Chapter 10

Things took awhile to settle down. Longer than expected. It seems the steps up the chain of command had some rusty links. Or maybe the ladder of success had some busted rungs. This particular bureau of the Department of the Treasury had been in business ... is that the word for an organization that spends more than it takes in? ... this bunch was part of the 1915 good old boys network. Those originals were dead or retired but it was the same old same old.

The top rung of the ladder is political ... as in appointee ... but the steps, links, rungs have been buddies since the beginning. The same fraternities, schools or politics run the show. The lady at the top is too busy telling the country everything is 'good' to pay attention to what the chain is doing.

The arrest of three and the deaths of seven of the top squad of the Bureau of Narcotics eventually led to changes in oversight and a new name.

"Now that we own another plane ... how are we getting home?" Grace asked David.

Ben overheard and snorted, "You two are the best pilots in the state ... fly home."

David said, "We can't."

"Why not?"

"Because the people you think we are ... are dead. They died in 1961 during an earthquake in New Zealand. Do we look like them?"

"Nope ... but I saw stranger things in the Pacific. The girl..." Hineahuone looked up. " ... I know her dad. Fred Te Wherowhero. He's descended from Pōtatau Te Wherowhero, the first Māori King and founder of the Te Wherowhero royal line. She's a Māori Princess and she knows who you are." Hineahuone nodded and grinned.

Ben made up his mind.

"Get in the aircraft ... both of you."

"Which?"

"Hell, the B-25. Charlie's Angels."

"Oh," said David, "I like that one."

Grace said, "You would."

Charlie's Angels had gender specific nose art. Just like 1800's sailing ships, they sported boobs, blonde flowing hair and almost nonexistent robes.

These three winged girls, riding 500 pound bombs astride, had pitchforks and were chasing the WW2 cartoon Jap; short legs, buck teeth, coke bottle thick glasses, and a jungle uniform. He was bleeding from holes in his ass and running like a monkey. His hat was in the air behind his head and both hands were gripping his ass.

"Where's the check sheet?" asked Grace.

Ben smiled a smile of triumph. "Only pilots would know that. It's in the belly hatch. Get it and start."

So Grace and David did the walk around. "Come on Hineahuone, you might as well get in on this. You're going to be taking lessons."

"Who? Me?" Hineahuone asked.

"Yeah, you. The college is offering recreational flight school for credit and you won't need to spend big bucks. We can supply the plane as soon as Harold gets it together and gets them assembled." David gave Harold a look.

"Oh, yeah. Right on it." Harold headed out at a run. Six military aircraft that needed assembly was right up his alley.

The four of them, Ben, David, Grace and Hineahuone checked and shook and pushed and pulled and opened petcocks and closed same. They fetched ladders to look at fuel levels and called for the truck to gas up. They pulled red pins and took red boots off propellers and looked for leaks in the hydraulics. The engine hours matched the log book and the turrets were in takeoff position. Radial engines don't have sumps ... exactly ... so they use a lot of lubrication oil.

(Well ... that was an education. Some radial engines do have sumps and oil pumps but they still go through oil like my ex and I used to go through KY.)

"Hold on. Jerry!" One of the A&P mechanics looked up. "Four 'chutes." Ben looked at the newest member of soon to be pilots, "These are old airplanes ... and like old people ... they sometimes have problems." He buckled Hineahuone into one, "We always hope we never have to use one ... but I'd rather have one and not need it than need one and know it's in the hangar. The reason for the checklist and walk around? You can't fix it upstairs. If it's broke or marginal ... find out about it down here." He stomped the hardstand. "No matter what ... this is where it all ends."