door.

“Wait.”  Clara detained him with a gentle hand on his arm. She nodded toward the canine goose stepping past the galley, clearly asking, What about the guards?

“Hmm…”  Kit glanced around the kitchen, then turned to the refrigerator where he found a large bowl of sauerkraut. He held it at arm's length, eyes watering. “Whew!  This smells worse than the leftovers from Louie’s All-You-Can-Stand-For-A-Dollar Special.”  When the guard came by again, he poked the bowl out the door, warbling a la Omyeretta, “Yoo-hoo!   I have someting for you.”

The guard followed him into the galley, unable to take his eyes off the seemingly mesmerizing sauerkraut. He didn't see Kit’s fist until it slammed into his face.

Kit caught the guard’s cap and had it on his own head before the guard hit the ground   “Now which way is corridor C?”

A Little While Later

Clad in a Swatzi uniform and carrying a rifle, Kit marched down the corridor Clara had pointed out. He didn’t know which would wear out first.  His legs because of goose stepping or his arm for saluting every guard he met.

What’s with these Swatzis and saluting?

As he marched and saluted, he surreptitiously glanced at the letters etched into the steel doors he passed.  The Swatzis were cruel and sadistic, but they were also very organized.  It made navigating his way around the maze-like cavern easier.

L...M...N...O...G? he thought, confused. That can’t be right.

He was wondering about the odd succession of letters when, suddenly, the other guards plastered their backs against the tunnel wall, shouldered their rifles, clicked their heels in unison, and saluted.

Finding himself the only one in the middle of the hallway, Kit thought, Oh, gee! and scrambled to join them.

He had just squeezed in between two other guards and assumed the same position they had when Major Heartworm came into view preceded by a diminutive beagle with a incongruously booming voice.

“Der vorld needs more order, Major Heartvorm.  Und dat is precisely vhat ve Swatzis vill impose upon der vorld.  Order.”

The major saluted his superior several times. “Jawohl, Admiral Hounkoff.”

“I schtopped by to tell you dat Der Furor vill be here today to make sure Hounsland vill be able to enforce dis order.”

I’d like to bring a little disorder to Hounsland, Kit thought from his statue-like stance against the wall.

“Ve von’t let Der Furor down, Admiral Hounkoff.”  Major Heartworm’s words were accompanied by more saluting.

“I vant demonstrations of all der veapons,” the Admiral commanded as he and the major moved down the hallway. “Und Der Furor vants to meet the pilot of der Hoot E-2 to give him der Liftwoof Flying Cross.  Thanks to him, der Allies don’t schtand a chance against us in der air.”

“Jawohl, Admiral.”

When the officers had passed, the guards resumed patrolling the hallway and Kit returned to looking for door ‘Z’.  Finally, he found it at the darkest, most remote part of the tunnel.  

The door was flanked by two heavily armed, serious-looking sentinels.  They were Major Heartworm’s most trusted guards.

In an attempt to lure them away from the door, Kit marched up to them, saluted, and said, “Major Heartvorm sent me to tell you dat you have been chosen to be Der Furor’s personal bodyguards vhen he comes.  I vill take your post.”

The men didn’t move.

“Der Furor vill give you his autograph.”

The men still didn’t move.

“Und you’ll get an extra helping of sauerkraut at schupper.”

The guards pushed past him and ran down the tunnel.

“Hounlandians.  Go fig.”  Kit slipped through the heavy steel door.

Inside the cramped quarters, there was a middle-aged owl hunched over a large drafting table covered with airplane sketches. At his elbow was a model of the jet Kit had seen in General Stately’s photograph.

“Who’re you?  Who’re you?”   He adjusted the thick glasses that made his eyes look abnormally large.   Trembling, he stared at the gun Kit held.

"Clara sent me.”  Those three words made the airplane designer visibly relax.  Propping the rifle against the wall, the teenager said, “I’m Kit from Usland.  Are you Horten Hootenski, creator of the Hoot-E2?"

“Too true.  Too true," he replied sorrowfully.  He picked up the model and turned it over in his hands.  “All the destruction it has caused.  All the lives it has ended.”

“Maybe I can end the destruction.”

A Little While Later...

"Thank you.  Thank you." Hope now shone in Horten Hootenski’s eyes.

"Thank you for telling me about your plane.”  Kit flipped through the small black notebook that was filled with hastily scrawled instructions. “I can't wait to fly it.”

"I can’t wait until it is finally in good hands, away from these Swatis.”

“Now all I have to do is find it.”

“There is a hangar at the end of corridor H.  Good luck to you.”  Horten Hootenski shook Kit’s hand.

“And I’m gonna need it.”

With a friendly wave, Kit left the room only to hear the sound of rifles being cocked.  The guards he had tricked had returned.  “Oh, shoot…” he muttered to himself.  To make matters worse, he realized that he had left his own gun behind.  He had to stall while he thought of a plan.

Plastering a smile on his face, Kit said with a Hounslandian accent, “How vas dat sauerkraut?  Goot, huh?”

The first large angry guard growled, “Major Heartvorm said ve get no sauerkraut ever again for deserting our post.”

The second large angry guard added, “So now ve’re turning you into sauerkraut.”

When they took a step towards him, Kit did the only thing he could think of.  Pulling out the pieces of his airfoil, he hurled one at each Swatzi, smacking them on the head.  They slumped to the ground in unison.

Grinning, Kit said, “Rest well and dream of sauerkraut and large women.”

Impatient to get the Hoot E-2 and himself out of enemy territory as soon as possible, Kit jumped over them and made a goose stepping beeline for corridor H, weaving his way through the sentries.

In his impatience, he forgot one very important thing.

“He didn’t salute me, Otto,” one guard said to another, saluting his compatriot.

Returning the salute, Otto said, “He didn’t salute me, either, Verner.  Must be an intruder!”

Otto blew his whistle and pointed at Kit’s retreating figure.  “After him, men!”

Hearing the whistle, Kit glanced over his shoulder.  Now it seemed like every guard from corridor C was thundering after him.  “Time to pull chocks!” he said, breaking into a run.

Kit ducked as one bullet, then another, then a third and fourth pinged off the rocky wall near his head. He half hopped, half skidded around the corner on one foot and out into the main tunnel.   “Corridor H.  Corridor H.  Where are you?” he panted, keeping up a pace that would shame an Olympic sprinter.

“Ah-ha!” He had spied a large steel ‘H’ nailed to the rock above the tunnel he was approaching.

Unfortunately, it was completely blocked by a row of armed guards the size of Uslandian football linebackers.

He had to get past them somehow, and he was afraid the old sauerkraut gag wouldn’t work this time.

Grabbing a rifle from a passing guard, spinning him around like a record in the process, Kit used it to pole vault over the line of befuddled Swatzis in front of corridor H.

“Schtop him!” Otto shouted, blowing his whistle loud and long.

As if on cue, all the linebacker-like guards turned inward towards the tunnel and began firing at Kit.

“I didn’t sign up for dance lessons!” he cried, alternately ducking and hopping like a Mexican jumping bear to avoid the bullets.

Fortunately, further up the tunnel, there was a 90 degree turn, taking Kit briefly out of the line of fire. At the end of the short, steeply inclined passageway was the large, high-ceilinged hangar.  It was full of different types of planes - big, small, propeller-driven, jet-powered.  And right in front of him was the plane he’d been looking for.

The Hoot E-2.  

“Wow!” Kit panted.  “That picture did not do it justice.”

Ecstatic that his mission was almost at an end, Kit ran to the jet and pulled himself up on one of the broad wings.  But before he could climb into the cockpit, beefy hands dragged him down and tossed him on the floor like a sack of 18th class mail.

“Vhere do you tink you’re going?” Otto sneered, leaning over him.

Kit scrambled to his feet, closely surrounded by approximately fifty unsmiling guards.  All of them had their weapons pointed at him. Then someone snapped their fingers and the sentries snapped to attention, saluting.  

They allowed a man to pass between their ranks. A world-famous man.  A man whose image appeared countless times in the newspapers and movie newsreels.

Kit was face-to-face with Der Furor.

End of part 2

Operation Airfoiled Again
Part 3

TaleSpin and its characters are the property of Disney/Buena Vista and are used

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