Jay Lake - Rocket Science

“Ah, bandit… the aircraft circling the refinery?” Blue Leader added hastily, “Over.”

“I’m going to do a waggle,” I said. “Over.” I grabbed the control handles and waggled Pegasus. As soon as I released them Pegasus took over again on autopilot.

“Roger that, bandit. Suggest you proceed to the airstrip and land your aircraft. You are in a world of hurt, buddy. Over.”

At least he hadn’t started shooting at me all over again. “No can do, Blue Leader. I need to talk to Colonel Pinkhoffer. Do you know his voice personally? Over.”

Since there were bad guys inside the Army’s local presence, I needed some way to know I was talking to the right guy. I figured the pilot wasn’t likely an agent — the Colonel had brought him in from somewhere else to chase me down. As long as Colonel Pinkhoffer wasn’t doubled like Morgan, and this pilot could help me out, I might have a chance to talk sense to someone important enough to do something. If all of them believed me.

Life was full of ‘ifs’ right now.

“Roger that,” said Blue Leader. “Why ask me? Talk to the tower. Over.”

“There’s been a security breach inside Pinkhoffer’s staff. I don’t know who’s in the tower. I don’t know you, either, but you’re a pilot and I’m a pilot. I’ve got to trust someone somewhere. Over.”

“Ah, whatever you say, bandit.” We did a couple of tight loops around a distillation tower, Pegasus keeping the evasive maneuvers going. I watched the Mustangs circle above me on one of the screens, wondering which of those men held my life in his hands right now.

After a minute or more, the pilot spoke up. “Tower, this is Blue Leader. I need the Pink. Over.”

“We copied all that here,” replied the tower. “He’s coming now. Over.”

“Blue Leader,” I said, still watching the Mustangs on Pegasus’ view screen. “Could you give me a little wing waggle? I like to know who I’m talking to. Over.”

The leftmost airplane promptly dipped its wings.

“Thanks,” I said. “When Colonel Pinkhoffer comes on, ask him to clear the room. Over.”

“Roger that, bandit. Please stand by. Over.” Blue Leader was starting to sound more amused than anything else. Maybe it was because we’d never fired back at them. Pegasus did have a point with its Quaker ways.

“What are you trying to accomplish?” asked Floyd.

“Pegasus, cut the radio,” I said.

“I am already masking internal conversations,” said Pegasus. The computational rocket was way ahead of me.

“I’m trying to land us at the refinery without getting killed,” I said.

“Why?”

“Pegasus needs fuel.”

“I require lubricant, not fuel.”

“Whatever.” I waved it off with a flip of the wrist. I was starting to feel energized — for the first time in days, it looked like events were coming together in my favor instead of against me. I hoped I could resolve some things before I collapsed from sheer exhaustion.

“What happens then?”

“I have no idea. I guess we turn ourselves over to the Army, go to jail for the rest of our lives, and Pegasus can take off to wherever it needs to.” If they let my airplane go again.

“I will be leaving Earth,” said Pegasus.

Well, that was clear enough.

“Why didn’t you go before?” asked Floyd. Good thinking, for a change.

“I need the lubricant before my main drives will function. I am currently running on auxiliary power systems, and cannot safely perform exoatmospheric maneuvers in my current state.”

The weird thing was I almost understood what Pegasus was talking about.

Pegasus continued, “When I crashed in the Arctic, certain internal systems ruptured and I lost slightly over eighty eight percent of my lubricant supply. I have been trapped here ever since.”

The lost oil was, of course, the dark stain I had seen on the ice in the German photo of Pegasus’ original position. And the Luftwaffe had given it barely enough oil to fly, I was willing to bet, purposely keeping Pegasus trapped to serve their purposes.

I had to ask the other question I had been avoiding. “Once the Germans dug you up, why didn’t you just leave on your own, find your own oil and get out?”

“There were ethical and practical issues at first,” Pegasus said. “Additionally, I have not been released to independent operation.

A voice crackled on the cabin loudspeaker. “Pinkhoffer here.” He sounded like he was from back East.

“Colonel Pinkhoffer. Are you alone? Over.”

There was a pause. “I am now. Is this Dunham?”

Pinkhoffer was obviously not a pilot. He wasn’t following radio procedure. “Yes, sir. Vernon Dunham here. Over.”

“Right,” said the Colonel. “Blue Leader, you and Blue Flight shut your ears. Find another frequency for a few minutes.”

Blue Leader promptly replied, “Yes, sir. Over.”

Fat chance of that , I thought. “We’ve got a problem, Colonel. Over.”

“I’d say so.”

“I’m not the bad guy here. Over.”

“Chief Davis tells me you’re a fine young man. But son, it appears that you’ve stolen a car, burned down your boarding house, assaulted a military officer in performance of his duties, tried to kill your own father, misappropriated military property and committed about twelve other serious criminal acts that could put you away for life. Or worse.”

Misappropriated military property? Did he mean the f-panzer? Or maybe Pegasus itself. I’d always assumed Floyd had swiped Pegasus from the Nazis — he’d said as much, about taking money from them. I groaned. It looked like Floyd had taken money from the Nazis and stolen Pegasus from the United States Army.

“Ah, sir, running Captain Markowicz down was a misunderstanding. I thought he was a Nazi agent. And I didn’t do the rest of that stuff. But that’s not why I called in. Over.”

“Then why are we talking, son?”

“Two things. One very important to you, the other very important to me. Over.”

“Yes?”

“You’re going to care a whole lot about this first thing. Your Lieutenant Morgan of CID, right now he’s over at the police station. He’s a Nazi agent. There’s at least one witness besides me who can testify to that.” Assuming Dad lived.

At least Dad was safely in Wichita. From what Mrs. Milliken had hinted at, Hauptmann and Milliken were working with, or maybe for, Morgan. They’d both been hot in the Kansas Fascist League before the war, all for Lindbergh and Henry Ford, so that made sense. And of course Mrs. Milliken had said she would be looking for the nice Army men.

“You might also have a private talk with Ruthie Milliken,” I added. “I’m pretty sure she’s already looking for you. She might not make a statement against her husband on the record, but she can back up important parts of my story. Oh, and while you’re at it, grab Ollie Wannamaker and send some of your MPs hotfooting over to the Bellamy farm. There’s Reds and mobsters fighting it out, and they’ve lost all their vehicles. Over.”

If the Colonel’s boys could crack Morgan, or even just get Mrs. Milliken’s corroboration of my version of events, that would lead them to Hauptmann and the Doc. Those two might not be actual German agents, but they were sure more than doubled-out dupes like Floyd. Ollie could help Pinkhoffer sort out the mess at the Bellamy place. None of those guys would have gotten too far away from the scene, not after the mess we made of the place and of their cars.

“All right,” said Pinkhoffer after a pause. “You sound like you’re far off your rocker, but there’s a lot of crazy horse hockey around here right now. I’ll take all that under advisement. What’s the second thing?”