“And when I tell you, ‘Flaps up,’ you set that lever to zero. When the needles match—see?—you tell me that, too. Got it?”
“Sí, Señor.”
Clete reached up and threw the MASTER BUSS switch.
He looked out the window and signaled to the men with the extinguisher that he wanted the wheel chocks pulled, and when one of them went to remove them, signaled that he was about to wind it up.
He moved the carburetor control to FULL RICH, advanced the throttle of the right engine just a tad, and pressed the ENGINE ONE START switch.
For a moment, from the labored way it was grinding, it looked as if he was going to have to worry right now about how to get the batteries recharged, but then the engine spluttered, gave out a cloud of blue smoke, and caught. It quickly smoothed out, and he started the right engine.
As the needles began to move into the green, he released the brake and moved onto the runway. The windsock told him he was going to have to taxi all the way to the far end of the runway, but it was pointing parallel to the runway, which meant he wouldn’t have to worry about crosswinds.
At the end of the runway he turned the plane around, checked the magnetos, set twenty degrees of flap, saw all the needles were in the green, and reached up and advanced the throttles. The plane began to move, very slowly at first. Then it began to pick up speed.
As he approached takeoff velocity, he eased the nose downward to raise the tail wheel. As the airspeed indicator showed takeoff velocity, the Lodestar began to take off by itself. The rumbling of the undercarriage suddenly stopped.
He was flying.
“Gear up,” he ordered, and then, a moment later, “Zero flaps.”
“Green light, zero flaps,” Benito reported.
Clete smiled at him.
That wasn’t too bad, pal, he thought as he put the airplane into a shallow climb. And then he remembered what his uncle Jim, who had taught him to fly long before he went through Pensacola, had told him over and over: “Just when everything seems to be going fine, everything will go wrong.”
His later experiences as an aviator had given him many examples of how absolutely true that was.
He paid very close attention to what he was doing until he had reached 5,000 feet and trimmed it up and put it on autopilot, on a course that would take him over Estancia Santo Catalina. He wanted to see if the Feiseler Storch was still on the airstrip there.
It was, which meant that Peter was probably just visiting Alicia Carzino-Cormano for the weekend.
The Feiseler made Clete a little uncomfortable. It was a hell of an airplane just to direct artillery fire and cart people around. The Americans used Piper Cubs and other low-powered puddle jumpers for the same missions. The Storch obviously cost a lot more, in terms of money, time, and matériel, to build than it cost to build a Piper Cub.
It suggested to him that the Germans were a hell of lot better prepared to wage a war than the United States was. He had seen how ill-prepared the Americans had been on Guadalcanal, where the head stamps on some of the .30'.06 cartridges showed they had been manufactured for the First World War, as were many of the weapons they were fired from.
Was it possible the Germans could win the war? That didn’t seem likely, but it was damned sure it was going to last a long time.
On the other hand, it seemed pretty clear that American industry was shifting into second gear as far as war production was concerned. The Lodestar seemed to be proof of that. The books showed that it was brand new when they shipped it to Brazil.
Does that mean we’re making enough airplanes that the President can pass them out as presents to people he’s trying to impress? Or was sending the Lodestar down here one more stupid thing the OSS set up, and did, even though it meant taking this airplane away from somebody who could really use it?
He changed course for the radar installation by using the autopilot, rather than by taking over manual control of the Lodestar. For one thing, it was self-educational, and for another he wanted to see how—or if—he could do so.
The Lodestar’s autopilot system dutifully took him precisely where he wanted to go, to the high ground overlooking Samborombón Bay where he knew the radar installation was.
He could not, however, see it.
Polo obviously isn’t the complete Yankee Yalie asshole he at first seemed. He’s done a damned good job camouflaging the position, using fishing nets and grass from the pampas.
Clete noticed that Benito not only seemed to know where the radar station was but seemed fascinated with what could be seen (or not seen) when they got close.
That wasn’t important. Colonel Martín certainly knew where it was, and with that in mind, there were thermite grenades and cans of gasoline in place, ready to be set off the moment it was clear that the Argentines were coming to have a look at it.
If Martín decides to do something about the radar station, am I going to have time to burn the place down and get the team out of the country? Or are they going to find themselves in the military prison at Campo de Mayo charged with espionage? Or am I going to be in the pokey with them?
He flew out over the Bay for five minutes, and then, again using the autopilot, headed the Lodestar back to Estancia San Pedro y San Pablo.