Straying From the Path

“I’ve never heard anyone say that about the B-26, Colonel,” I said.

He joined me. Side by side, we both stood with our arms crossed, staring at the bomber. Its aurora played over our faces—ribbons of purple, yellow, green. The colonel’s skin reflected the colors. Even he wore an expression of wonder, his l

ips parted.

“This war has produced some strange things.” He shook his head a little. “Strange ideas. Gadgets we only dreamed of five years ago. Right off the cover of a comic book. Ray guns, smart machines. The world is changing, Miss Bateson. This war is changing it.”

I did a careful walk around, taking twice as long as I normally did. It looked like a normal B-26. Tires filled, landing gear in good shape, no leaks. Its weapons had been stripped. Only the strange glowing metal didn’t match up with the checklist. Evie helped with the inspection, but not much. I kept having to ask questions twice. Each time, she always acted surprised to hear I was talking to her.

I collected charts and plotted a course, double checking headings, landmarks, and radio range frequencies all the way to Ohio. Avery kept pushing me to hurry, but as strange as the plane was, I didn’t want any surprises during the flight. I prepared a flight plan—and Avery took the paperwork, assuring me that he would file it properly.

“Oh, and you’re to keep radio silence through the trip.” Avery slipped in the order almost as an afterthought.

“Excuse me? What if we run into trouble? If we have to contact someone—”

“This trip is classified. You never know who might be listening in.” He patted my shoulder. “You’ll do fine, Miss Bateson.”

Evie, Doctor Cook and I boarded, lugging our bags and parachutes with us. Avery saw us right to the crew hatch.

“Is there anyone at the tower to clear us for take off?” I asked.

“I’ve already taken care of your authorizations,” said the Colonel. “Just take off whenever you’re ready. You won’t have any traffic for a hundred miles.”

Army Intelligence, sure. I forgot they could take care of things like that.

“Good luck,” he said before I closed the hatch. His smile was tight, his voice thick with genuine worry.

Evie and I traded piloting and copiloting duties on each trip. This time, Evie was pilot on the left, and I sat in the copilot’s spot on the right. Cook crouched between us, even though I told him he’d be more comfortable down below, in the radio operator’s station. But no, he wanted to watch.

I continued the pre-flight checklist, taking the maintenance log out of the pocket on the right side of the cockpit. I had to list our point and time of departure, the condition of the craft, any maintenance problems, and sign off. At our destination, I’d make the same entries.

The arrival columns for this plane’s last two flights were blank.

If one of the flights had been left blank, I might have believed that the pilot had been careless. But two? It looked like the plane had taken off twice and never landed.

I turned to Cook. “Do you know why these pilots didn’t log out?”

He shrugged. His whole body seemed to shift inside his bomber jacket. “Maybe they forgot.”

If it had been any other plane than this one, I might have believed that.

“What are these?” Evie lifted some coiled black cables that had been lying on the instrument panel. On each cable, a steel plug dangled from one end, and bare copper wires protruded from the other. They looked like cords from a telephone switchboard.

Cook leaped at them. Out of sheer surprise, Evie dropped the cables into his outstretched hands. He quickly bunched them together and shoved them inside his jacket. When they were hidden, he glanced back and forth at us guiltlessly, like we might not have noticed.

“Jane, look.” On the instrument panel in front of her, Evie touched a metal socket, about the size of a dime, set in a plate that had obviously been bolted on after construction, squeezed in between the standard instruments and dials. She pointed—a similar socket was located at the corresponding spot on the copilot’s side. The plugs on those cables would have fit in those sockets. I could assume these had something to do with the ‘modifications.’

“You’re not telling us everything,” I said to Cook.

He glanced away and pursed his lips. “It’s a security matter, ma’am. Need to know basis.”

Evie looked at me, her brows raised in a question, and I shrugged a little. I had no idea what the things were for. We could have made a stink, told Cook and Avery we weren’t going to fly until they told us what was up—and they’d just find a couple other pilots. If the plane wasn’t airworthy, Cook wouldn’t be riding along. That was a comfort, I supposed.

When I didn’t complain, Evie got back to work. She’d been waiting for my cue. She nodded curtly and said, “All right, then. Hold on, Doctor.”

Evie started the engines. They choked once and flared to life. The props spun and blurred to invisibility. The instruments were all reading normal. Avery himself opened the hangar door for us and removed the plane’s chocks.

We taxied out of the hangar and onto the runway. Evie opened the throttle. We pointed toward the long stretch of tarmac. Sparse landing beacons marked its edges. The plane’s light display faded enough for us to be able to see beyond the corona and into the clear night.