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You reach for the microphone. “Mayday. Mayday. Anybody read me? This is the Sea Duck. We’re in need of serious, A-number one assistance. Mayday!” Nothing but static for a few moments. You are afraid that the mountains are causing interference and that nobody will hear you. Then a familiar, yet annoying, voice comes over the airwaves. “Is that my old buddy, Baloo?” “Oh, no. Ace London,” you groan. “Of all the pilots to pick up when I’m down an’ out.” “That’s a big ten-four. Give me your coordinates, Ray, and I’ll save the day.” Your choices are to sit here and freeze or to let that know-it-all Ace London save your bacon. Reluctantly, you give out your coordinates. Ace London, a hotshot light grey wolf pilot who has irritated you since you were kids, does a loop-de-loop before landing his small red seaplane next to yours - spraying you in the face with snow. “Showoff,” you growl under your breath. “Looks like you’re in deep, Baloo,” London laughed, eyeing your plane buried up to the top of its pontoon struts in the snow. “Yeah, yeah, just get us outta here. We’re on a deadline an’ Becky’ll bust my chops if I’m late.” “No problemo,” London says in a cocky voice. “We’ll load your cargo in my plane. It might take enough weight off of that old antique so that it can crawl out of here. Ha! Ha!” You feel your temper rising. Resting the strong impulse to knock Ace London’s smirking face in the snow, you stomp to the cargo hold and open the back hatch. “Aspirin?” London chortles. “There’s enough aspirin here to take care of the pill that you’re in.” You scowl at the bad pun. One by one, the crates are loaded into London’s small plane. He takes off and skims over the mountains - once again spraying both you and Kit with snow. You and your navigator get back in the Sea Duck and strap in. You start up the plane. Gently, you increase the throttle until the props have enough oomph to break free from the snow. You soar once more into the air. Kit gives you a thumbs-up and the heading for Port Talbot. “Race you to Port Talbot airport, Slowpoke. Over,” Ace London says over the radio. You glower at the microphone, but agree. After all, you have to give the shipping papers to the dock workers to fully complete the delivery, not to mention making your boss happy. “Don’t lose my cargo, London, or I’ll give ya a headache. Over. What’s the time, kiddo?” Kit checks his watch. You are a half an hour late, but what else is new? Hopefully, Rebecca will believe the truth when you get home; otherwise, you will need an aspirin after she gets through scolding you about punctuality. The End
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