Magnolia Gods (River Sunday Romance Mysteries Book 2) (27 page)

“How much?” asked Robin.

“1600 pounds per square inch,” he said. “It’s all in small tubes though. Not as dangerous.”

She whistled. “How fast do those turbines run?” asked Robin.

“20,000 rpm when she’s going.”

“That’s a lot right up above your head,” said Mike.

“Well,” said Regal, “they got the props geared down to what they need to fly this boat, but you’re right, those turbines are running pretty good.”

“How much power does this plane have?” asked Robin.

“She ought to fly just about the same as a piston engined seaplane,” said Regal.

“They were going to put a nuclear powered boiler in her,” said Robin.

“That’s what I figured,” said Regal. “Just like the submarines.”

The team outside had started to cut the vines. The maze of vines in front of the Tabernacle had to be cleared. At the same time a path down to the water had to be cut free of small trees and other rough growth that might damage the plane’s undercarriage or puncture the thin surface of the hull and wings.

Hobble was directing. “Make sure that it doesn’t show we’ve been through here,” he said. “Bend trees down and tie them. When we pass by with the aircraft, then snap the tree back up. Pull to the side all the vines so they can be put back. We always have the chance we might be observed from the air.”

When all was ready, sections of the tent building were opened and panels of canvas were hoisted one by one, several men working with ropes to roll them up carefully. These panels would go back into place as soon as the aircraft was out in the open.

Then, using more ropes secured to the aircraft, the machine was pulled forward, into the sunlight. The seaplane began its trip to the water, first over an open field to the right of the village houses, then through the center of the cornfields. To get through the field without the wings destroying plants, the villagers had ingeniously prepared a flattened area of corn that could be straightened after the plane had passed by.

Two men walked along at the ends of the wings to insure that no branches from trees alongside the field would snap into the aged and brittle metal surfaces. Some of the wing surfaces were made from stretched fabric, and Robin was especially worried that brush, even something as weak as a cornstalk, might tear the cloth.

Some men and women, the smallest in stature and weight that Hobble could select from his townspeople, were stationed on top of the wings, their arms ready to immediately cover the plane with net fabric. Everyone watched the tree lines, alert to any over flying aircraft or sudden arrival of helicopters. Hobble informed Mike that fortunately the area was distant from the normal flight patterns of the Baltimore and Washington terminals and, over the years, the village had witnessed few flights overhead. Even so, everyone knew and planned for the real threat, observation aircraft that Aviatrice might have sent to look for Mike and Robin after their escape from the airfield nearby.

“What about satellite tracking?” said Robin.

Mike responded, “We have a pretty good possibility that this whole Eastern Shore area has been targeted by Aviatrice with that kind of photography. Assume that for years Aviatrice observers have been trying to pick up anything that might look like the plane. I’m sure they have the resources. That photography works well during the daylight. We have no way to really avoid the observers if they have our coordinates. If we had the time and tried to move her out at night, the observation might still get us through infrared imaging. We also might have more chance of hitting some brush, tearing the plane up. It’s a toss, anyway you do it.”

Mike walked ahead to scout the shoreline with Robin. After several hundred yards, they broke through the cornfield and looked at Magnolia Creek over a hedge of tangled honeysuckle that ran forward another hundred feet to reach the small beach. Out in the creek several hundred yards further were moored several small outboard boats belonging to the village.

“Your people better move those boats if we’re going to get a flyway,” Mike said to Jonathan who was following just behind them.

Robin found an opening to the beach. She looked at the creek. “I think that this water is wide enough to fly the seaplane out of here. They flew these planes into smaller creeks than this in the Pacific. It’s the takeoff, I’m most concerned about. What do you think, Mike?”

She looked down the creek, where on the opposite bank a few hundred yards off, trees hung their leafy branches down into the water.

Mike said, “A small floatplane could make it. I’m not sure about something the size of the Magnolia Whispers.”

“Captain Lawson got it in here,” said Robin, over her shoulder. “Anyway I want to test the depth out there.”

In a few moments she had stripped to her panties and was in the water. She swam out to the boats with swift strong strokes. Mike waded in after her.

“What’s it like out there?” he called.

“Why don’t you come and see for yourself?”

“OK,” he grinned and threw his shirt back on the shore. He dove out into the creek. In a few moments he had reached her.

She smiled at him. “You’re going to get in over your head.”

He reached over and playfully dunked her before she could react. Then, from under the water, he felt her hands on his belt pulling him down into the chill of the deeper creek channel. Under the water he could see the shape of her, her breasts, her hair flowing out behind, against the light of the sun up above. They came together, clasping, until their lungs were straining for air. Then they rushed toward the surface, Mike knowing that neither wanted to be untangled, both finally breathing the fresh air deeply. They held to one of the boats, side by side, laughing.

“I remember,” she said, breathing more easily, “the time you and I went up in the old biplane.”

“You remember the day because I lost my pants,” said Mike, grinning.

“No,” she pushed at him. “I remember the day because we were together. We’d jumped in the plane in our bathing suits. We got up to about four hundred feet and were circling the field when I noticed a small bird’s nest in the top brace of one of the starboard wing struts. I pointed to it. You took a little while to spot the nest, I remember. Then when you saw it, you said, ‘A bird is in the nest, a little one. He’s falling out. He’s too young to know how to fly. He’ll die.’

“It was true,” said Mike. “The nest was disintegrating. Bit by bit, pieces of cotton and little twigs were tearing loose. They were whipping by our faces.”

“Mike to the rescue,” she said. “You stood up from your seat and climbed up towards me over the cowling. I told you to get back in your seat, but you were determined. Your bare foot was on my thigh for a moment as you climbed by me and got your hand on the edge of the top wing. Then you pulled yourself over me and were crawling over the engine compartment. Your head was only a few feet from the propeller. I was scared but you didn’t seem to be bothered at all. You just kept climbing toward that bird nest like getting to it was worth giving up your life.

“In a few moments you were out on the lower wing moving out to the nest which was about half way from the fuselage. You were holding on to the struts and wires.

“I held the plane as steady as I could,” she said. “That biplane was a nice flier anyway. I just hoped that we would not get any sudden air currents that might tip the plane. Down below I could see a crowd gathering, your father and some of the mechanics and others who were at the Museum that day. Over at the Wilmington Airport next door I saw people starting to move out on the tarmac, pointing up at us.

“We had no radio. No one could reach us. We couldn’t tell anyone what was going on. Your father told me afterwards that he thought you were trying to wing walk.

“You got to the bird nest, and, just as the last of the twigs gave way, you grabbed the tiny bird who became very excited and started pecking at you.

“You started to work back toward the fuselage, the bird still pecking away. You were holding on only with your left hand and what struts and wires you could lean against. The air was coming at you, forcing you backwards.”

Robin looked at him across the surface of the water between them. “That’s when we got the gust of air. Any other time it would have just been a little bump and the plane would recover. This time that little bump nearly cost you your life.”

“I was hanging on with one hand, my feet out in the air beyond the trailing edge of the bottom wing. I was slowly sliding back off that wing,” said Mike

She nodded, making her wet hair create small circles in the creek water, “You would not let go of the bird. If you had, you could have grabbed with the other hand and you would have been all right.”

“Then I slipped some more, and that’s when I lost my shorts,” laughed Mike.

She smiled. “Your swimming trunks went flying out into the air stream behind us. I thought as quickly as I could and decided to bank the plane to port and put the nose down. I figured for a moment that might give you a chance to get your feet around a strut before the plane picked up speed. I couldn’t help you myself. I kept yelling to you to drop the damn bird.

“‘He’s got a better chance to learn to fly than you do, Mike,’ I said. ‘Drop him.’”

Mike said, “I got my left foot around a wire.”

“By the time we got to the ground, you were sitting naked on the wing and holding the little bird. But, most of all, damn, Mike, I guess that was the first time I knew I loved the hell out of you.”

Mike looked at her and said, “I loved you the first day you came into the Museum, Robin.” He reached up a wet hand and pulled a small piece of seaweed from her forehead.

Robin said, “Maybe it’s finally time for us to stop kidding around and really get together.”

“I’d like that,” said Mike. “No more solo vacations?”

“No.”

He leaned toward her. They were interrupted by a shout from the beach. Hobble was waving. The seaplane was poking through the honeysuckle hedge above the beach.

Mike and Robin splashed out of the creek and joined the others on the ropes pulling the ship down the bank, Robin only stopping to pull on her top.

Fence posts were pulled out of the ground to allow the seaplane to pass. They were laid carefully near their holes, ready to be replaced. More villagers came to assist. Everyone had a hand on a rope, intent on gently guiding the heavy plane over the bank. For a few minutes as the Magnolia Whispers turned downward, the tail rose very high into the air.

The remains of the old ramp used when the seaplane originally crashed were cleared of brush and new wood added where necessary. Some sheets of heavy plywood for the aircraft wheels were also placed as needed. The plane’s front wheel reached the ramp and leveled out the descent.

“We got to be able to take this up quick, boys, so don’t make it too permanent,” said Hobble.

A half hour passed in pulling and shoving the big machine, but finally it floated in the creek, just off the beach. Inside the fuselage, Regal was preparing to light the boilers for the first flight. Mike could see fumes coming from the exhausts.

They gathered on the beach. Now that it was in the water the plane did not seem as large. Its sharp bowed displacement hull was resting in the creek like any boat and its wings hovered close to the surface riding on the small wingtip floats. Only the high tail continued to speak of the true power of this plane. Also, from the exhaust came more and more spurts of white fumes, the gentle puffing evidence of the steam energy that could be unleashed in this great bird.

Mike was the first to notice the right wing drop down.

“She’s sinking,” yelled Mike.

As they watched, the plane’s wing dropped further, the float vanishing underwater as the ship canted to starboard. Ripples spread back toward shore.

“Leak sprung in the hull,” shouted Regal, his head appearing from the pilot compartment window. “Bulkhead is holding but I don’t know how long.”

“What do we do?” Jesse asked Mike.

Mike explained as he splashed toward the bow. “When they were first designing seaplanes, the water in the hulls used to run forward or back and throw the plane off. When they put in the bulkheads, that stopped the water from rushing around and limited the problems with leaking to compartments. That’s what is going on. The bulkhead is taking the pressure of the water. As long as it holds, and if we can fix the leak, we’re still in business.”

They got to the seaplane hull, standing in creek water up to their necks.

“Let’s get her back into shallow water,” Mike said.

The mooring lines were pulled and the plane slowly came back from the creek. As she was pulled out of the water on her landing gear, trapped water poured out a crack near the nose of the plane. Inside the hull, the aircraft pump was running at full speed, the noise barking against the hot creek air.

Regal climbed down into the lower hull and worked inside in the dim light checking the seams. Hobble and Mike were beside the hull on the outside, listening to Regal’s report.

“How long to fix it?” asked Hobble.

“It’s not going to be easy,” answered Regal, his voice muffled by the fuselage wall. “We’ll do what we can.”

Hobble looked up at the sky and ordered that camouflage netting be strung over the craft.

“It looks like one of the Pacific installations in World War Two, camouflaged against the Japanese dive bombers,” said Robin.

Mike said to Hobble, “Regal will do his best. Unfortunately he doesn’t have the new adhesives that we use to repair this kind of metal. We’ll need another great favor from you and I don’t have to remind you, we’ll face some risk.”

“Just ask,” said Hobble.

Mike spoke quickly. “We’ve got to get my assistant, Jeremy, out here, and do it without arousing suspicion. He can bring what we need to fix this hull. He’s the only man who understands how to repair these old metal compounds. Without him, we can’t get it strong enough to stand the pounding and pressure of Robin’s takeoff.”

“We can have him here by tonight,” said Hobble, his face decisive, and turned to give the order to Jonathan.