“Tomorrow?” Harry demanded a better answer.
“If you don’t want to ride with us, you can always stick out your thumb,” Sergeant Malone replied. “When the flight is confirmed, a helicopter will shuttle us to Ofu. Pollock’s coordinating it. Complain at him if you want.” Malone walked away through the open-walls of the tent.
Harry was roasting by the hangar on the airfield, his wings clipped. The Harrier had been grounded by a proclaimed lack of aviation fuel. His quick exit had been replaced with the promise of a seat on an American flight sometime the next day. He was furious, but his own air force could do no better.
“They say you are the famous Harry.”
Harry turned to find the Russian from Apia had entered the tent.
“I am Dr. Pepel. Expert in the sea cucumber.” He offered Harry his hand, greeting him as a stranger. “I did not think you would still be here.”
“There are holes in the runway,” Harry answered. “It’s limiting my options.”
“Yes, those big birds are stuck, aren’t they?” Pepel pointed at the two C-17s. “The craters break the runways almost perfectly in half. I come with the helicopters to help, and I am sent to a hotel.” Pepel shrugged. “I don’t complain. The bar was open, and there were many rumors, ridiculous whispers, like Americans bombing themselves.”
“What do you think?”
“It is not my field. If the French did it, they get caught. The French always get caught. If it was someone else?” Pepel turned his hand in the air. “Comme ci, comme ça. Maybe the French are still caught, and someone fixes their submarine.”
“Where’s your helicopter, now?” Harry asked.
“It left this morning when the others did. But you stayed.”
“Yes.”
They were interrupted by aircraft engines. Harry stepped from the tent and looked up, shading his eyes to see the An-74.
“This is my ride,” Pepel said as the distinctive cargo plane overflew them. “Runways are for sissies.”
The Coaler banked to approach the airfield and dropped its landing gear. It planted its wheels on the first inch of runway and stopped in one quarter of the space available, throwing up a cloud of dirt.
“Do you have any room?” Harry asked, elated. The An-74 was already turning to face the water.
“There are seats,” Pepel answered, “but would you believe where we are going?”
“Will the Canadians let you land that in a field?”
“Do you think we will ask?”
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