Sally woke up when she heard Lady Dandy’s engines, and she and Carlos got up, showered and were in the house for breakfast by 6:00. Sally left at 7:00 am to be at Andrews by 8:00, her aircraft carrying the second of the two fully-operational truck generators. Her transponder was also off.

The sun rose at 7:40 am as Carlos, fueled to the top of his tanks, looked around at the weather, climbed in, and took off as soon as the engine was warm enough. He rose quickly through the cold morning air for optimal altitude to use as little fuel as he could. A couple of soldiers had even taken out Carlos’ gun ammo to give him less weight and more range. From this point forward, whoever was watching them would not see transponders from this farm.

He climbed high in the morning sunlight, the sun behind him as he climbed up to 15,000 feet, put on his oxygen mask, and then rose up to 38,000 feet for optimum cruising. Carlos’s biggest worry, flying without modern electronic direction and communicational aids, was the lack of ground-speed information, wind flow, and forward weather conditions. He had never pushed his aircraft to its full range, even when he could use all the modern help, but now he needed experience and luck to gauge the distance and speed needed to get to Salt Lake City.

“Hello, Buck, this is Carlos. Can you hear me?” he tried over his radio. A very scratchy voice came back that he did, and that the weather was clear so far. Buck was halfway there and he figured that their refueling meet-up was about three hours away.

“Hallo, darling!” scratched a familiar and very faint voice over Carlos’s radio.

“Hallo darling, yourself,” Carlos replied, happy to hear Sally’s voice. “Where has your radio protocol gone, Sally?”

“Where the rest of the world’s protocol has gone to—gone to pot,” she smiled back over her radio. “I’m in descent for my next port of call and I spoke to our old friend Jennifer a few seconds ago on our private frequency and heard she is on her way back to base. I will be losing contact with you in a few seconds and hopefully I will see you tonight. Know of any good hotels…?” and her voice faded.

“The airwaves are as bad as before with all these amateur radio operators,” added Jennifer’s voice to the conversation. “Hi guys, I’m pretty heavy and on my way home. Weather when I left the snowy mountains two hours ago was clear, temperature 25 degrees. The runway you guys are heading to in Mormon country is clear and I honestly think I have a headwind. I think I’m feeling the jet stream and it’s pushing me in a southwest direction. I’m at Flight Level 24 (24,000 feet) and it looks like there are little thin stratus further up, over.”

“I’m feeling the same vibes,” added Buck, “and I think I’m making up a bit of time. I reckon, Carlos, that you should head slightly north and turn in over our meeting airfield at ceiling, and if you can make it, glide in to our destination from there. I’m at Flight Level 23.”

“Roger that,” answered Carlos. “It is sure nice having company up here. I’m at Flight Level 41 and it’s absolutely beautiful up here. I’ll turn a little north and contact you in an hour. Buck, what’s your air speed? Mine’s 355, I’m keeping her cruise down a little to conserve fuel and I’m already at ceiling, over.”

“195, and on time, I think. Call me in an hour, out.”

“What do you have in your stocking, Jennifer, if you are heavy?” asked Carlos, with nothing better to do. It wasn’t as if they were taking up too much radio time. They were the only aircraft in the skies that they knew of.

“Oh! Lots of nice presents for Preston,” Jennifer replied. “I have lots of little things that go boom in the night, a couple dozen pilots onboard, and lots of this and lots of that. By the way, our leader at your mountain destination has a couple of things he’s putting together for you—some little old mountain toy with tracks instead of wheels so you can go and play in the snow. It’s quite cute and I want it after you’re done with it. Also they have left the light on for you. They found a couple of old vehicles and got them working and they have repaired a few things that light up at night when you want to land.”

“Sounds warm to me as well,” suggested Carlos.

“Oh boy! Carlos, they needed it pretty quickly and only a few buildings are nice and toasty,” she laughed back. “I’m going in to get some gas and then I’ll be heading north. This school bus driving is better than nothing but I need some action.”

“I’ve been told to expect some pretty soon. By the way, I assume you are flying quiet?” Carlos asked. Jennifer replied in code that Sally had told her about the transponders earlier. “See you later. Out,” Carlos ended.

Three hours later his P-51 flew over Denver International Airport at its maximum altitude of 41,900 feet. He had a sliver of both tanks still above the empty line and had told Buck ten minutes earlier that he was now aiming for Salt Lake City. Denver was clear far below him, the runway white as they had expected, and he couldn’t tell if he could land there anyway. Buck was already 50 miles behind him and had turned in for a direct flight into Salt Lake City.

He brought the throttle back a touch, put the nose down ten degrees and descended towards Hill Air Force Base at nearly 400 miles an hour, using as little fuel as possible.

An hour later he swept over Hill at 1,500 feet above ground at 425 miles an hour, pulled her up into a vertical climb of 1,000 feet, turned sharp right, and then right again into short finals for the runway running north to south. His fuel gauges were flickering on empty and he landed and taxied to a group of people already waiting for him outside the main offices with a gas truck standing by.

Buck would still be in the air for another hour. Carlos’ flight had taken 5 hours, 45 minutes—the longest he had ever done in his P-51 and he was proud of her. He also knew that in strong headwind conditions, he most certainly would not have made it.

He waited as a short ladder was rolled up to his aircraft and he stood up, stretched his muscles, and looked at the people waiting for him. He got quite a shock to see his friend, Lee Wang with two Chinese ladies waiting for him—probably his wife and daughter. The base commander was also there with a couple of others.

He climbed down, and as all pilots do, headed off to the bathroom in the main office after saying a quick hello to everyone. He looked at his watch and remembered that he had gained two hours of time. It was Mountain Time here and only just mid-day.

Lunch was ready for him in the Officers Club, and they were all steered in that direction while the mechanics re-fueled his aircraft, checked the oil levels and gave the Silver Bullet a wipe down. They didn’t have much else to do.

“It is very good to see you again, friend Carlos,” stated Lee Wang when they sat down with the commander for lunch.

“I’m happy to see you are safe, and your wife and daughter,” replied Carlos. “We have much to catch up on, I hear.”

“I think we have,” Lee Wang agreed.

“Lee and I have had long chats about what’s happening,” added the base commander. “He wanted to talk to you first about several top secret things. General Allen, I’ve been told, is coming in later today, after visiting his naval buddy in Norfolk. He’s there right now. The general is coming here, refueling, and then he’s heading out to Edwards for a meeting. I’m going to go with him. We have a couple of small generators up and running, have landing lights, and just enough for a little warmth and basic necessities. I was told that we might get a bigger one—an old truck generator?”

“That’s on its way, thanks to the general,” replied Carlos. “He’s been given four—one for Andrews, one each for you and Edwards, and one for Seymour Johnson in North Carolina.”

“I was told that he will be returning here by nightfall,” added the commander, “and then giving all of you a ride back to North Carolina. Captain Watkins and her backup pilots are dropping off gear at Andrews, then Seymour Johnson, then back to Andrews to pick up some passengers and then you are all meeting for breakfast in North Carolina. So let’s have a quick lunch, and then I will show you your ride up the mountain. You will have the pleasure of flying our old 1960s base snowplow that we used to clear the runway in the old days,” laughed the colonel. “We have it on a trailer behind an old troop carrier in the museum over there that we were able to start. With a dozen troops, you can go and get whatever General Allen wants you to get. Captain Watkins gave me orders from the general when she came in last night and we have worked all night to get prepared for your arrival.” Carlos thanked the Colonel. They all looked a little exhausted.