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"You'll soon see," Pitt said. "I'm not waiting to find the frail strand in your poetic knot of death. I'ming to cut it with blades,"
The old man looked more lost than ever.
"Blades?"
"Yes, propeller blades. Three of them, to be exact."
Chapter 18
83
There are many wondrous sights to behold in this world, but to Pitt nothing, not even a thirty-story rocket blasting into outer space or a needle-nosed supersonic transport streaking across the sky at twice -the speed of sound could ever look half as incredibly beautiful as that old Ford trimotor, the famed Tin Goose, pitching and rolling awkwardly in the fitful wind, curtained by the black folds of giant menacing clouds. Braced against the increasing gale, he watched intently as the ancient aircraft, graceful in its ugliness, circled Andursson's farm once before the pilot eased back on the throttles, skimmed less than ten feet over a fence and set it down in the meadow where the wide-set landing wheels rolled to a complete stop in less than two hundred feet from touchdown.
Pitt turned to Andursson. "Well, good-by, Golfur.
Thank you for all you've done for me . . . for all of US.
Golfur Andursson shook Pitts hand. "It is I who thank you, Major.
For the honor and opportunity to help my fellow brother. God go with you."
Pitt couldn't run, his cracked ribs wouldn't permit that, but he covered the distance to the trimotor in less than thirty seconds.
Just as he reached the right side of the fuselage, the door flew open and a strong arm reached down and pulled him into the cramped, narrow cabin.
"Are you Major Pitt?"
Pitt looked into the face of a great bull of a man, tan-faced, with long blond sideburns. "Yes, I'm Pitt."
"Welcome back to the roaring twenties, Major.
This is a helluva idea, using this old flying fossil for a rescue mission." He held out his hand. "I'm Captain Ben Hull."
Pitt took the massive paw and said, "Best we move out if we expect to beat the snow."
"Right you are," Hull boomed briskly. "No sense in getting ticketed for overparking." If Hull was mildly shocked at Pitts damaged face or his strange-looking clothes, he concealed it well. "We ranthis trip without a copilot, a reserved seat in your name, Major. Figured you'd want front row balcony to lead us to the wreck."
"Before I signed off, I asked Admiral Sand
ecker for a couple of items-"
"Got news for you, Major. That old sea dog carries a big mean stick. Seems he pulled every plug to get them on board before we took off." He pulled a package from his parka and raised an inquiring eyebrow.
"Beats the hell out of me why you'd want a bottle of Russian vodka and a box of cigars at a moment like
"It's for a couple of friends," Pitt said, sniffing. He turned and made his way past ten men ranged in various relaxed positions along the floor of the cabin-large, quiet, purposeful-looking men dressed in arctic weather gear. They were men who were ed in scuba diving, parachute jumping, survival, and nearly every phase of emergency medicine except surgery. A wave of confidence surged through Pitt just from observing them.
Ducking his head to clear the low cockpit door, Pitt moved into the cramped confines and eased his sore body into the worn and cracked leather bucket seat, sitting vacant on the copilot's side. As soon as he was safely strapped in, he turned and found himself staring into the grinning face of Sergeant Sam Cashman.
"Howdy, Major." Cashman's eyes widened. "God Amighty, who stomped on your face?"
"Tell you over a drink sometime." Pitt glanced at the instrument panel, quickly familiarizing himself with the old-fashioned gauges. "I'm a bit surprised to see-"
"To see a sergeant flyin' this mission instead of a genuine flight officer," Cashman bed. "You got no choice, Major. Ahim the only one on the whole island who's checked out on this old bus. Ain't she a winner?
She'll take off and land on a dollar bill and give you change."
"Okay, Sergeant. You're in command. Now let's swing this bird into the wind and get her up. Bear due, west along the river until I tell you to cut south."
