The following is an excerpt from

The following is an excerpt from EXTRACTION, a fiction novel by Addison Gast. This issue will be available in print from Xlibris.com in august 2008. Order from www.Xlibris.com ISBN 978-1-4363-5165-2 (Hardcover) ISBN 978-1-4363-5164-5 (softcover)

Herrata Yamashita was a privileged and trusted member of the Imperial family of Japan . Herrata often wondered what the world outside the island of the Empire was like. He had traveled extensively within the limits of his countries borders, but never seen other societies or foreign cultures.

In 1942 Japan was at war and Herrata was inducted into the imperial army as an officer. A full Colonel. His limited travel experience was about to change extensively and it would give his family great honor to have Herrata in such a position of responsibility for a person of only 23 years of age.

Carlos Dario was working in his office in Manila the day the Japanese Army invaded the Philippines. He was an educated man and had a family that included two very lovely little girls and a wonderful wife. His position as a master chemist and metallurgist made him a valuable employee for the mining company where he worked. His background and education was published in the company literature along with his photograph and he was recognized as one of the best precious metals authority in Southeast Asia.

It took the Japanese Army only a few weeks after their occupation to have the mine and plant running to top speed and all the employees indoctrinated into the new work order. The mine, plant and smelter became a very important provider of lead and copper for the manufacture of munitions for the imperial Army.

Carlos had continued his job as well as he could under the conditions. He wanted to join the gorillas fighting in the hills but his better judgment said that his family needed him at home with them.

Colonel Yamashita promptly became one of the most important officers in the Imperial Army. Not because of his family’s influence but because he was entrusted by the Emperor to bring all of the treasures to the homeland that the Army had taken from the occupied countries that they had overrun in their rapid advance through China and the islands of the Pacific. He had a disciplined close cadre of soldiers that followed his orders unquestionably and to the letter. It became a tremendous job to assemble all the gold, gems and artifacts and get them safely on to Japan. It was therefore necessary in many instances to hide the material in hidden locations within the occupied country for transport later. Yamashita became a much feared individual even within the Imperial Army. Stories were told of how he dealt with officers and company commanders that decided that the treasures and gold they obtained by killing and torture of civilians should be shared and not turned over to Col. Yamashita.

Lt. Yoto had just taken Colonel Yamashita his morning tea and rice cakes into the Colonel’s office when he noticed him reading an advertising brochure from a Company in Manila. The photograph of Carlos Dario had been circled.

“Bring this man to me immediately.” Herrata instructed the Lt. “Instruct your men that he is to be treated honorably but firmly and that I want him here in Singapore before the end of this month. He is to have priority transportation and proper meals and rest on this journey.” Leave instructions with the local commander in Manila that his family is to have proper care and protection during his absence.” Thinking about this in detail, I have decided that you will go to Manila to escort this man to my area here. Do it rapidly and as I have instructed.

When Lt. Yoto entered the laboratory where Carlos was doing a strength test on a sample steel bar, he was accompanied by the local Japanese Commander in charge of the area.

“You will have the rest of today with your family and then tomorrow you will leave on a journey with us. Your family will be in trusted hands and provided for so long as you comply with the orders and instructions from Colonel Yamashita.”

Carlos was astonished. Who will test the metal and provide the reports if I am not here? Why would the Japanese treat me with such courtesy?

Carlos left the office after taking only several books and reference material with him. He had no idea why the Japanese would want him.

“I do not know how long I will be in the service of these monsters.” He told his wife and children that evening which was the last time he would see them for an unknown time.. He found his friend and neighbor Antonio willing to watch out for his family regardless of what the Lt. had promised.

“Carlos---you must do me a favor.” Antonio’s request was even more surprising to Carlos. Antonio was in the underground and provided information to the gorillas and in turn to the allies on the daily happenings of the Japanese. He wanted Carlos to provide him with information on the operation and movement of Col. Yamashita. Antonio showed Carlos how to encode the messages in his letters home to his wife. He surely would be able to write his wife?

After the first six months working with the Col. In China and other Asian occupied countries, Carlos was told one day that he was to accompany the Col on his next assignment in the Philippines. Carlos was delighted to find that he was finally going to be close again to his wife and family.

The encampment in the Philippine jungle was heavily fortified by the Japanese. The excavation was being dug by American and Australian prisoners of war. The cave was nearly completed and the entrance was designed to collapse if the doors were entered without the proper authorization. Several hundred tons of rocks and dirt were on the top of the entrance to the excavation. The prisoners were instructed not to talk about their work and where they were in the jungle under penalty of death. Only a small detail of twelve soldiers were privy to the location and happenings at the excavation. It was Carlos’s job to make sure the treasures and gold bars were properly encased in the crates marked “Munitions”. He had worked melting and smelting the bars assisted only by one of the gorillas captured in the area.

The work party climbed from the truck and slowly entered the excavation to do their work. The prisoners all knew that the cave was nearly complete and they wondered where their next prison was going to be. The guards all entered the cave with the prisoners this day. Col. Yamashita had said there would be a ceremony that day to celebrate the occasion of completion. He wanted all the soldiers that had part in the detail to wear their class A uniforms that day and take enough money to have a good time in Manila. The Colonel told the soldiers they would leave directly from the excavation and would not be returning for twenty days. The soldiers were all telling of what they were going to do in Manila with the young Filipina girls they would find. The remaining few soldiers in the camp were told to be ready to move on to their next assignment.

The day was a usual hot and humid one when the party all entered the cave. Evidently there was now a night crew working the excavation because there were several large crates marked with the symbol for ammunition piled a distance into the mine. The ceremony would be conducted in a military manner with the prisoners assembled in the rear of the mine and also the guards in their spotless class a uniforms would form ranks in front of the prisoners. The party would greet Colonel Yamashita and Carlos with the usual salute when they reached the back of the mine where the entire excavation party was assembled. Sergeant Metiko was about to ask what was taking so long when he heard the colonel and Carlos approach the entrance. The party came to attention and waited on the commander and his trusted engineer to enter their area.

“Do not go into the mine today Carlos. Stay close to me at all times” instructed the man responsible for stolen gold movement through out the Japanese Empire.

As the colonel and Carlos approached the entrance, the colonel did not enter the opening. Instead he went over to the bushes back about a hundreds yards from the excavation opening and picked up something from the bush. It was a detonator. Carlos watched in astonishment as he plunged the small handle into the device and the opening to the cave with tons of rock and dirt tumbled down the mountain sealing the cave. The colonel smiled as he congratulated himself that this operation had gone as smoothly today as the many he had accomplished prior to today. It was the usual success. Any person that knew of the cave’s location and what was in it was inside the tomb. That is, with the exception of him and Carlos.

AVIATION MACHINIST MATE FIRST CLASS Timothy Ryan USNR presented his reserve identification card to the sentry and as the Marine waved Ryan's vehicle on he replaced the ID card in his wallet. Weekend drill every month provided the training and discipline that was needed to keep the squadron "mobilization capable" in the words of his squadron commander, Captain Warren Page USNR. It also provided some extra income for the Ryan household in a chance to drink some beer with his buddies on Saturday night.

He followed the line of cars into the parking area and found a decent spot close to the area where his unit would assemble for the morning duty muster. The driver of the new black Mustang parking next to Ryan looked over and smiled as he greeted him.

"Well, if it isn't Petty Officer Coleman, the best friend a new car dealer ever had."

"You have heard this story before, Ryan they gave me a deal I couldn't resist-again"

The two were now walking side by side toward the mustering area. Hanging out with the guys for two days out of the month was a welcome break from their civilian jobs and lifestyles.

Tim Ryan had been in the reserves for over 17 years and was accustomed to doing his two weeks active duty every year in addition to his one weekend a month at the local naval air station. Congress had shuffled funding for the reserves quite a bit and the Navy had found it difficult to pay for training and transportation to and from their mission base which was Naval Air Station Cubi point, Republic of the Philippines. The value of the reserves changed however when Vietnam started heating up. Consequently they now had budgets for flight pay and money for additional training.

Ryan's unit was a transport squadron. They flew everything including required materiel for troops in all parts of the world, VIP congressmen that were on "fact-finding" nations and boot recruits coming or going to training facilities. It was 1967 and a Vietnam conflict was making demands for cargo flights from every available aircraft in the system. They had three aircraft in their unit; "Vintage" C 54 transports As they referred to them. These aircraft had been flying for over 20 years when they were assigned to the reserve organization. The detailed logbooks with years of data had entries recording each airlift flight in and out of Berlin during the Berlin airlift after WWII.

This documentation was living proof that by taking great care of any type of machinery and performing proper maintenance as required it will go virtually forever.

This unit trusted all of their Charlie 54’s and never had lost a one, or brought one home broken or in bad shape. Looking back it seems almost impossible that they would fly these antiques for training each year all the way to Africa Morocco and Europe and back home again. The journey to just get the squadrons to the mission base sometimes took three days. Their mission would be to support the active duty squadrons at these mission bases.

Upon their arrival, they usually received a great "welcome aboard" party consisting of a tub of iced beer waiting at the bottom of the ramp when the aircraft came to a stop. The active duty people were always glad to see them. They knew that the extra manpower for at least the following two weeks would help the base get caught up on their cargo flights and engine maintenance and that was a stroke of luck.

Ryan's buddy, Roger Coleman was the guy that used his Navy skills to good advantage. When he was discharged from active duty three years ago. He obtained a job at McDonald Douglas on the flight line. He was a good mechanic and a great part of the reserve aircrew.

"Working my butt off “said Roger. "However it does have some great advantages what you think of my new Mustang?"

“I’m not even going to ask what you had to put down for that. You deserve it just hope you get the time to get out and it and go someplace."

"I will, you'd better believe it. What's the scoop for this weekend and schedule?"

"I called Barty in flight operations yesterday and he said we have one hop to Dallas ,the usual Phoenix Tucson[1] RON and that's about it."

The squadron had a standing flight requirement from the operations group to fly reservists to the station from wherever their home was. This required a flight to Phoenix Arizona to pick them up for their weekend drills. On Sunday, the unit would fly them back and returned to the base. It was a milk run. Like many perhaps most of the squadron veterans, Ryan liked to have a leg up on what was going to take place on his drill weekend so he would often called the day prior and chat with one of the active duty sailors in administration.

"Attention to muster" came over the loudspeaker at the corner of the grinder. As the Squadron commanders assembled a reported to the base commanding officer they stood at attention in straight military formation. The commanders returned to the front of the group after reporting in and began to relay some of the last minute instructions.

"The lucky number this morning is the number four. If your social ends in that number gentlemen and ladies you will be required to report to medical and provide them with... their required data"

Drug testing was a required procedure in all reserve units. It was always done randomly so that no one knew in advance when he would be called to provide a urine specimen. During the breakfast meeting with all of the commanding COs the commanding officer of the base would pull the number for the week from a jar. If the reservist’s social security number ended in that number, they reported to medical immediately following muster to perform that required discipline.

Each Captain of his unit left the front of the unit formation and went up to the base commanding officer turning square corners in his military manor. He saluted the CO and announced "VR 773 ready for drill, Captain."

The base CO returned the salute and stated "very well Commander, let's make it a safe and productive drill weekend. Squadron commanders take charge and carry out the plan of the day."

The Captain then returned to the position in front of the squadron and after a few brief comments, would announce "division officers take charge and carry out the plan of the day."

The division officers made a few announcements to their individual groups and turning to the division chiefs repeated the command. Ryan's division officer was a salty, well-experienced engine mechanic named Larson who is in his late fifties and worked as a maintenance crew chief for one of the major airlines. Larson was a matter of fact person with no problem communicating with his men. He only gave instructions once giving a sailor all he needs to know to do the task. Those who questioned his command took a risk of getting a lecture of leadership or perhaps what he had in mind in order to improve one's skills for understanding his instructions. He came from the school that said you make a good sailor out of a recruit by shiting all over him and after you break him down then rebuild him back up into the mold of the disciplined fighting man. Larson looked over the heads of the men standing in the ranks in front of him and proceeded to place his attention squarely on the reservists "eyeball-two-eyeball" as the words came out of his thunderous voice.

"Ryan you will meet the career Counselor in his office at 0930 today. Are you in the called group for medical today?" The division chief asked Ryan. "No, senior chief, mine is a duce, not a four” "Good, then be there on schedule. Aircrew on 39459 today is as follows;" "Bell, Scott and Brady. Are you all here?"

The men responded affirmatively from the ranks behind him ."Tomorrow for the same aircraft; Ryan, Coleman and Lindquist."

Ryan looked down the rank and saw Roger lean out far enough so that they could see each other. He gave Ryan a smile and thumbs up indicating his pleasure that they would be flying together again this weekend.

The chief brought the division to attention and then dismissed them, instructing the sailors to report to their respective work areas.

"Looks like we caught a local for tomorrow, Tim that's cool. We'll let Brady take the Dallas RON and we will have been in the blue all local, for five hours when they get back, right?".

He was referring to the flight announcement. "Brady" was the aircrew headed by Matt Brady and the “RON” was a route overnight flight. The crew would fly the mission to Dallas, stay there overnight, and return back to Los Alamitos by the next morning.

"You got it pal, I never left anything in Dallas that I wanna go back there for. I hate those barracks and its a mile to the flight line."

At the small building on the flight line referred to as the line shack, they checked in with the station keepers who were the active duty personnel in charge of the base. These were the active duty personnel that were charged with training the reservists in their individual jobs. They were sharp on the aircraft and had a maintenance procedures down pat that it was made by McDonnell Douglas in it was used on a Charlie 54, these guys knew where went, how much it cost, if there were more than two in the Navy wide system inventory .

"Look at this, Brady is already in the left his seat in 39695 and starting his preflight"

Ryan looked back over his shoulder to where the comment came from and saw Jim Andrade, a relatively new addition to the maintenance division.

"Andrade, I have to tell you something," he said as they continued walking toward the flight line. "The only way you, or I, or even our friend Brady out there is going to make chief is for about 20 active duty and reserve to retire or die. Then, and only then, would there be an opening in this damn rate of aircraft mechanic reciprocating engines. This Navy classification is about the same rating category in the Navy now as sail makers. Unless you get in a A D J. school on jet engines on your two weeks active duty training period just before the Navy-wide rating exam, you don't stand a chance.” Beside that Andrade, I’m a lover of round engines-not jp4 burners.”

Ryan took the opportunity to recite one of his favorite sayings ;“We gotta get rid of those turbines, they're ruining aviation and our hearing...

A turbine is too simple minded, it has no mystery. The air travels through it in a straight line and doesn't pick up any of the pungent fragrance of engine oil or pilot sweat.

Anybody can start a turbine. You just need to move a switch from "OFF" to "START" and then remember to move it back to "ON" after a while. My PC is harder to start.

Cranking a round engine requires skill, finesse and style. You have to seduce it into starting. It's like waking up a horny mistress. On some planes, the pilots aren't even allowed to do it...

Turbines start by whining for a while, then give a lady-like poof and start whining a little louder.

Round engines give a satisfying rattle-rattle, click-click, BANG, more rattles, another BANG, a big macho fart or two, more clicks, a lot more smoke and finally a serious low pitched roar. We like that. It's a GUY thing...

When you start a round engine, your mind is engaged and you can concentrate on the flight ahead. Starting a turbine is like flicking on a ceiling fan: Useful, but, hardly exciting.

When you have started his round engine successfully your crew chief looks up at you like he'd let you kiss his girl too!

Turbines don't break or catch fire often enough, leading to aircrew boredom, complacency and inattention. A round engine at speed looks and sounds like it's going to blow any minute. This helps concentrate the mind! Turbines don't have enough control levers or gauges to keep a pilot's attention. There's nothing to fiddle with during long flights.

Turbines smell like a Boy Scout camp full of Coleman Lamps. Round engines smell like God intended machines to smell.” Ryan smiled and looked back at Andrade.

"Attitude attitude my friend” came the response from behind Ryan. "You'll live longer to enjoy all of these wonderful bennies we come here for once a month." Roger looked at him with a grin as he took a pair of "Mickey Mouse ears" off of the rack in line shack. The sound protection gear was a new requirement for all flight line personnel all that were turning up Aircraft engines on the flight line.

Ryan signed in with the chief and told him he had a meeting he had to go to with administration.

The question by Ryan was not necessarily as to how much work was involved as it was two the extent of pay he would receive for the time of the flight. The Navy pays aircrew extra for their flight time. Reservists had to get 2.5 hours logged each month to stay qualified for flight crew and get paid..

"Probably five hours. You have Major Strom as plane commander so you will probably go over to Nellis Air Force Base in Vegas and do touch and goes for the afternoon while some of your hard-working administration personnel go into the casino and play the slots." There was a slight attitude showing with the chief in his remark but Ryan passed it by and let the line shack heading for the administration building. Ryan remembered several instances when they had duty doing required "touch and goes" landings over at Nellis. If the word got around the squadron that one of the aircraft was going to Nellis and do the practice landings, several of the yoemen from the office who had very little work to do for the squadron that weekend, we come along for the ride. On the first landing at Nellis Air Force Base they would get off the aircraft and go into the casino and play the slot machines. When the aircraft made its last practice lending in take off the pilot would stop by the terminal to recover the people he had let off and then return to the base.

Ryan had a good idea why they wanted him in administration. His "EOS", or end of service date was fast approaching. He was time to make a decision to reenlist for another four years or leave the reserve. There was always a contest between the recruiting personnel of the squadron and the aircrew members as to what they would give and take in respect to recruiting benefits. The retention of qualified aircrew personnel in the squadron was a task designated to the career Counselor. In addition to the squadron readiness standing, it was always a mark of good leadership to have a high retention rate within the squadron. Therefore the career Counselor's objective was not only to recruit and retain personnel to stay in great favor of the commanding officer of the squadron by doing so.

To stay up on Navy procedures and to keep operations synchronized, each squadron has what is known as an "Admin Inspection" every six months. Personnel from another base in the command system came into operational offices of the squadron to review the performance records. Reenlistment of personnel especially those on flight status gave the squadron a checkmark in a right place on the evaluation sheet to him.

Tim Ryan walked into the office and was immediately greeted by his faithful and obedient career Counselor Leo. Leo was considered faithful because he had been on squadron for about six years and had never missed a weekend drill. He was the same rate as Ryan and a lot more qualified the newer engines, especially jets; however he didn't care to fly. Preferring the office atmosphere, He had a nice slot in the squadron and the right personality for it.

"Coffee?" Asked Leo at the same time smiling at Ryan as to say, "I have a new car I want to sell you" grin on his face.

"It's going to cost you more than a cup of coffee to get me to sign for more than two years Leo I'm thinking of like maybe just “extending” for two. Let's put it this way Leo. My EOS is April and this is January so we have some time for you to get me a real sweet deal like maybe

"Nada, man. Especially for mechanics with seventeen years in and no jet engine school training.”

"Whoa, Tim, not me good buddy. It's BUPERS that says there will be no more ADR types in the Navy. Next year they will change the designation to just AD and that combines you with the jet engine guys-happy thought, huh? Remember that I wear the same prop and wings insignia as you do. I'm in the same chow line waiting to see what's for lunch."

"Bullshit, Leo. You are going to change your rate to Career Counselor now that they have made it a designated rate, and guess what? You'll probably make chief the first time up for selection." Ryan walked over and took the coffee that the arrogant CC had offered and sat down in the large, comfortable black chair behind Leo's desk.

"I wish you well guy, I really mean it. You'll make a good chief. One of the first things you ought to do when you do get the hat, is have some decaffeinated coffee available in here for your customers. This is rank shit. Don't you guys believe in cleaning the pot at least once a year?"

During their brief conversation, Ryan told Leo that he wanted to think about what he wanted to do. He loved flying and knew the Charlie 54 inside and out. He had heard that the squadron was to possibly get some new aircraft and he wanted to see what that could be like. The Navy had bought some DC-9 aircraft for two active duty Navy

Transport squadrons and they were all dreaming that they may be in line for some or at least one of those for the base. That would mean that the mechs would all go to jet engine school and a lot of good things would happen.

The weekend drill went well. The squadron completed their flight to Nellis AirForce Base and did the five-hour local, which completed their training for the weekend

The sailors mustered out at 16:30 and promptly reassembled at the enlisted men's club for beer and peanuts. Ryan bought the third round at the table and left. He was home by 18:30.Petty Officer First Class Tim Ryan's reserve obligation and was completed for another thirty days.

As he came in the door to his house, he saw his father-in-law John and Tim’s son Billy sitting on the patio through the living room window. John was Becky's dad and a wonderful grandpa. He came out just about every weekend and would often take the kids down to the mall for an ice cream cone and a movie.

John liked Tim and they had had some great times together in Mexico fishing for yellowtail tuna

"Nope, I'm fine. What's this about the company maybe moving to,- where? Fresno?"

John obviously had been talking to Becky who had given him the bittersweet news. The kid's favorite grandpa would sorely miss them if they had to move, but Ryan

was sure that both he and Becky would have his support if it happened. The company where Ryan worked was building a new factory in Fresno, California and they wanted him to take charge of the marketing. The move would mean a VP slot in two years and he was looking forward to getting more information tomorrow morning when he went to work the following day.

He was in the shower when the phone rang. He heard Becky answer it as he was getting out. Walking toward the bedroom while drying himself off with a towel, his head jolted up when he heard her calling the person on the other end "Captain. "

"What's this shit. . . Captain?" he said in a whisper as she handed him the phone.

"This is Captain Page. I'm sorry to bother you. We need to know if you could get fourteen days off from your civilian job to do a somewhat extended STARP."

He never did know what the hell the acronym "STARP" meant. All he knew was that was what the Navy called it when they had to fly a mission in the middle of the month, or during the week when there were no Reserves available, or when the active duty guys were out to a school. It was extra flight time and extra pay.

, "Yes sir, I can, I believe. January is a slow month in the construction equipment business. How soon do I have to let you know?"

"We have to have a crew designated by 09:30 tomorrow so we can get the Personnel security cleared and briefed" was the reply.

Strange, he thought. Security clearance? All aircrew carried a secret clearance as a part of their job description.

You have a number?" It was 7:30 in the evening and he wondered what the Captain was doing still at the base. The number he gave him to call back was the administration office at the base.

Tim called his boss at home and caught him just as he was about to get into his Jacuzzi after playing eighteen holes at his club.

“Shoot sailor, don’t tell me you are stuck in Jacksonville Florida with a broken airplane?”

Ryan chuckled to himself remembering when he called his boss about a year ago to tell him he would not be at work on Monday because their aircraft suffered a broken hydraulic line.

“I need fourteen days off to do a mission for the Navy. Will that be any problem?”

“Not at all.” “I will have Dave Felding handle your calls. As you know, we are pretty slow right now. Have a good flight pal.”

He realized after hanging up the phone that he had lost control of several situations all in the last 45 minutes.

1. He had committed himself to ten days with the Navy for a trip to a totally unknown destination.

3. He had told Becky nothing, nada, zip, about what he was doing or where he was going for the next two weeks. Actually, this should have been on the top of his list.

One would think after seven years of marriage that a person would have the method of breaking good news-bad news to his wife with predictable responses down pat.

Becky reacted about the way he expected but stronger. After detailing how inconsiderate, irresponsible and thoughtless he was, she got personal. After her blood pressure returned to less than ballistic and color returned to her face, they made love and called it a night. It all changed when he said that he'd use the fourteen days away from work as vacation in order to get paid.

The money he brought home from this trip would go to completing her dental work and a new living room set of furniture.

The alarm went off. He was awake and in the shower before Becky climbed out of bed and offered to make some coffee and breakfast. He told her to go back to bed and he'd call her if they didn't leave right away and she could come down to the base and have dinner at the club. His sea bag was packed and ready in the back of his closet. It had been three years since he had put the bag in the closet after carefully taking inventory of the clothes in it. His weight had not changed and he was confident that everything was ready. The last time he had taken the sea bag and reported to the base was during "Operation Baby lift." This was an operation where the squadron airlifted the first group of young Vietnamese kids from Barbers Point, Hawaii to Los Alamitos.

HE CLEARED THE GATE TO THE AIR STATION AT 0530 and drove to the chow hall and parked by the side door where he could see inside that the cooks were setting up the chow line for the 06:00 opening. One thing about being in the Navy , no matter what time you went into the chow hall, there was always two things you could count on: a hot cup of coffee and another sailor with the same idea. In this case it happened to be Don Lindquist, another AD1 from the Brady bunch crew of the unit. Ryan waved at him as he entered and went over to the coffee.

"Short month eh, Don? Seems like only yesterday we were here doing our thing" he said as he sat down across from Lindquist.

"You have any idea what's the skinny here Ryan?" he asked with a kind of squint in his eyes, like it was a real secret he just found out that he was about to let Ryan in on.

“Why a burned out Charlie 54? There are a lot of different aircraft that can operate in that area that are a lot newer.”

“I don’t know. They have a reason Don. Let’s just go with the flow and collect our money-ok?”

The station theatre was starting to come alive with people moving tables and several medics lining up a series of folding tables to work on. In a half hour they had a complete processing line established complete with examining area for physicals. One corpsman was opening a field cabinet with syringes in it obviously with the thought of giving an update to those that needed shots to go overseas.

The skipper took the stage and asked for quiet. He had a clipboard in his left hand and a cup of coffee in the other.

The skipper asked everyone to take a seat then proceeded to pass down the information they would need for this mission.

“We are going to deliver a C-54 aircraft to the Air America folks over in DaNang Viet Nam and return via commercial aircraft to LAX. When you call your families and friends or whoever you have picking you up, tell them we will come in to Bradley terminal but the exact time is unknown as of this time. I’ll let you know in plenty of time prior to our departure from Nam.” Those of you that drove here and your vehicles are on base here, we will have transportation back here along with your luggage.” He continued to detail the check in procedure that medical required and then exited the stage. The squadron master chief Lloyd Larson came over to Ryan. “You finished checking in with medical Ryan? I need your attention for ten minutes.”

“Sure master chief. I’m good to go. Shots updated and page three signed. What can I do for you?”

“We have two fly away boxes onboard the aircraft Tim. The only item we are short on is a spare DLN-9 distributor. I want you to tell the people in Nam that this plus some other items will be coming from NAVSYSCOM supply in San Diego within the next week.”

“You are senior enlisted on the crew Ryan. Its your baby. You are fully capable. Just remember its your aircraft and your responsibility.” The master chief was looking straight into Tim’s eyes.

“The only problem I can see you having is with Andrade and Lindquist. Lindquist is not in uniform. .why?”

At this he looked over Tim’s shoulder at Lindquist who was talking with one of the Navy nurses.

“Lindquist!! The master Chief’s voice was heard above all the conversation and shuffling of papers and files in the room. The startled sailor immediately came over to where the master chief and Ryan were standing.

“Notice anything different from yourself and the rest of the people in this room Lindquist?” asked the master chief.

“When you receive orders for active duty Lindquist, you report in uniform. I want you to leave this room and return in uniform within an hour or you will be dropped from the mission manifest. Is that clear?”

“Yes master chief.” The scolded petty officer who stood a full five inches taller than the master chief could hardly wait to leave the room.

“One thing more sailor.” The master chief roared as the kid tried to exit the area.

“Petty officer Ryan is in charge of this enlisted crew and what he says goes. Any problems with that and you and Andrade will be making your last flight as a part of this squadron’s aircrew. Now get your sorry ass out of here.”

In the back of the room was a lone figure sitting in one of the theatre seats. He was wearing a flight jacket and flight suit. He sat quietly watching the activities until one of the officers approached him and started a conversation. Ryan saw the officer hand him a large manila envelope and then returned to the processing area.

“We have enough for three crews Master chief Larson is that right?” Asked Tim.

“Two Nav officers and four pilot types Ryan. With Andrade and Lindquist there should be enough hands for three hour watches and help on maintenance and gas crew. The radio will be handled by that guy over there.” The master chief was pointing to the figure Tim had noticed in the back of the theatre.

“His name is Casey. Steer clear of him and his friends that will be joining you on this trip. OK?”

“Sure Lloyd. No problem with that but why not one of our own squadron radiomen?”

“ Listen,” he said. It’s the way this mission was set up Tim. Don’t get into the way of the policymakers. All right?”

The aircrew assembled and walked to the flight line after making some phone calls. It was time to roll.

“Turning three.” He flipped the fuel prime toggle switch and held the starter switch on

Engine number three and as the blades of the Hamilton Standard prop passed the top twelve o’clock position, he gave the second call out.

And with that, number three started with a healthy puff of blue-white smoke from the exhaust manifold. It sounded powerful and smooth. As the cloud of smoke blew down the runway behind the aircraft, Ryan moved to the other engine starting procedures.

The Charlie C54 derives its hydraulic and electrical power from accessories driven by the number three engine. Therefore, it is always started first to provide power when starting the other engines.

The other three engines started as easily as did number three and they were running smooth. Sitting in the Flight Engineer’s seat just back of the pilot-co-pilot, all of the instrument switches were within easy reach. When the R-2000 Pratt & Whitney engine came up to speed and the fuel mixtures were correctly set, it sounded like a symphony orchestra being finely tuned. The instrument panel came alive with responding signals from every part of the aircraft. The FE had, - immediately in front of him- on a pedestal, the throttles, fuel cross feeds and prop controls. Lower on the pedestal were the fuel mixtures. Cylinder head temps for each engine and manifold pressure gauges showed the complete story of engine performance. At last resort and usually as a very important assistant to the FE, was the box on his right and to the rear mounted over the Navigator’s table- the engine analyzer.

This wonderful electronic addition to the D series aircraft would tell the FE what his problems were in flight. Many times he had flown with Master Chief Larson who knew the black box and its many patterns so well that he would turn to Ryan and say “Take a look at the front plug in number seven on four when we land.” Decoded, the command meant that the spark plug on the front of cylinder number seven on engine number four was showing a pattern on the analyzer screen that indicated a poor ignition and needed to be changed. This was one of the many items that were carried in the flyaway boxes they had loaded.

The manual for Naval Aviators and crewmembers for each particular aircraft Was known as the NATOPS. In this manual it established the rules and procedures for each crew position, i.e., the pilot’s responsibilities, the co-pilot’s and FE’s and so on. Flight time with each pilot established what changes to these rules they preferred. Ryan knew that Captain Page preferred to handle the power settings. He also knew that the Captain expected him to fly as observer the center seat position and assist whenever they were in heavy air traffic.

Skipper received his clearance from the tower. They gave the ground crew the signal to pull the safety pins and tail post and to give them to the flight attendant to stowaway onboard the aircraft. He looked back and saw Andrade placing the equipment in the proper compartments. The door open light on the panel went out.

Skipper gave the pull wheel chocks signal. The ground crew responded and the plane Captain on the ground raised his arms and signaled for the aircraft to taxi forward.

Ryan looked to the edge of the flight line and saw Master Chief Larson giving them a farewell salute as they turned onto the taxiway to twenty-two left. Just before they passed in front of the hanger and operations, the Skipper looked over at Ryan and said,

“Turn on the landing lights and acknowledge that great bunch of people on the left up here.”

He looked out the left cockpit window to see a group of about fifteen officers and enlisted lined up on the edge of the taxiway. It was the operations and maintenance personnel standing at attention and saluting goodbye to 495. This gave him a lump in his throat and sent a chill down the back of his neck. He reflected on the words of Larson

They stopped short of the active runway and performed a power check as Page called the tower for clearance. Skipper looked over at him and said, “How are they running Ryan-we ready to fly?”

“Roger Navy 39495, you are cleared for take off. Contact departure control on 110.5.”

Ryan noticed that they had a light load as he perused the flight sheet that indicated only 54,000 gross weight. The Skymaster could gross out with a full 72,000 pounds and still take off in a relatively short distance for an aircraft of her age. They became airborne and he brought the gear up. All three lights on the panel went out indicating the landing gear was now locked in the up position with all doors closed. Ryan unbuckled his seat belt and advised the Skipper and co-pilot that he was going back to check for cargo shift and on their passengers .As Tim turned to go to the rear of the aircraft, he met Andrade at the Hatchway to the passenger compartment. He was coming up to the flight deck.

“Wings are clean Ryan and all cargo still in the same place. Personnel all accounted and in place. Lindquist is, of course, in the crew bunk asleep .Andrade was going to be an asset on this mission. He knew his duties and was also willing to share the load with the team. “Thanks Andrade” Ryan said as he passed him and continued to the rear. He saw that the second crew of officers and navigator had established their territory on the aircraft. With the two pallets of cargo and the two flyaway boxes in the center, they still had room in the aft part of the aircraft for some comfort if one came prepared. These guys all had brought their sleeping bags and they were placed on the deck in the areas of the least drafty air and out of the way of any foot traffic moving to the rear area or to the small, honey bucket-type john. Ryan got to the rear galley area and smiled as he looked at the cold thermos of ice water beside the thermos of coffee. Andrade had scored a trophy in the base chow hall galley. On the side of the cold thermos were the words stenciled in bright orange paint, PROPERTY OF VP773. VP773 was our sister squadron on the base that flew patrol aircraft. The Lockheed P2V patrol aircraft also had a small crew galley onboard which was obviously now short one cold thermos. Andrade came back to the galley area and struck up a short conversation

About what the mission was going to provide in the way of training and so forth. He then asked

“Tell me something. This guy Casey, why would he have the trailing Antenna out and working the key when we are still over land and hours away from ADIZ penetration?”

He was referring to our mystery guest. He was sitting in the radiomen compartment and using the key to send Morse code. The trailing antenna was an extra long wire with a lead ball on the end. After the aircraft was airborne, it was unreeled to give extra sending and receiving power to the VHF radio onboard.

“I dunno guy, maybe he needs practice on his code and he wants to do some ham radio crap on Navy time.”

He took the coffee back to the flight deck and buckled in. Andrade had brought coffee for each of the pilots. Casey was working the code key and stretched out rather nonchalantly as if he was listening to ball scores on CBS. Ryan reached over and tuned his earphones on to “all position” and listened. He heard the air traffic control giving instructions to several airline flights and also heard Casey’s code in the background. He turned the selector button to “radio” and heard the code without the other communications. Casey’s code was pretty fast for his understanding but he picked up several exchanges between him and a very faint signal talking about some “Lima site” and a Raven. It was obviously code for some location and personnel. The person on the other end was asking for him to bring some fresh frozen steaks when he returned. They knew something he didn’t know evidently because they said to get them at San Francisco International between the United and American Airlines gates.

“Neither one this trip Ryan, we’re going to file out of San Fran International direct Barbers Point. We have three more passengers to pick up in San Fran.”

Interesting. He was aware now that there was a lot to this trip that he didn’t know about. The Skipper appeared confident to the point of almost having a good time so he wasn’t bothered by the fact that he was on the top of the membership list for the “ten percent that never know what’s going on” club. He read the gauges and transferred some

fuel from the auxiliary tanks to the mains. If they were going to refuel at SFI, it was easier to fuel the mains and aux tanks and not the fuselage tank at commercial facilities.

He saw they needed to top out the oil in number two, so he unbuckled and dropped down on the deck to select the engine and transfer oil. The reserve oil tank on the Charlie 54 is a forty-gallon tank with a pump and selector valve. To get to it, you have to reach under the starboard bunk and turn on the pump and selector. Usually the co-pilot would monitor the panel gauge and let you know when the quantity is OK.

“How is your code, kid?” The question came from Casey who was now pulling in the trailing antenna.

“Code?” He held his finger on the oil pump switch and watched the co-pilot for a signal. His eyes stayed on the co-pilot. He knew what was coming next.

“Yeah, you were listening to my transmissions back there. Can you read code well or was my hand too fast for you?”

That was loaded. Play it straight with this guy until we see where he is coming from then we can play it right the rest of the trip with him. It’s better to find out what his thing is now and get prepared. He remembered the words of Larson about“staying out of his way”.

“I could tell you were talking with some Lima site and that you are on the hook for some good beef when we get to SF!.” He saw a thumbs up from the co pilot. Ryan then shut off the oil pump and stood up to get back on the FE seat.

“Come here Ryan” Casey said working his index finger slowly as a teacher would to a student that was about to get chewed at the front of the class Ryan leaned closer to hear what he had to say. The four P&W engines turning out 1450 HP each are not quiet.Conversations on the flight deck are difficult at best

“If ever, that is, ever you decide to listen in on any transmissions I’m making from this position or on any other aircraft that we happen to find ourselves on together, you ask permission first. Is that understood?” His eyes had a cold blue stare and he was serious.

“Look Casey, I don’t know who you are or what your rank is because we haven’t had much time for that social shit and introductions. But unless you are a chief or an officer, you are on my fucking crew as a radioman and I’ll listen or not authorize you to make any transmissions from that seat-now where does that put you and me?”

Ryan took a deep breath; he couldn’t believe he said that. Something told him that this guy could rip his throat out of his neck and step on his face in two moves, but he continued to look right in his face. “Cool, I doubt that you are as tough as you’d like to sound Ryan, but you come back when you are in a comer. I like that. As for where we are, we are buddies Pal. As of now OK?”

He extended his hand but Ryan didn’t shake. He climbed back into his seat and put on his earphones. A local radio station was playing “Funky Town” and It was coming in loud and clear from the previous radio position selected. He turned the selector to listen to ATC and the Skipper.

Touchdown at SFI was smooth and they taxied to the international terminal lead by a military follow-me jeep. The Skipper asked Ryan to come with the officers into the MATS transit section of the terminal to make some manifest changes.

He told Andrade to fuel the aircraft and give it a visual on flight surfaces and also to check the cargo tie-downs.

“Get us some ice in that new thermos you borrowed from the Los Al galley, Andrade.” He also asked Lindquist to check the oil in each engine. The next leg of this mission was going to be a long one.

They entered the crew area of the MATS operation center for San Francisco International like a small landing force. All of them were wearing flight suits and flight jackets. Casey was walking with one of the navigators when they entered the office. They were carrying on a conversation about radio frequencies and areas around Cubi Point, Philippines to avoid flying over.

Three men sitting in the weather briefing section adjacent to the flight counter got up, walked up to Casey and shook hands, and then talked briefly as they went into a small office to the left. Ryan waited while the Captain and Comdr. Brown filed out the flight sheet and handed it to the sergeant at the counter. The Captain asked Ryan for the manifest and as he gave it to him, the Captain asked the staff sergeant to make two copies. He handed the papers back to Ryan and said;

“Add these three to the crew manifest. When we get to Barbers Point, hand the passenger form to customs, understand?”

Comdr. Brown and the two of them had already started through the door to the terminal

Ryan was to file a manifest that indicated that Navy 39495 had picked up three passengers, actually three crewmembers, added them to the crew, and flown to Barbers Point Hawaii. However, when we clear customs in Hawaii, the manifest showed that the three were not with us. He was smuggling people into Hawaii. So, where are these three guys going to hide when we pull up to the customs area at Barbers? If the Captain said to do it this way, there was a reason.

Putting them onboard as crew skirted his technical responsibility of having to ask them for military identification. The rules indicate that the flight attendant or flight crew chief is to assure that all PASSENGERS on the manifest are properly documented.

He walked back to the aircraft and arrived as Andrade was signing for the avgas.

“Lindquist has the first four hours, you the next four, and I’ll take it on into Barbers Point, OK?”

“Sounds good to me Ryan. By the way, wait till you see the dinners we picked up here. MATS is giving us those aluminum-covered tray-deals like airlines carry. We even got an extra three trays in case you want seconds.”

“I hate to be the one to give you the bad news Andrade, but those extra three are for some VIP we are picking up here. You eat their chow and they get hungry over the Pacific, they may just toss your ass out of the aircraft, eat yours, and drink all your cold ice water in that stolen VP thermos.”

Ryan stood behind the FE seat watching Lindquist start the engines and Report to the pilot. As the ground crew signaled clear to taxi he heard Lindquist ask the pilot, Lt. Cdr. Jensen, if the Commander preferred to make the power settings or if he should. The pilot answered that he would make all power settings. He added that his FE also was to request permission to leave the flight deck before leaving the controls. Lindquist gave him an “Aye, sir” and they started moving.

Casey was again at the radio seat. His three friends were in the back talking to the skipper and had already drawn their first cup of fresh coffee.

They were airborne and on heading to the islands. Ryan was pleasantly satisfied with the way that Lindquist had gone over the checklist and then followed an exact NATOPS procedure for take-off.

The air traffic control center had called out “traffic at one o’clock, three miles and closing.” Lindquist pointed to the small Cessna and showed the pilot.

It was going to get busy on the flight deck and Ryan was an extra body that would be in the way. The navigator sets up his worktable across from the radioman on a Charlie 54. He has a Plexiglas bubble on the overhead to do his stargazing and a drift meter on his left. It gets real tight if any of these people decide to move out of their assigned area to go to the galley or the john. Ryan reached over and placed his hand on the back of Lindquist’s Right shoulder. He turned around and removed the earphone from one ear to hear what he had to say.

“Number four has been running just a tad hot but the analyzer says no problems. I transferred oil to number one on the last leg-OK?” Ryan removed his flight sunglasses and waited for his response.

“I noticed number four. I changed the mixture but no lower temp-have Yourself some good z-time. We got it covered here.”

Tim climbed into the rack but did not pull the curtain. It was late afternoon but he could not get to sleep. He usually had the reputation of being known as “wheels-up-toes-up-Ryan” in the squadron because he was in the rack right after take-off unless he was on duty. A thousand thoughts raced through his mind as he lay there resting. All of a sudden he sat up in the rack. He knew what it was.

“Damn!” He needed to get this taken care of promptly. He jumped out of the rack and headed for the FE seat. He looked over the Left shoulder of Lindquist at the flight panel.

The Charlie 54 has four engines and four props. When these are all turning in synchronism, a certain harmonic carries from one engine on the outboard end of the wing across the other engines to the other end engine on the opposite wing. On the panel there are four small gauges that look like propellers. When the engines are in proper synch or pitch and RPM, these gauges indicate that situation by the propellers is standing steady. If the engine is out of synch, the corresponding propeller gage will show the prop turning. To an experienced Flight Engineer, these gauges are always in the comer of his line of sight or he at least looks at them along with the other instruments every minute or so. To correct the out of synch problem, the prop pitch setting is adjusted.

“Lindquist, are you going to synch two and four or are you going to wait till the fucking nuts start coming off of the cowling?” he asked in a raised voice.

Linquist turned around and saw Ryan reaching for the prop control on four. He moved the control back very slightly and then took hold of number two control.

“Let me see your fuel readings.” Ryan extended his arm to get the clipboard from Lindquist. He reached down in front of the pedestal and handed Ryan the FE fuel checklist. By watching the fuel flow meters for each engine and other gauges, they calculated the fuel consumption per hour. This information was necessary for all over water flights and any long extended navigation. This was true especially if you were flying to a small island in the Pacific to get more gas and all of a sudden the navigator tells you that you should have passed over it ten minutes ago. At this point in time it would be handy to know how much fuel you had left and what your rate of consumption was. His readings were taken at 15 and 45 past the hour. Nothing appeared unusual. Another oil transfer to number two concerned Ryan a little. He had read the logbook prior to leaving Los Al and noticed that the engine was a “high time” or nearing time for an overhaul. They were able to do minor engine maintenance at the base and also had a good prop shop for completely overhauling props.

The heavier maintenance and overhaul on “high time” engines were done at a depot center like Barbers Point, Cubi Point or Oakland California. Ryan picked up a flashlight and walked back to the first window on the port side of the aircraft. Lt. Johnson was in a sleeping bag between the cargo pallet and bulkhead.

“Everything OK, Ryan?” he asked as Ryan put his flashlight to the window and looked at number two.

“Sure is sir, just checking the wings to make sure they are clean. It’s a usual procedure for us when it gets kind of boring up front.” He smiled. Number two looked OK and was not showing any smoke or oil leaks around the engine cowling. He felt better.

“What’s our ETA Barbers Ryan-you know? I just woke up. Best sleep I’ve had in a week, hard to believe. Guess it is the constant drone of those engines.” The lieutenant wanted to chat.

“We have another three hours sir. Did you get anything to eat yet? We have some pretty good chow in the box lunches-if you like corned beef or chicken.”

“I had some chicken Ryan and you’re right, not bad for cold Navy chow served from box lunches. How did you manage the airline type trays ready for the microwave nuke?” The lieutenant was now stretching and getting out of his sleeping bag.

“Petty Officer Andrade stole them from American, I think Sir, at San Fran. For all I know, he charged them to the SECNAV and the American flight kitchen believed him because they saw a navy flight suit with a bunch of squadron patches and a set of aircrew wings.” They both chuckled.

“Back to work, see you later.” Ryan turned off the flashlight and went back to the flight deck.

The sky was a beautiful pink on their approach to the island of Oahu. It was early morning in Hawaii and the clouds were just forming over Diamond Head. He could see the surf at Waikiki, which reminded him of his first flight to the Islands back in 1955. He was nineteen and it was a reserve two weeks active duty-training mission. They worked in the maintenance division at Barbers Point and had a lot of great times on the weekend off and the evenings there.

The touchdown at Barbers Point Naval Air Station was smooth and they taxied to the front of operations. The mission plan called for a six-hour crew rest at Barbers. Then they were to refuel and get up in the air again.

As soon as the door was open, Casey and his three friends went down the ramp and disappeared inside the terminal. Ryan ordered fuel and lunches while Lindquist and Andrade had the fuel hoses on the wing filling the aux tank.

Ryan decided to pop the cowling on number two and give it a visual. On the number six cylinder, he noticed that the rocker box had oil coming from the cover. He took a rag and wiped it clean and decided to tighten the nuts on the cover. He walked down the wing, climbed inside the aircraft, and returned to the engine with the needed tools.

Andrade was now refueling the fuselage tank in the side of the bulkhead and saw Ryan open the engine cowling while watching quietly. When he saw Ryan tighten the cover on the rocker box, he had to comment.

“Not even a one rager my friend, just a precaution. But watch her close on takeoff if you are up front, not too much boost or very long, OK? She is older than either you or I and I think the old gal doesn’t have much BMEP left.”

“Gotcha. - Let me ask you something Ryan, - while its just me and you and the -fuel truck here, OK?”

“If this is a training mission and we are going to deliver this aircraft to the guys in DaNang and come home, why are these four guys they sent along carrying side arms? They going to protect us from Philippine and Vietnamese bargirls?”

“What side arms?” Ryan evidently looked like a goose that had just woke up and found out that the barnyard was gone.

“Both Casey and the other guy with blonde hair guy are carrying 357 mags. Not what you’d call target pistols for plinking at tin cans.”

“The other two have holsters but I haven’t seen what they have in them yet.”

“You mean that these guys got on in San Francisco, in the terminal area, walked through security and back and they had weapons all the time?” he recounted as he looked at Andrade.

“They had to. -Anyway, you have any idea what’s up with them?” Andrade asked.

“All I know is Pal that they must be some heavy duty DOD personnel or whatever to clear airport security and come onboard with weapons. Plus, let me pass on the word that Larson gave me before we left. Stay clear of them, OK?”

Andrade handed the fuel hose back to the truck driver on the ground in front Of the aircraft and they prepared to get ready to do more of what they had been doing the previous twelve hours doing-flying.

risk and challenges the aviators of world war II had when it came to navigating the pacific ocean.

Their navigational aids then were far less technical than what they were using on this flight. Lt.

Johnson was their navigator on this leg of the mission and he worked constantly. He would take a star reading at night and constantly work with the charts and radio aids.

You must trust a navigator if you think about it. To fly out into the middle of the Pacific Ocean for thirteen hours (with about another hour fuel remaining), expect the airfield to suddenly appear in front of you, and land is a navigational marvel. In their case,

Ryan once again marveled at Lt. Johnson’s ability. They made landfall on the island of Guam at precisely 10:37 PST with only a very slight correction in their flight path.

As the wheels touched down and they came to the end of the rollout about three-quarters of the way down the strip, the crew started moving around and getting their gear together. Here at Agana, Guam, they would take a much- needed double crew rest..

They parked the aircraft in the transit operations area and headed for the barracks. After checking in, Ryan was pleased to see that he had a room to himself. An E-6, Petty Officer first class, is authorized a private room if the base facilities permit. Flight crews learn to take what is available.

Many times, the conditions are less than fantastic. He was out of his flight suit and into the shower in record time. He would call Becky after he refreshed and found a phone that he could make a stateside connection on The phone in his room rang and Andrade wanted to know if he wanted to join him at the enlisted club for dinner and a beer.

“Sounds like a winner to me Andrade. Give me 30 minutes to call my wife and I’ll join you there.” Ryan responded.

He entered the club and spotted Andrade sitting at a table with a pitcher and two chilled glasses. As Ryan pulled out a chair and sat down, Andrade started the conversation.

“Man, we could have had a steak dinner on the bar-b-Que right outside if you wanted to eat snail. You see the size of those things on the way over here?”

Andrade seemed to observe the more interesting, different, or strange things about an area when we traveled. Ryan remembered him talking to a Hindu civil service worker on the base at Rabat, Morocco saying “Man, before we leave here in a couple of weeks I want to learn how to tie a towel like that and put it on my head.” He was indeed probably one of the most uninhibited people Ryan had ever met.

“Guess what Andrade?-they are gamogenetic-were you aware of that?” Ryan asked waiting for the response.

“What? These snails here on Guam?- Or all snails?- You mean, they’re, like,- BI-sexual?” He astounded Ryan. This was a surprise.

“Yes really, they have two sex organs-they can self reproduce.” Ryan sounded like a documentary host. It was starting to get corny.

“That’s my major-biology. I’m in second year at Long Beach State.” That gave Ryan a better understanding of Andrade.

“Great. That will help you a lot on the aviation machinists mate chiefs exam next April” Ryan said half-cynical and being a real smartass.

Ryan looked over Andrade’s shoulder and saw Lindquist in civilian clothes heading over to their table.

“Andrade and I were just discussing the sex life of Guaminian snails actually, Lindquist.”

“Sure, that’s about the extent of what’s going to happen here when it comes to sex my friends. Ever see such a dullsville EM club?”

“It’s Tuesday night at 18:00 Lindquist. What did you expect? Dancing girls and a floor show?” Ryan sounded half apologetic.

“Well, here is something for you to chew on, sports fans. Guess who our four mystery passengers are?” Lindquist threw his leg over the remaining chair and sat his can of Coors on the table.

Ryan looked at Andrade with a grin and leaned forward on the table placing his chin in his hands and replied, “Shoot Sherlock. What did you discover?”

“Well, one thing for sure, they aren’t enlisted. They all climbed into a sedan and checked into the BOQ. One other thing-you notice any squadron patches on their flight suits?”

He had a point. One thing about Naval Aviators, they loved patches on their flight jackets and flight suits. All four of these guys were clean as “first issue” when it came to patches.

“And,” - Lindquist evidently thought this was going to be the clincher that we had some real spooks with us - “They are all carrying side arms.”

“So, I guess we are carrying some real important mail carriers with us then, huh

Lindquist? You ever hear of Naval Couriers?” Ryan said without taking his head away from his hands.

“No way man, why would a courier take a slow-ass Charlie 54 all the way to the rice paddies? They would catch something faster like a 130 or a contract flight on a 707 out of LAX.”

Lindquist had a cocky kind of smirk on his face that evidently came from a few Coors before Ryan and Andrade arrived.

“Who are they?” Ryan gave the question to both Andrade and Lindquist as he sat up straight and reached for his glass.

“0 shit man, you’ve been reading paperbacks in the john again Lindquist.” Andrade replied.

“This another guess or what? You see some information or something I didn’t Lindquist? “Ryan asked.

“No, but I heard the guy in operations here say to his buddy at the desk “Those CIA guys aren’t in a rush to get back to Nam-they are riding with the reserve crew on that Charlie 54’ when I was in there getting a fuel chit signed.”

“I’ll tell you what Lindquist. Being as how this is so interesting to you, why not ask one of them tomorrow after we get airborne. That way if they get riled about the fact you have blown their cover so to speak, they can’t send you back to the base real easily. That way, Andrade here and I will know not to discuss the matter with them, ever.”

“I think I will,” said Lindquist. “I have never met a CIA. type before. Maybe they need a graduate bio-chemistry major in about two years.” He was serious

The conversation moved on to the aircraft and the squadron and girls and after two more pitchers, they called it a night.

AS THEY NOSED THE AIRCRAFT UP TO 10,000 FEET AND TRIMMED IT for the autopilot, Ryan turned on the engine analyzer and took a reading on all of the engines, one at a time. Everything looked remarkably good. He expected that after the hours that they had put on these engines so far that they would have at least a plug change on one of the engines.

Ryan looked down at the Pacific and thought how smooth it looked from up here, like a big swimming pool deep blue and glistening in the sun.

They passed over the navigation ship on station outside the coast of the Philippines at 0310 hours [2] GMT (Zulu) and the navigator set a heading for a straight on approach to Cubi Point Naval Air Station.

Ryan looked over at Casey and he was reading a book. He had his earphones on and was listening to some music from the island of Mindanao, Southern Philippines.

Andrade tapped Ryan on his left shoulder and motioned for him to lean closer and give him an ear.

“Take a good look at number two Ryan. She is starting to trail smoke. Not heavy and not much color, but she is starting to produce some smog, OK?”

“Skipper, I have some smoke, light, coming from number two and we have elevated cylinder head temp. I’m going to pull the fuel mix back and ease up on the RPM we will loose a little power, OK?

Standby to feather two!” he commanded. Ryan pulled both the throttle control back and the prop pitch control. The RPM dropped and as he reached for the fuel mixture. He heard Casey’s voice on the intercom.