aaah!”

He had crashed through a weak point in the shingles.

But his fall was cut short.  Kit found himself tangled in wire, dangling upside-down, far above the floor of what appeared to be a barn.

For a brief moment, he was aware of a kerosene lamp in the corner giving off a dim light, the smell of warm hay, the frightened clucking of chickens, a cow placidly chewing her cud.   Then the thin wire snapped, sending him hurtling head-first to the ground.

Moments before Kit blacked out, he heard someone emit a sharp cry.

End of part 1

 

Operation Airfoiled Again
Part 2

TaleSpin and its characters are the property of Disney / Buena Vista and are used without permission.

Somewhere in Hounsland

Kit was jerked into heart-pounding consciousness by an angry Hounslandian voice demanding, “Vhat did you do?”

The teenager swiftly took in his surroundings.  At first he thought he had been blinded by the fall, but then he realized that he was concealed beneath a pile of dirty clothes, the smell of which reminded him of gym class.  When his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could see that his airfoil lay beside him, broken in two.

He sadly gathered up the pieces of his board, tucked them under his flight suit, then carefully made a peephole in the clothes to get a better look.  As he recalled, he was in a barn which was apparently doubling as a laundry.  There were two wringer washers nearby as well as veritable mountains of apparel in various states of cleanliness.

The man who had spoken was a doberman in full Swatzi military garb.  From his arrogant bearing and the gold insignia on his blue uniform and cap, it was obvious that he was an officer.  Flanking the officer like matching bookends were two canine heavies packing rifles.

With her back to Kit was a woman in peasant clothes, her head hanging penitently.  Grey braids protruded from beneath a handkerchief faded with many washings. “I’ll clean it up right avay, Major Heartvorm," she mumbled in a thick Hounslandian accent.

The major peered suspiciously at her through his monocle. “See dat you do.  Never have I known such a klutzy voman. Putting a hole in the roof by just doing laundry! If you weren’t such a good cook, you would have been shot long ago.  Und make sure you get my collars completely clean next time.  I can’t rule dis base with rings around der collar.”

“Jawohl, Major Heartvorm.”

In unison, the military men clicked their heels, spun around precisely 180 degrees, and marched out.

Kit held his breath and was very still.  Maybe when the little old lady leaves, I can make a break for it, he thought.

 

Suddenly, the clothes were plucked from him and he was nose-to-nose with her.

Maybe not,  Kit thought ruefully.

He prepared to bolt as they stared silently at each other. He noticed that even though the bearess was well advanced in years, her eyes were as bright as a young girl's.

Finally, she broke the silence.  “Oh, praise be to glory!  You’re alive!” she exclaimed in a hushed tone. Her voice held a melodious lilt associated with leprechauns, four leaf clovers and the verdant hills of Greenomoora.

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