Victory and Honor by unknow

Author:unknow
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781101543474
Publisher: Putnam
Published: 2011-01-07T06:00:00+00:00

Frade now was standing between the pilot and copilot seats. The lights of the huge Brazilian airfield were in sight.

Mario Peralta had been in the pilot’s seat during the seven-hour flight from Buenos Aires, as Clete had instructed, and another SAA backup pilot was flying as copilot.

“Give it to him, Mario,” Frade ordered, “and then let me sit there.”

Peralta did as ordered, but it was obvious he had been looking forward to making the approach and landing himself.

When Frade had strapped himself in and put on the headset, he gave another order, this time to the copilot: “I’ll take it. You go back and send von Wachtstein up here.”

“Sí, señor,” the copilot said, his tone making it clear that he also had been looking forward to the approach and landing.

I knew that was going to piss them off. So why did I do it?

Because Peter needs more landing practice, and I’m the most qualified person to sit in the left seat to keep him out of trouble while he does it.

So fuck the both of you.

“Sit down, Hansel, and strap yourself in.”

Von Wachtstein complied.

“You feel qualified to land this?”

Von Wachtstein considered the question and then nodded.

“Got the checklist?”

Von Wachtstein nodded again.

Frade keyed the microphone.

“Val de Cans tower, this is South American Airways Double Zero Nine. This is a Lockheed Constellation. I am ten miles south, at five thousand feet, indicating Two Nine Zero. Request approach and landing.”

“SAA Double Zero Nine, I have you on radar. Descend on present course reporting when at three thousand feet.”

“You have the aircraft, First Officer,” Clete said, and took his hands off the yoke.

“He sounded like an American,” von Wachtstein said.

“This is an American air base,” Frade replied. “One of our smaller ones.”

After they touched down, von Wachtstein looked around in awe, and said, “One of your smaller airfields?”

They were trailing a FOLLOW ME jeep down a taxiway lined on both sides as far as they could see with far-too-many-to-count four-engined Consolidated B-24 bombers parked wingtip to wingtip.

“The larger ones are really crowded,” Clete replied.

“What’s going on here?”

“This base served two major roles,” Clete said. “One, as a home base for B-24s looking for submarines and German—or allegedly neutral—merchant vessels, and, two, as a jump-off point for aircraft headed for Europe via Sierra Leone in West Africa.”

“There’s another Connie,” von Wachtstein said as they came close to the transient aircraft tarmac.

The airplane bore the markings of the U.S. Army Air Forces.

Frade thought: I wonder what the hell that’s doing here?

Did Graham or Dulles—or even Donovan—come down here to see me?

If that’s the case, the odds are I’m not going to like what they have to say.

As ground handlers wanded the Ciudad de Rosario into a parking spot beside the other Connie, Frade picked up his microphone again.

“Val de Cans tower, this is South American Airways Double Zero Nine. I’m sitting on the transient tarmac. Can you get a ladder out here to the cockpit door before, repeat before, you put a ladder up to the passenger door?”

“No problem, South American Double Zero Nine.

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