The Secret Warriors

The P-38, with flaps down to dirty it up enough to slow it to the speed of the C-46, appeared so suddenly that Canidy was a little shaken.

They were over the soup, and the early-morning sun made the thick layer of clouds beneath them look like an endless layer of cotton batting.

Canidy reached forward, took the cans from the throttle quadrant, and held one to his ear.

“Good morning, big fat Navy lady,” the cheerful voice of the fighter pilot said.

“There seems to be some doubt that big fat Navy lady could find the ocean by its lonesome,” the fighter pilot said. “We have been sent up to lead you to it.”

“This is Admiral Wellington,” he said. “Not only are you fifteen minutes late to the rendezvous point, but you have an intolerable notion of proper radio procedure. I recommend that you take up a position five hundred yards above and in front of this aircraft, and maintain radio silence until directed otherwise.”

The flaps went up, the P-38 moved ahead, and the fighter pilot came back on the air.

“Tangerine, this is Tangerine Leader. Form on me in a V formation,” he said, considerably less cheerful.

There were six P-38s in Tangerine, and they quickly formed a V five hundred yards above and ahead of the C-46.

“Tangerine Leader, drop back to the rear of the formation,” he ordered.

Very slowly, the other aircraft in the flight passed the P-38 that had been the point of the V. When the leader was trailing the formation, Whittaker went back on the radio again.

The wings of the last P-38 on the right of the V dutifully dipped to the left and then to the right.

“Tangerine Leader,” Whittaker went on, “exercising due caution, move up behind Tangerine Six, until such time as you have your nose up his ass.”

Tangerine Leader’s P-38, which had begun obediently to ease up behind Tangerine Six, now moved to the center of the V, and then back to the point.

“Let that be a lesson to you, Tangerine Leader,” Whittaker said. “Never try to fuck with a couple of old fighter pilots.”

“Score one for the Navy,” Tangerine Leader said, chuckling. “We have enough benzene to stick with you for maybe two hours. We were already up here when they sent us looking for you. Hope that helps.”

“We’re glad to have you,” Canidy said, meaning it. German fighter aircraft from fields in Normandy and Brittany patrolled the Atlantic off the western coast of England.

“What are a couple of old fighter pilots doing flying that thing?”

“One of us stole a car,” Canidy said, “and we are being punished.”

The P-38s left them over the Atlantic when they were about halfway between Brest and Cape Finister on the western coast of Spain. Two and a half hours later, without incident, Canidy put the C-46 down at Lisbon.