Pursuit Chapter 24

Chapter 24

“All right giggle-horse, are you going to let me in on the joke or not?”

Coming down the stairs in the rental-house they shared Tom’s River, New Jersey, Sofia had found Katie seated at the kitchen table, sniggering uncontrollably over the newspaper she was reading.

The residence was something of a comedown from the Katie’s house in Kensington; a two-story, two bedroom saltbox, set a block or two back from the boardwalk, Neither Katie or Sofia had even the smallest complaint about it, though. It was clean, it was warm, and this being very much the off-season on the Jersey Shore, the pinto mare had gotten it for almost a song.

And it was also only a short ways up the road from the Naval Airship Station at Lakehurst.

Besides, as Katie knew well, she was soon going to be ensconsed in much rougher lodgings.

Much rougher lodgings indeed.

Now, still giggling, she turned the paper around and slid it across the table to her housemate.

It was a week-old copy of Lord Beaverbrook’s Evening Standard, just arrived in the mail. There, on the page she’d been reviewing, was a new cartoon by the ever-waspish David Low.

The central figure in the drawing was once again Lord Casterley, clad as before in pirate garb. This time however, he was depicted as being marooned on a desert island and frantically waving a flag at the passing R-100, whose nose was pointed in the direction of sign reading, “To New Guinea and Success.” Clearly visible in the airship’s gondola were Katie and the Spirit of Adventure figure, neither of whom were paying the slightest attention to the desperate feline. The caption read ‘Reversal of Fortune’, and in another of what Katie gleefully liked to refer to as the cartoonist’s ‘Low blows’, the flag Casterley was so desperately brandishing was a Jolly Roger that had hastily been reworked into a Union Jack.

Sofia took this in, then looked up at her friend, ears raised in perplexity.

“Ahhh...I’m sorry Katie, but I really don’t think this is all that humorous.”

“Oh, I don’t think so either.” the pinto mare answered, with a concurring nod, “The funny part is imagining Casterley’s face when HE saw it.”

She began to snigger all over again, and Sofia just shook her head.

“Mama Maria...and I thought vendetta was an ITALIAN creation.”

The cartoon had been printed in response to the R-100's first test flight since her conversion to the Republic, a smashing success by any standard. The airship had proven to be even more steady in flight than she’d been before, and had increased her top speed to 85 miles an hour. Even better, her useful lift now stood at a full 60 tons, this despite the fact that she had grown to 780 feet in length, (Just a hair longer than the Graf Zeppelin and the R-101) and that she was borne aloft by helium rather than hydrogen.

It had been a hectic four months since Katie’s arrival. (No, they hadn’t managed to finish on time.)   Not only had there been the refit of the airship to deal with, there had been the matter of getting the dredges and other equipment to Manila, keeping Drigo informed of her plans, (No mean trick with no radio or telegraph in the Iso valley) and endless, endless unforeseen details to attend to.

But if the refit hadn’t exactly gone off on schedule, there had been no complaints as to the quality of the work, not from Katie MacArran or from anyone else. The construction furs from Goodyear that Paul Litchfield had loaned to the project, many of them former employees of the Deutsch Zeppelin company, had all been first class workers. So had the airship-furs the US Navy had lent to the project. And even if they hadn’t completed the job in the three months Katie had hoped for, they had still gotten it done much more quickly than either Litchfield or Admiral Turner had believed was possible. And what they had learned, “is going to be of immeasurable value in the construction of the ZR-5.” the Admiral had just recently told her.

The project had been carried out in three phases. Phase one had been the removal of the dining salon, and the other luxury features ( and their packing for shipment. ) followed by the installation of a new gas cell. In phase two, the R-100, like her deceased sister ship the R-101, had been split in half and lengthened, then the cell that had been removed from above the dining salon was reinstalled in the newly created space. The difference here was that unlike the R-101, the R-100's airship’s nose and tail cones had been reworked in order to accommodate the change in aerodynamics. ( It was this part of the project that had been overseen by Sofia Casadonte. )

The final, but by no means least important phase of the project had been this installation a crane equipped cargo bay aft of the gondola and beneath the ‘Dining Salon’ gas cell, as it was informally known.

They had run the refit in two shifts, 7:00 a.m. to 3:00 p.m. and 3:00 p.m. To 11 p.m, Monday through Friday; the Navy putting in an extra half day on Saturdays. Most of the time, Katie MacArran was present at the start of the morning shift and not on her way home at until the conclusion of the evening shift. Sometimes, she was there on Saturdays, too.

Even so, it had not been all work and no play, making Katie a dull mare...and for that she could thank Sofia Casadonte. The Ibiza Hound femme absolutely refused to let her work clear through the weekends. Very often, when the Friday afternoon whistle blew, the two of them would board a train for New York, where for the next two days, they would take in Broadway, see a movie, eat at nice restaurants, and just plain relax.

Or weather permitting, they would hop aboard Katie’s new Lockheed Air Express and fly down to Florida for the weekend, or sometimes to Bermuda. It was the first time Katie and Sofia had shared a cockpit together, and the two of them were soon highly impressed by each other’s flying skills. (Of course, these flights were as much for training purposes as they were for recreation; Katie was soon going to be spending a lot of hours island hopping in that plane.)

Once, on their return from a weekend in Miami Beach they brought back a half-bushel of stone-crab claws for Commander Rosendahl...and if the mink had been Katie’s staunch advocate before, afterwards he was practically her slave.

As for Katie and Sofia, the two of them had become almost like the sisters that neither ever really had. The two of them could talk about anything. And what they eventually did talk about was that one subject which all girlfriends discuss sooner or later, and in intimate detail -- sex.

In this case, it was Katie who did most of the talking. Younger than Katie and raised Catholic, Sofia was considerably less informed on the subject than was her housemate. The first time Katie described the night she lost her virginity to Grand Duke Peter Korvanov, the Ibiza Hound femme’s eyes had gotten so wide, Katie was sure they were going to drop out of their sockets.

They spent a lot of time together in the kitchen as well. Sofia showed Katie how to cook pasta and polenta, and Katie taught Sofia how to make tortillas and tamales. Actually, in both cases, they were teaching themselves as much as each other. Neither one had ever been required to do much of their own cooking before taking up residence in New Jersey. More than one meal served in that house took less time to prepare than was needed to clean up afterwards.

The low points of Katie’s sojourn were two visits to Long Island to see Grandpa Joe, and each time afterwards, she had ended up crying on the train back to New Jersey while Sofia held her hooves.

At the opposite end of the spectrum was the occasion when Paul Litchfield invited them to see the Navy’s new airship, the USS Akron. Then nearing completion in the Goodyear-Zeppelin’s Company’s construction hangar (a structure that was no mean engineering feat in itself) the Akron was named for the city in which she was being built. Katie had taken one look at her and said just two words to the president of Goodyear Tire and Rubber Company, “Wanna trade?”

“Not on your life!” was bluetick hound’s instantaneous and enthusiastic reply.

Indeed the Akron was a dirigible to be proud of. She boasted not one, but three reinforcing keels, and her eight engines were mounted inboard for ease of maintenance. Of particular interest to Katie was the airship’s 70 by 58 foot hangar, and it’s three Sparrowhawk fighter planes. She thought this a tremendous idea but disliked the complicated ‘trapeze’ system for launching and recovering the aircraft. What good did it do for the Akron to have her own fighter defense, if the planes all had to carry a set of decidedly NON aerodynamic docking-bars on their upper wings? They’d be sitting ducks against a squadron of less encumbered planes.

Katie had wisely chosen not to mention these misgivings to either Paul Litchfield or Admiral Turner, but a seed had been planted that would one day bear fruit aboard her own airship.

It was shortly after her return to Lakehurst that an old friend turned up at the airship station. He was Sir Hubert Wilkins, Katie’s fellow traveler on the Graf Zeppelin, who was currently involved in a project of his own with the US Navy. At Brooklyn Navy Yard in New York, Sir Hubert was overseeing the preparations for the first expedition under the arctic ice via submarine; the new, soon-to-be-christened, U.S.S. Nautilus.

Katie was overjoyed to see him, and not just because he was a friend.

“Can you meet me in the mess hall?” she said, “I need to talk to you in private.”

What Katie needed to discuss with the dingo was a problem that had been bothering her ever since she had first decided to use the Republic to bring the dredges and other equipment into Iso.

“Remember the panic the Graf caused when she flew over that village in Siberia?” she said, and Sir Hubert nodded at once.

“Yes, Verkhne Imbatskoye if I remember correctly. Horrible business, that.”

“Right,” said Katie, “So what I need from you, Sir Hubert, is some advice on how I can help keep the same thing from happening with the New Guinea natives when the Republic arrives in Iso.”

The dingo considered thoughtfully for a moment before answering

“From which direction d’you plan to make the approach to Iso?”

“From the Huon Gulf, on Papua’s northeastern coast,” she told him.”she told him, “and then up the Ramu river valley to the confluence with the Iso.”

“Well that’s one thing you’ve got in your favour.” Wilkins answered, wagging his tail a couple of times, “You won’t be making the approach over any of the native settlements coming in that way. Just make bloody sure that if for some reason, the Republic ever does fly over the interior, she does so at maximum altitude. And always keep in mind that the aborigines of New Guinea don’t have the same visual perspective as we do. If they first see the Republic as a small object, they’ll assume it’s because she IS small, not because she’s flying at high altitude.”

“Will do,” said Katie, nodding in appreciation.

“Uhhh, and if you’ll forgive me for going off on a bit of a tangent, Your Grace,” the dingo went on, folding his arms and scratching his lower lip, “No one seems to know why, but one of the most popular fruit trees with the New Guinea natives, the matoa tree, seems to do particularly well in soil containing mine tailings. So, if you see any aborigines picking about your slag tip, it’s not gold they’re after, only fertilizer.”

“Good...thanks.” The pinto mare responded, “I’ll keep that in mind. Anything else you can tell me?”

Sir Hubert pursed his lips.

“Yes, you should be aware that the New Guinea natives always wear paint and always travel armed, even when they’re just coming in to trade. It’s when you DON’T see them that you’ve got to worry   Any time you hear a great lot of bird-calls that seem to be coming from nowhere, that’s when you need to take cover.” He cocked an ear and looked at her sideways, “Are you planning on bringing guns into Iso, by any chance?”

Well aware of Sir Hubert’s disdain for firearms, Katie chose her words carefully before answering.

“Yes, but not for use against the natives, Sir Hubert; they’re in case we have problems with bandits or air pirates.”

“Ah, yes.” said the dingo, sighing and nodding reluctantly, “There are those, aren’t there?”

Two weeks later, with Captain Nobile at the helm the newly re-christened airship Republic cast off from the Lakehurst mooring-mast for the first time. Most of her crew consisted of the same complement that had guided her across the Atlantic, other work still being harder than Hell to come by at the moment. The rest were a mixed bag of former Navy airship-furs, airship-furs who had served with the Deutsch Zeppelin company, and even one or two former members of the Norge’s crew.

And now that the R-100 had finally become the Republic, Katie’s life was about to enter a new phase. On this particular morning, both she and Sofia were dressed in their favorite flight suits, even though this was not supposed to be a day off.

They spent the next hour giving the house a final inspection, then went outside to wait on the porch. About five minutes later, a taxi-cab pulled up out front and honked his horn. (Katie had already sold the car.)

When they passed through the gate at Lakehurst, their destination was not the airship hangar, but the long, flat expanse of the runway...where Katie’s Lockheed Air Express was sitting, waiting patiently upon their arrival with her tanks topped and their bags already stowed on board.

Normally, the plane would have been attended by one, maybe two mechanics at most, but not this time. Today, there was a fair sized group of furs waiting to see them off, including Nevil Norway, Umberto Nobile, and most of the crew that had done the refit. Conspicuously absent were Admiral Moffet, Commander Rosendahl, (recently promoted) and Charles Litchfield -- not because they didn’t wish to be there, but because of some urgent business that had cropped up in Akron; the previous day, a former manager of the Goodyear/Zeppelin company had leveled charges of shoddy workmanship against the U.S.S. Akron’s construction crew.

Someone who was not absent, was Duchess Mary of Bedford. Only unlike the others, she was not there to bade farewell to Katie and Sofia.

Not in a flying suit, she wasn’t.

With the refit completed on the Republic, Sofia and Katie’s work on the airship was largely finished. From now, until the time when she departed for New Guinea, she would be Captain Nobile’s project. Not that he hadn’t been a part of the effort before. Perhaps even more than Katie, he had thrown himself into the refit with a zeal bordering on fanaticism. No surprise, really. This was Umberto Nobile’s chance to redeem himself, and he wasn’t about to let it go glimmering... and now that the shank of the work was done, Katie had determined that, “the best way help I can give Captain Nobile right now is just to leave him alone.”

Throughout the construction phase, It had not escaped Katie’s notice that Umberto Nobile and Sofia Casadonte were becoming quite friendly. At the Lakehurst mess-hall, they would invariably be seen sharing the same table, chatting amiably in their native tongue. Often, when Sofia made farfalle or gnocchi for dinner, she would invite the ginger tabby-cat over to join them. After one such meal, the Ibiza Hound femme confessed to Katie that she had developed a little crush on the Republic’s new captain. But if it ever went any further than that, Sofia never said and Katie never asked.

Some things were strictly none of her business.

However judging now by the farewells they were giving each other, Katie could only conclude that Sofia and Captain Nobile’s relationship had never proceeded past the, ‘If only...’ phase. They way they were looking at each other now spoke not of what had been, but only of what MIGHT have been.

Finally, with all farewells said and all promises made, the three femmes climbed aboard the Air Express, Sofia and Mary in the passenger’s compartment, and Katie in the cockpit. It was only then that the pinto mare realized just how eager she was to get going. During the pre-flight check, she missed not one but TWO items, and had to be gently reminded by Sofia. Now, more than ever, Katie was glad for her company.

There had been several changes of plan necessitated by the R-100's move to the States for her refit. One of the biggest involved Katie’s decision to fly on ahead to Iso once she’d secured ownership of the dirigible and completed her refit. There would be much ground work to lay before the airship could began ferrying in the dredges and extractors.

But whereas a flight to New Guinea from Britain would have taken her eastward, across the Mediterranean and southern Asia, the most direct air-route from America to New Guinea involved a westward course, over the Pacific, on the face of it, a far less complicated itinerary.

The only problem was, flying from Britain to the island, the route was mostly over land, and could be accomplished as a solo effort. No such luck on a westbound flight; once you left Oakland, the route was almost entirely over water.

AND as of 1931, no one had yet made a solo flight even from America to Hawaii, much less all the way across the Pacific.

And so, Katie had called upon her two close friends, Sofia Casadonte and Duchess Mary of Bedford to accompany her. And both of them had said ‘yes’ immediately. The three of them would share the flying duties as far as Brisbane, Australia, and then Katie would continue on alone from there to her mine in the Iso River valley.

Katie had needed to make several modifications to her airplane in preparation for the extended flight; extra fuel tanks, a navigator’s table, and the installation of a hatchway leading from the passenger compartment to the cockpit, which was now enclosed rather than open. ( A design change that she and Sofia had worked out in a single all-night session at her drawing board. )

The first leg of the journey, New Jersey to Oakland, was supposed to be the easiest part of the flight. In fact, the odyssey nearly ended almost as soon as it began. As the Air Express was crossing Missouri, with Mary of Bedford at the controls, Katie heard the pine-marten femme hailing her from the cockpit:

“Excuse me, dear...but would you come up and see this? It looks a bit naughty.”

Katie pulled herself up into the cockpit beside the Duchess...and screamed.

There, in front of the plane was a solid curtain of cast-iron clouds, a storm front that had been all but invisible through the Lockheed’s side windows. It wasn’t this, however, that was causing Katie to nearly soil her flight suit.

It was the long, tapering, funnel-cloud, almost directly in their path.

For as long as Katie would live, she would never forget the Duchess of Bedford’s reaction to her shriek of horror.

“Oh my. I suppose that it’s serious, then?”

Katie didn’t answer, she just grabbed the controls.

Fortunately for the three aviatrixes, the tornado chose that moment to begin moving southward, away from their flight path. But even so, as soon as they hit the storm front, Katie had to fight the stick every inch of the way until they emerged once more into the sunlight

When they arrived in Oakland, Katie decided to give it an extra day before departing for Hawaii, and neither of her companions raised an objection. For one thing, she needed to give the plane an extra close inspection against any possible damage from the storm.

Luckily, what little harm the Air Express had absorbed was neither serious nor structural, and it was this that prompted Sofia Casadonte to christen the plane with name by which Katie would know her for as long as she flew.

Henceforth, the aircraft would be known as La Fortuna, after the Roman goddess of luck.
If the flight across the States had been harrowing, the next part of the journey, the passage to Hawaii, could only be termed a milk run. Since day of the Dole Derby, there had been numerous improvements in aircraft navigation technology, to say nothing of the installation of a much more powerful radio beacon on Oahu. The only real battle on this part of the flight was the battle against boredom.

They spent a couple of days in Honolulu, resting and going shopping, mostly the latter in Sofia’s case, then boarded the Fortuna once again. Now, for the first time, they were off into a place beyond which ‘Here, there be dragons’-- territory over which none of them had ever flown before. Their first stop was Christmas Island, almost due south of Hawaii, where they paused only briefly before taking off again for Viti Levu, Fiji, a journey hampered by several encounters with rain squalls, fortunately none of them serious. The flight from Fiji to Australia, by contrast was entirely uneventful...until the Fortuna began her final approach to Brisbane’s Eagle Farm Airport. There, waiting beside the runway was a huge crowd and a military guard, complete with brass band. As the plane’s wheels touched the runway, they struck up ‘Giovenezza’, ‘The Star Spangled Banner’ and ‘God Save The King’ respectively, and when the Fortuna taxied to a halt in front of the gathering, she was greeted with a deafening cheer.

It was only when Katie and her two companions debarked from the Fortuna that they learned the reason for their enthusiastic reception. Without even realizing what they were doing, they had just become the first female aviators to fly the Pacific.

After that it would only do for each of them to deliver a speech, something none of them were prepared for and none of them wanted to do.

But somehow, despite their exhaustion, they managed the effort.

The next day, after a good night’s sleep, they were taken to a reception hosted by the great Australian aviator, Sir Charles Kingsford-Smith, a ferret who seemed to have perpetual ‘can-do’ grin plastered on his face. Three years earlier ‘Smithy’, as he was affectionately known, had participated in the very first flight across the Pacific, and he currently held the world’s record for the fastest flight from London to Australia. Katie would just as soon have forgone this ritual; she had places to go and things to do.

But there was no way she was going to snub the furs of Australia. She respected them far too much for that; Nevil Shute Norway was an Aussie, so was Sir Hubert Wilkins.

And so was the dark bay Brumby horse who made an unexpected appearance midway through the proceedings.

“Ray!” Katie cried when she saw him, and rushed towards the stallion with her arms outstretched.

(Actually, she didn’t...but she WANTED to.)

It took every ounce of self control that both she and Battling Ray Parer possessed to keep their greeting platonic. (It would not be until much later that night that the two of them would celebrate their reunion in the manner they REALLY desired.)

For now, however, it was the passenger Parer had brought with him who was taking up most Katie’s attention

“Hola Senorita Duchessa!” said Drigo Chavez, stepping forward to take her hoof, and then bowing slightly from the waist.

Katie said nothing, she just blinked in amazement. The coati’s fur had been neatly trimmed, and he was dressed for the occasion in a dove-gray shadbelly coat, ruffled shirt, and high-topped boots that had been buffed to a glossy sheen.

THIS was the same scruffy individual who managed her mine? He looked like the quintessence of the wealthy Spanish Don, fresh from surveying his estancia.

It was only then that she noticed Ray Parer had also donned a suit for the occasion. AND he’d had his mane pulled and braided. She was about to remark upon this when a new voice interrupted.

“Hullo?” said Duchess Mary, who had just come over, “Who’s this then, Your Grace?”

“Oh...” said Katie recovering, “Your Grace? May I present Senor Rodrigo Chavez, the manager of the Iso mine, and Mr. Raymond Parer, the very skilled bush-pilot I told you about earlier. Rodrigo? Raymond? Allow me to introduce Her Grace Mary Du Caurroy, the Duchess of Bedford.”

There were more introductions to follow, to Sofia, to Smithy Kingsford-Smith (who actually knew Ray Parer quite well.) and to an orange tabby-cat named Hudson Fysh, founder and manager of one of Australia’s oldest bush pilot services, the Queensland And Northern Territories Air Services, or QANTAS for short.

For the next two hours, time seemed to crawl at a maddening slow pace for Katie. She desperately wanted to get some time alone with Drigo and Ray to discuss business. (and then have some time alone with Ray Parer for another kind of discussion.)

When the reception finally ended, there was one image that would remain dormant in Katie’s mind for many years to come, and then one day spring forth to haunt her; Mary of Bedford saying farewell to Charles Kingsford-Smith.

Little could either of them have realized...

“We’ve made a whole lotta progress since you been gone, Senorita Duchessa.” Drigo Chavez told her afterwards in the hotel bar. “You sure were right to hire a Chinese crew. Those guys are not only hard workers, goddam they’re smart. We had one guy figure out how to extend the runway so you don’t have to worry about going into the river when you land a plane.” He grinned and looked at Ray Parer, “You wanna tell her how he did it, or you want me to?”

“Oh let me, please.” said the Brumby, eager as young colt, “He built a BRIDGE over the Iso river from the end of the runway, then added more runway on the other side. It’s a bit narrow while you’re going across, but now I can get a Fokker F-VII into Iso.”

Katie responded to this with a low whistle. A Fokker F-VII trimotor wasn’t quite as big as one of Bulolo Gold’s Junkers 34s, and it couldn’t carry a gold dredge...but it was still a lot larger than anything that should have been able to land in the Iso Valley.

ALMOST anything, she reminded herself, with a grin.

It wasn’t until later that Katie would find out how Parer had acquired that plane. He had just purchased a new, single engine Fokker FIII, only to have it crash during one of its first flights. In the blink of an eyes, Battling Ray Parer had been wiped out.

Until his story had got around, that is. The miners of New Guinea had never forgotten all the free flights The Battler had given them when THEY had been down at the heels and they had quickly rallied to the Brumby’s support. By the time they finished passing the hat, the stallion was able to afford an even better plane than the one he had lost.

It was a lesson that would not lost on Katie MacArran.

“And you don’t have to test the runway before y’ land any more.” the Brumby was saying, “They’ve got it paved in stone .”

“An’ you shoulda seen how they did it.” Drigo was telling her, excited. “They broke the rocks up by paw, fitted the pieces together like a jigsaw puzzle, and then tamped ‘em in flat with these big rollers they made outta log sections.”

“It’s still a bit bumpy for landings and take offs,” Ray Parer cautioned, “But it’s a lot better than it was before...and better than most runways in New Guinea, I can tell you.”

Katie, who had not been thrilled at the prospect of bringing her new Air Express into Iso’s old ‘postage stamp’ runway, responded by letting out a long snuffle of relief.

“An’ not only that,” Drigo was saying, “Now we’ll be able get those hydraulic extractors across the Iso when you bring ‘em in.” This had been one of the thornier problems engendered by Katie’s plan.

“The only bloke who’s not happy about it is Striper McKenna.” added Ray Parer, with what was obviously a poker face.

Katie couldn’t resist, she bit. “Really? What for?”

“Well, he doesn’t get any more free beer, does he?”

The three of them enjoyed a short laugh, but then Katie said, “Striper’s still in Iso? How come?” The Tasmanian tiger had been supposed to stay on only until the new crew arrived.

“Changed his mind when he heard you figured out how to bring those dredges into Iso.” the coati told her, “Came to me with his hat in his paws, just about begging me to take him on.” he shrugged. “As if he needed to. Striper’s one a the few guys in New Guinea knows to run a Combs gold dredge, learned to handle one in Alaska, an’ he’s a good guy in a tight spot. I left him and Shang in charge while I’m here in Brisbane.”

Katie’s ears went up.

“Shang? Who’s Shang.”

“Oh yeah, right.” said the coati, looking mildly chagrined at his forgetting. “Shang Li-Sung, red panda outta Shanghai. Really knows his stuff...and tough too. Speaks perfect English. He’s the guy I hired in charge a’ security, and as head translator.”

“Security?” asked Katie, ears going up, “You really think you we need someone for that?”

It was Ray Parer who answered her.

“Fraid you will, Y’Grace.” he said, looking very grim and trying not to look afraid for her, “Soon as Bulolo Gold started their first dredge and the gold started moving, things got very naughty over in that part of Papua. Guinea Airways has already lost one gold plane to air piracy that I know of. They’ve caught the blokes what did it, but now there’s bandits on some of the trails again.   And even without that, there’s still the occasional native attack. Nobody in the gold fields goes round without at least a fighting knife in their belts these days. And I’d strongly suggest you start carryin’ one as well and have someone show y’ how to use it.”

“And a gun.” added Drigo Chavez, nodding solemnly.

“All right,” said Katie, who really didn’t want to do either, but if that was what was required, she wouldn’t hesitate .

“Meantime,” the Coati was telling her, “We’re gonna need to recruit some more workers pretty soon. We got enough for what we need to get done right now, but once you start gettin’ ready to bring in those gold dredges, we’re gonna need a lot more bodies on the ground.”

“I take it you’ve pretty much exhausted the local supply of labor?” said Katie.

“Yeah, pretty much.”said Drigo, pulling at his muzzle. “Shang says the best places to find more guys is in Rangoon and Singapore. There’s a lotta expatriate Chinese, got mining experience in both a’ those places. That’s what he tells me, anyway.”

“I am definitely going to have to meet this panda.” Katie thought to herself, and then she said, “While you’re here, I have some news of my own...” And proceeded to fill them in with the latest news about the Republic.

“You did get that cargo pad built, like I ordered.” she asked when she had finished

“Oh, hell yeah!” said Drigo, “First thing we got done, even before the runway.”

The cargo pad was nothing more than a raised and flattened mound of low earth, reinforced with logs, and covered with crushed stone. It was where the Republic would be dropping her cargo when she arrived.

“Right now, were working on building a road from the cargo pad to the bridge.” Drigo was saying. “It ain’t the Camino Real, but you can drive a tractor on it.”

“Good,” said Katie, and then leaned partways across the table, “And now listen carefully, boys. I managed to have a talk with Sir Hubert Wilkins before I left New Jersey.”

“Y’don’t say?” said Parer, raising his ears and then to Drigo Chavez he said, “Best pay close attention, sport. I met Sir Hubert once, and he’s one bloke worth a listen.”

“That he is,” Katie concurred, and then went on to relate the things Sir Hubert had told her about the New Guinea tribes and what to expect. “Anything either of you want to add to that?” she asked when she was done. Ray Parer responded immediately.

“Yeah,” he said, “You’ll really need to explain to yer blokes about keeping their arses OUT of the tribal sacred areas. Otherwise they’re like to wind wi’ their heads shrunk an’ stuck on a stick out front of some abo’s hut... maybe even invite an attack on the whole, bloody camp. The New Guinea natives take their sacred areas right serious...especially the Ayon tribe.”

“Uh-huh, that’s what I was just gonna say,” said Drigo nodding slowly, “The good news is that those sacred areas are real easy to spot. The natives mark the tree trunks all around the perimeter with the faces a’ their gods. That’s mostly as warning to the other tribes, but you better believe it applies to us outsiders too.”

“Right, I’ll have Shang explain it to them.” said Katie, and then turned to Ray Parer, “All right next thing is, pretty soon I’m going to make a flight from Iso to Manila and back in order to survey the route for the Republic. And for that, I’ll need a co-pilot. How about it Ray? You interested?”

The Brumby grimaced. “Uh, I dunno Y’ Grace. That’s a bit longer than I’ve ever flown...”

“I meant in MY plane.” Katie told him, imagining his concern, and then added impulsively, “C’mon, Ray...I’ll put us up at the Manila Hotel.”

The Manila Hotel was the city’s most elegant hostelry; it was where the Philippines’ new military advisor, General Douglas MacArthur was having his plush new penthouse built.

That was all it took for The Battler to change his mind. And there were other things about which he needed no persuading. The next morning, when Katie arrived back in their hotel room, Sofia Casadonte was just getting up.

“Katie?” she said, blinking at the pinto mare through eyes not yet fully alert, “Are you only now getting in? Where were you?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know!” Katie teased, and then flopped down on the bed with a VERY silly smile on her face.

That was the only clue Sofia Casadonte needed.

“Ray?” she said, now completely awake and with her tail starting to wag excitedly.

“Ray.” said Katie, looking even more giddy.

“Ooooo, grrrrrr.” said Sofia, growling in anticipation, “Well come on, Katie, don’t keep me in suspense. What happened? What happened?”

Katie’s reminiscence of ‘what happened’ was punctuated by a great deal of giggling and blushing, especially when she got to the part where...

“Che infame!” cried Sofia, cupping her paws to her face and dropping her jaw almost to the floor, “He made you do THAT?”

The white of Katie’s face turned almost scarlet, her grin became even more ridiculous, and then she was covering her eyes with her hooves.

“N-No, Sofia.” she said, in a voice that almost a filly’s squeal. “Ray didn’t make me do anything. I...Oh, my God, I can’t believe I’m telling you this, b-but I WANTED to.”

Sofia’s reaction to this sounded not unlike someone flipping rapidly through a radio dial.

“You...He...Did it...What was it...Did...How did you...like it?”

The only answer from Katie was more giggling and blushing.

The next day, at Brisbane harbour, Katie bade a tearful farewell to her companions as they prepared to take ship for Perth, and from there to Aden and through the Suez to Genoa. Though all of them knew this was not to be their final farewell, they also knew that they would not be seeing one another again for some time to come; not until the Iso mine had provided Katie with enough capital to guarantee a secure future for both Combs Mining Equipment and the MacArran
distilleries. Katie estimated that it would be six months at the absolute minimum, at most a year before that goal was achieved.

In fact, Katie MacArran would not see either one of them again for a full TWO years.

And when she did, she would be a far different mare than she was now.

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