Something appeared on the horizon in front of her.  Just a speck...faint, but distinct.  Katie reached for the radio microphone and swung it over in front of her face.  This was another of her innovations.  To keep both her hooves free for flying, she had grafted the mike onto an old tensor lamp mount and placed the call button on the stick.

"This is WCF-799, race-plane, Little Engine calling Spontoon Island Control Tower.  I say again WCF 799, race-plane Little Engine calling Spontoon Island Control Tower.  Do you read me?  Over."

A voice responded almost immediately, a bit crackly, but otherwise completely distinct.

"Uh, yeah that's affirmative, Little Engine...we read yas loud and clear. Over."

Katie keyed her mike again. She could just make out the speck beginning to divide itself into several distinct points, each of them a faint green in color.  And now another island was coming into view, ahead and to the left... considerably closer than the others, but also much lower in profile...a flat, irregular ring of coral.  Katie realized immediately where she was.

"Damn." she thought, "I'm almost dead on course... must have flown  right between Dioon and Cranium."  ( These were the northernmost islands in the archipelago. )

Katie pressed the call button again. "Spontoon Tower, I am approaching from the West-Northwest, approximately 20 to 25 nautical miles west-southwest of Gunboat Atoll.  Request permission to land. Over."

The response came back with a small chuckle,

"Well, yas showed up kinda earlier than we was expecting you, Little Engine, but I think we can accommodate yas.  Please make your landin' approach via the northwest seaplane route...an' welcome t' Spontoon Island, Ya Grace. Over.

Katie winced again at the reference to her title.  This time it had been voiced with a BRONX accent.

"That's a roger, Spontoon tower...and thanks, it's good to be here.  Little Engine, over and out."

She swung the mike away and pushed forward on the throttle.

It was a warm day in the South Central Pacific...in the low 80's at least, and considerably warmer if you happened to be sitting under an airplane canopy the size of a beachball.

So it was more than a little unusual that Katie MacArran should be feeling a chill...unless you happened to know her history.

When she cleared the Kanim islands and was crossing the channel to Spontoon Island itself, all doubts as to her location were swiftly dispelled.  There, perched atop the peak ahead of here were the twin spires of the shortwave towers...and beyond them, a tall structure that resembled a lighthouse.  This was the Zeppelin mooring mast, where the Republic would be tying up sometime this evening.  As she approached  the Spontoon atoll, the sky over the main island was patched with small, cottony clouds that cloaked off the sun, a not uncommon occurrence in  the islands of the Pacific. This had the effect leaching the island's northern facade into a faded, sepia tone.

But then, when Katie was approximately 5 miles out, the clouds shunted aside and the island was bathed in a clear, brilliant sunlight.

And Katie shivered.  Spontoon's main island was green...not just green but GREEN; carpeted from one end to the other in deep, tropical, rain-forest...a curious admixture of the sinister, emerald vegetation of New Guinea and the lush, jade foliage of Hawaii.

All at once, it finally dawned on her.  She had returned...returned to that part of the world that had played such a pivotal role in her life.  True, this would be her first visit Spontoon Island, unless you counted that one brief flyover, but she knew the place.  She was intimately familiar with two of its Pacific cousins.

And she wasn't quite sure how she felt about that.

Well, however she felt, it could wait.  Right now, she had a plane to get on the water.

She goosed back the throttle and bumped forward on the stick.

The engine song lowered from a growl to a comforting hum as the Little Engine began her final approach to the Spontoon Islands' central lagoon.

Passing over the main island, she could see on shortwave towers on her right, and on her left, the jutting peak of a small mountain that might have been transplanted wholesale from the Flatiron range, back in Colorado.  Behind this mountain was another peak, one of volcanic origin, and below and just ahead on her left, she could see the near-perfect circle of a caldera lake...a lake formed by the collapse of another volcano.  This, she knew, was one of the Spontoon ‘sacred' areas...which meant non-natives keep out or else!  It was a directive Katie intended to honor to the letter.  In the Iso highlands of Northeast New Guinea, she had seen several times what happened to those who regarded the local taboos as quaint traditions to be flouted at will.

She wondered for a moment if there was any truth to that rumor about the femme who'd supposedly landed a PLANE on that lake...and then gone skinny-dipping.

"Naw!" she sniggered aloud. "Never in a zillon years."

She crossed over into the main lagoon, past the ship anchorage on her right.  Day-amn!  They were heading into a big race week all right, even bigger than the ‘29 Schneider. She counted one, two, three, FOUR cruise ships riding at anchor...with more to be joining them before speed-week began, she was certain.  As she came closer, she could see passengers lining the railings, some with cameras, many waving handkerchiefs, and a few intrepid souls were even throwing streamers and confetti.

Well, why not?  They WERE coming up on the Schneider-Cup races...and the Little Engine WAS a race-plane, after all.  And how often did you see a solid-gold Schneider-Cup racer?  But then, as she flew past the final ship in the line, the mood shifted dramatically.  This vessel was flying a huge Nazi flag from her fantail and sporting a banner the length of a football field amidships; ‘Kraft Durch Freude'-- Strength Through Joy.  And although there were also plenty of kerchiefs and cameras here, there was also a phalanx of stiff-armed Fascist salutes...all of them aimed in her direction.

Katie's ears laid back and she was tempted to respond with a salute of her own, one involving not an arm but a finger.

"Easy girl," she muttered to herself, "Easy."

But she had to wonder if it hadn't been planned.  Her feelings about both Fascism and Nazism were nothing if not a matter of public record.  If would be just like Goebbels, or whoever, to attempt to tweak Katie's nose this way upon her arrival.

Leaving the cruise ships in her wake, she descended past the raucous, Barbary Coast facade of Casino Island.  Whoaf, she had never an island so built-up.  Was there bare ground under ANY of that?  Wait...yes, there was, but wow...never had Katie ever seen such a swarm of activity either.  The place reminded her of a cookie discarded near an ant-pile.  As she descended past the northeast corner of the island, she saw furs of all shapes and species lining the waterfront and standing on rooftops, watching her come in.

"All right, little girl," she told her plane, moving a loving hoof over the instrument panel, "Let's give the nice folks what they want."

She dropped the aircraft down towards the surface of the lagoon.

Among pilots, there were those who were known as ‘ham-fisted'; the ones who jerked their planes skyward during take-off like a mother with a recalcitrant child, or who landed as if plopping down into a favorite easy-chair.  Katie MacArran was just the opposite.  As Roscoe Turner, one of her former ‘admirers' once put it, "That girl can THINK her plane off the runway."

And now, Katie was demonstrating for the crowd that she owned an equally sure touch when it came to landing.  When the Little Engine's twin floats touched the surface of the water, the contact was a delicate as a first kiss, making hardly a ripple as the plane settled down into the lagoon, leaving two thin wakes in her lee.  Almost immediately, the crowd sent up a whooping cheer, and she saw two water-taxis coming in her direction, both of them with press-photographers, standing in the bow like Washington crossing the Delaware.

The Little Engine slowed to taxi-speed, and Katie slid back the canopy and gave the crowd her trademark gesture. Unbuckling her flight helmet, she doffed it to the onlookers while offering them a nod and a shy smile.

Another shiver rippled through her, and she felt her eyes getting a little misty.  She was back...after almost a three years hiatus, Katie MacArran was finally back in the game she so dearly loved.

The cheering became even louder and from the pair of water taxis, flashbulbs popped and questions were shouted in her direction.

Katie pretended not to hear.  With a farewell wave, she turned the Little Engine away from Casino Island, and in the direction of Eastern Island, where the civilian seaplane base was located..  It wasn't that she had a problem talking to the press...Hell, she OWNED a damn newspaper.  But when she did, it would be on her terms.  In the meantime she needed to get her plane into its hangar, file her flight report, see Drake and finalize her arrangements with the McCraddens.

First thing's first and all that.

The hangar was easily located.  It was the only one on the base with a ‘Quonset' roof.  (like the huts that would become so ubiquitous during the war.)  Zeke Bronstiel, whom she had put in charge of making the preliminaries, had reserved it for a number of reasons.  First of all, it had a new, rail-equipped concrete ramp that would make for easy launch and removal of her plane.  Second, it spacious.  "No problem making turn-arounds in there." Zeke had told her.  Third, it was conveniently located, close by Superior Engineering.  Fourth, it was fronted by a wide floating dock, perfect for making the final preparations before take off

And last, but not least...it was in a secure location, situated on the end of a small peninsula, backed up by a tall cyclone fence with barbed-wire strung along the top.

As Katie taxied slowly towards the dock, she saw two felines in dungaree shortscoming out of the hangar to help her tie up.  Neither one waved, and neither one was smiling.  In fact, they looked downright apprehensive.  Katie's nostrils flared and she let out a slow, ripple of breath.  Uh-Ohhhh!

In a neat move, she kicked the engine up just a touch and swung sideways, a move she had learned from the great Australian bush pilot, ‘Battling' Ray Parer.  Killing the power just as the aircraft turned parallel to the dock, she let the motion carry her in the rest of the way.

The plane touch lightly against the dockside with it's tie-up rings lined almost perfectly with a pair of stanchions.  Immediately, the two cats began to secure the Little Engine to the quay.  Neither one looked at her.

"Definitely not good." she thought, and then she smiled and leaned out of the cockpit.

"Mornin' boys," she called cheerfully.

"Uh...G'morning....ummmm, Miss McA'ann?" the larger of the two shouted back, still not meeting her gaze.

"Yeah, that's me." she answered.

The felines still avoided looking at her

 "You here early." said the smaller one...very quickly.

Katie let out another soft snuffle of breath.  All right, what the heck was going on around here?

She hoisted herself out of the cockpit, swung her legs over the side, then lifted herself up on her arms and launched herself up and out into the air, landing easily on quay in a three-point stance.

The two cats almost fell over backwards.

"Oh, don't look so surprised, boys." Katie horse-chuckled as she straightened up and brushed at a shoulder. "I'm half Hunter y'know.  Jumpin' comes natural to us."

She stood up and started to wave a hoof towards the hangar, but before she could say anything, the smaller cat pointed past her and began to chatter angrily in a language that must have been Spontoonian, or whatever they called the local dialect here.

Katie's ears went up and her head jerked back in surprise...not because of the sudden nature of the feline's tirade, or even the high aggravation in his voice.

It was because she could UNDERSTAND most of what he was saying.  His language, whatever it was, was eerily similar to North Papuan.

"You!  Little...!  Get far away.  No coming by here, two little... ...back Nimitz Island, whichever you belong.  Get gone, now."

Katie turned, and saw an outrigger cozying up to the dock, paddled by a pair of fox pups, one a boy, the other a girl...twelve and thirteen, by the look of them, both clad in nothing but grass loincloths, and wearing identical tiki pendants around their necks...meaning they were brother and sister, or least from the same clan.

She also saw that the canoe was laden with an assortment of fruits and trinkets.

Katie lifted an eyebrow.  How the heck had these two gotten past the harbor patrols?  This part of Eastern Island was supposed to be strictly off limits to anyone not associated with the Schneider Cup Race until it was over.  But then, that proscription was aimed at the press, not at local kits trying to pick up a little spending money here and there.

"Banana, Miss?" said the boy-fox, holding one out to her, "You want coconut, guava, maybe?"

"Souvineah of Spontoon, Miss?" asked the girl, lifting a shell necklace.

"I t'ought we told you get out of...!" hissed the larger cat in English, beginning to step forward.

"S'okay boys," said Katie, turning quickly and waving them off.  The Nimitz Islands?  Had these two kits paddled all the way here from...?  Well, there was one way to find out.  She studied the contents of the canoe for a second.  She didn't find what she was looking for, but she did spy another item worthy of her attention.

"Holy heck." she thought, moisture forming in her mouth, "Mmmm, I haven't had any of that since..."

"How much for some of the sugar-cane?" she asked, hunkering down and pointing

"Two stick one Yankee quarta." the boy answered at once.

Katie smiled, and responded in North Papuan.

 "You trying cut my eyes out, fella?  Two stick, one Yankee nicka'."

At being addressed by a malihini in something approximating his own language, the kit nearly tumbled backwards out of the canoe -- much to the amusement of his sister, who promptly took over the negotiations.

"Two stick, two Yankee dime."

"Two stick, one Yankee dime." Katie countered

"Two stick one Yankee dime, one Yankee nicka," said the little vixen,

"Done." said Katie, fishing in her pockets for the coins.

It was while taking possession of her treat that Katie finally spotted what she'd been looking for earlier.  There, laying across one of the gunwales, was a piece of woven handiwork that resembled a latticework version of a Maltese Cross, with a shell attached, slightly off center.  The boy fox saw her looking at it and told her quickly, "That not for sale, Miss."

Katie chuckled. "'Course it's not.  How you gonna get home without your mattang?"

Now BOTH foxes were staring at her.  So were the two cats.

"You...know what mattang for, Miss?" the young vixen asked her, slowly.

Katie stood up and took a bite of the cane.  Like all equines, she had a passion for sugar.

Then she nodded with a solemn smile.

"You bet I do, little girl.  A mattang once saved my life."



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