Frick did not slow down from his headlong gallop until after Truman Avenue changed names back to Roosevelt Boulevard, damn near a mile. He didn’t stop, just slowed to a walk, gasping some as he did.
Frack and Bernie came to slowly fly beside Frick, Bernie positioning herself so her shadow shaded Frick. “What was that all about, big bro?” Frack asked.
“Little bro, if I knew, I would tell you. No way I could outrun that cragadile. I turned and shot almost on instinct. No, more like the gun knew I was in a lot of trouble, and guided me on what to do to get me out of trouble. I remember thinking I would like to see a chalk outline around that thing, like in the crime movies. I came close,” Frick gasped out between deep breaths, not stopping his slow walk.
“Instead, you turned it into purple chalk dust. You going to be okay, big bro?” Frack asked.
“I should. Fly back to the boat and grab me a couple cans of Jolt. You can tell everyone something happened, but the story can wait for dinner. Right now, I need to fix my anemia,” he puffed.
“I’m on it. Stay with him, Bernie. I’ll be back in ten or so,” Frack said with some firmness as he picked up forward speed and altitude, looking for the Deliverance.
“Will do!” Bernie called before looking back down at Frick. “What’s this about anemia?”
Frick took a couple of more breaths before saying, “I don’t know about you, but I need me a drink!” slurring together ‘I need me a’ into ‘anemia’. “Old joke and code signal between us.”
Bernie shook her head as she shadowed Frick, literally in this case. “I don’t know which of you is worse, you or him?”
“Oh, I am. I’m the older and wiser. I’ve had more time to think of stupid jokes,” Frick admitted candidly as he walked down the street.
“You’re a rare type, Frick. A jokester who won’t hide it from anyone else. At least I can see where Frack gets it from,” Bernie said as she flew overhead.
“What do you think of my little brother?” Frick asked suddenly.
“I think he is polite, gallant, and totally hooked on me. I don’t mind, because I feel the same way about him. He’s protective, but not smothering me. I like that in someone. He lets me be me, even though I only woke up in this form two weeks or so ago. He’s also helping me find me, but at my own pace. Why do you ask?” Bernie asked, taken aback at the sudden question.
“Simple. He’s my little brother. I’ve always been protective of him, especially after he lost his left foot in an accident when he was thirteen. Protective, but I never got in his way. If he asked a life question, I would give him my opinion, but made him make all of his own critical decisions. After our parents died in a plane crash back in eighty-one, we decided to just stay together. It worked, with help from Fred and Frieda,” Frick explained.
“So, if I take Frack, I get you as well?” Bernie said flippantly.
“Only part-time. I know enough to stay out of Frack’s life except when he lets me into it. What goes on between you two stays that way, period.” Frick declared. Bernie could feel his sincerity.
“Once we turn over Deliverance, whatever you two do together, I won’t worry or snoop. I’m proud that he’s stepping out. May you two have many happy days and nights together,” he told the thestral.
Bernie’s ears perked about that time. “Frick, get into some shade. I’m going to find where those chickens are. Tomorrow, we’re going to be chicken hawks!” she said eagerly before winging off.
“Good idea,” Frick said, ducking into a shadowy spot.
Bernie followed her ears to a field lined with trees and dry ground in a slightly-raised center. There, she beheld what had to be a hundred chickens scratching and pecking at the ground. “Jackpot…” she whispered, licking her fangs. “Omelets tomorrow!” She fixed the location in her mind, soaring a bit higher to map out how non-flyers can get to the spot without hiking through underbrush before returning to Frick.
She found that Frack had returned, bringing with him a large thermos of water as well as two Jolts. Frick was taking the water first, in slow sips. “Where did you fly off to?” Frack challenged.
“Chicken hawking. Found out where they are. Also mapped out a way for others to join in the fun. Dinner almost ready?” Bernie asked.
“It will be when we get there. So, let’s get there! Frieda made her rich tomatoey sauce!” Frack said eagerly.
Bernie took station as Frick’s sunshade. Frick gave the thermos back to Frack, who slung the carry cord over his neck. Opening a can of Jolt and draining half of it, Frick pointed up the road. “Dinner awaits!” he declared before marching off, Frack and Bernie in his wake.
When Frick told his story at dinner, many were skeptical, until he brought out the pistol. Not only did everyone stare at the gun, so did Frick, because it wasn’t that ancient relic he found, but it looked almost brand-new, the metal and wood gleaming with a faint purple glow. “Either that cannon was meant for you or it’s taking your power to fuel itself,” Foster observed.
“I should say so,” Frick replied, putting the gun back into the pouch. “I’m going to have to figure out a holster for it. Not now, though. I have a dinner to savor!” He put action to words, coating a piece of garlic bread with the rich marinara sauce before taking a bite.
“Double or nothing you can’t guide us into Havana Harbor with the same accuracy!” Frieda squawked, both pleased he (and everyone else) were enjoying the meal, and narked at Frick’s ‘rubbing it in’.
“Deal! I will put us within a mile of Havana Harbor. If I miss, you dictate to me what sort of dinner you want me to cook, even if it involves meat. If I hit, you cook for us with the same care you did today, deal?” Frick outlined the terms of the bet.
“Deal!” Frieda squawked, extending a fist for a hoof bump, which was returned.
Frick had some more of the outstanding spaghetti dinner. “Okay, people, here is the plan of the day for tomorrow. You’re going to split yourselves into two groups. Group One sets out after breakfast and returns about one for lunch. Group Two sets out at one and has until sundown. I will putter about the boat. You gave me today off, I’m giving you all tomorrow off. Half day, anyway, because the day after, on the nineteenth, we set sail for Havana shortly after dawn. With luck, we should be there around the one to two p.m. time frame.
“Now, dig in! But, before we do, let’s hear it for the cook, our friend and Second Officer, Frieda!” Frick called out. The accompanying applause and hoof stomps threatened to upset the tables, but everyone controlled themselves in time.
That next day, the morning crew (Fred, Frieda, Frack and Bernie) harvested themselves four plump, juicy chickens and about five dozen eggs first thing, bringing them back and prepping them for cooking before spending the rest of the morning touristing. The afternoon group (Fran, Foster, Malala and Michie) did their touristing by going first to the Hemingway House, where Foster and Malala harvested some souvenirs while Fran and Michie played with the six-toed cats, who seemed to know Michie was a kitten and willingly played with her. Their next stop was the bird sanctuary, where all were enthused by the presence of the colorful birds, some of whom did talk. Crudely. One of them, a large scarlet macaw, followed the group out of the sanctuary.
When Foster tried to chase the scarlet macaw off, the big bird stood its ground. “Watch the girl! Watch the girl!” it chirped, fluttering over to perch on Michie’s head.
Michie tried to look up. “Capo, what you doing?” she asked.
“Watch the girl! Keep her safe!” Capo chirped, bending down to rub cheeks with Michie, who giggled.
“How do we care for a parrot? Fran asked.
“Macaw! Macaw! Have seed, have fruit, have water, Capo happy!” the big bird shrilled.
“What about when it gets cold outside?” Malala asked.
Capo squawked, “Keep warm, too! Cold not good! Keep girl safe!”
“So long as we can potty-train the bird, ah doubt Frick won’t especially mind,” Foster observed.
Capo let out a loud, possibly indignant squawk. “Not foul nest! Not good! Outside that in bushes!”
“Finally, a pet that is as bird-brained as the rest of the crew…” Foster muttered.
“That’s me! Capo bird brained!” the big scarlet macaw squawked, everyone laughing in agreement.
Back at the Deliverance, Frick and everyone else readily took to Capo, who flew about, landing on everyone at least once, squawking a word about each person, ‘Doctor’ to Malala, ‘Ward’ to Michie, “Organizer’ to Harry, ‘Pile-it’ to Tina, ‘Batty Girl’ to Bernie, ‘Honor’ to Foster, ‘Ward Mama’ to Fran, ‘Storm watcher’ to Frack, ‘Group Mama’ to Frieda, “Big Daddy’ to Fred, and finally, Frick. Capo perched gently on his cap and said, quite clearly, ‘Chief Screwball!’.
“Ah think that there bird has done summed us all up quite well, won’t ya say?” Foster quipped, getting everyone laughing.
“Agreed! Welcome to the crew, Capo!” Frick said.
Capo rubbed his body against Frick’s bristly short-cut mane. “Thanks a lot, Screwball!” he chirped.
“Well, at least he got the Captain pegged!” Bernie laughed.
Bright and early the next morning, the shore contingent arrived at the boat, Tina and Harry having packed a small bag each with mementoes. After breakfast, the tables were stowed and promptly at 0600 on 19 June 2016, the Deliverance started circling Key West going around the island to the south side. Frick carefully oriented the boat on a course of 207 degrees, engaged autopilot and advanced the throttles. “We’re on the road to Havana…” he sang up on the fly bridge.
Capo let out a squawk and held his wings to his head. “Screwball no sing!”
Tina and Frieda, who were up on the bridge preparing two of the chickens they had caught yesterday for roasting, laughed at the macaw. “He does sing, Capo. Thing is, no one else thinks he does. They think he’s rubbing a cat the wrong way!” Frieda laughed.
“Got that right, Mama!” Capo chirped.
“I’m heading down to the pilothouse,” Frick said. “No chickens there.”
“When you get there, there will!” Capo said, fluttering up to perch on the netting by the roof line.
“Damn bird…”
The gallant little boat steadily made its way towards Cuba, moving resolutely to its final destination under the skies that steadily grew cloudier. “What’s with the weather, bro?” Frick asked.
“Something’s not right. It’s not supposed to be this cloudy. Something’s monkeying with the weather.” Frack said. “My senses say clear weather for the next couple of days. Does feel like a flock of storm birds, but they’re going to have to be as big as condors and as thick as that clot of flies we saw.”
“Not like anything we saw,” Frick muttered. “Fran, call ahead to Havana and get a weather update, please,” he said in a louder voice.
Fran, who was at the controls in the pilothouse, said “Okay, Frick. Let’s see what’s going on.” She picked up the microphone, made sure the radio was set at the proper frequency, then called in. “Havana Harbor Control, this is the Deliverance. Radio and weather check, please,” she said in Spanish. After a minute, she repeated the message. No answer.
“Frick, can you check the radio out? I know they were there this morning. I phoned them when we set out. Not getting an answer.”
Frick went to the pilothouse, a puzzled expression on his face. “I know the radio is working. We tested it several times since we changed the antenna. Go up to the bridge and take control from up there for a while. I’ll check things out here.”
“Right. I’ll phone them from up there after I try the radio, if they don’t reply,” Fran suggested.
“Good idea. You do that,” Frick confirmed as he sat on the bench seat. “Call me when you’re up there.”
“Will do, Frick.” It wasn’t a minute later when she called over the intercom, “Control switched to bridge, Captain.”
“Very well,” Frick replied, checking over the radio subroutines. Everything checked out, but Havana did not respond to calls. Neither on radio or the phone. Fran reported the same thing a few minutes later.
“Fran, override autopilot, go to half power, remain on same heading. Frieda, you and Harry each take a radio, you grab an ocular and pull for altitude. We should be about ten miles out from Havana Harbor. Try to see what the hell is going on over there,” he ordered, his horn and cap badge glowing faintly purple.
“Will do, Captain,” Frieda said, leaving the galley and grabbing a radio and a monocular. Harry did the same. Together, they launched off the stern and started climbing, circling the Deliverance.
At about three thousand feet, give or take the odd fathom, the two saw smoke on the horizon. They both went to a hover and looked, using both pegasi distance vision and the monocular. Smoke was rising from several spots in the distance, and flashes of light came from a fort on the shore and something approaching the harbor entrance. “Cornhusker Three to Cornhusker Base. Something’s going on and it’s raising smoke. Let’s advance with caution. We can’t make out any details,” she reported.
“Cornhusker Base copies, Three. Going to ahead one-third. Stay as aerial cover until we get more info. Havana’s still not responding,” Frick told the scouts.
“Will do,” Frieda replied. “We can use the cloud base as cover.”
“I’m the what, you’re the how! We need to know what’s going on there!” Frick shouted into the radio.
“Chill it, One! We’re on it! Launch the drone as backup!” Frieda snapped back.
“Good idea, don’t mind if I do,” Frick replied. “Cornhusker Base out.”
“Let’s close in, Harry. We do need to know what’s going on!” Frieda told her wingpony.
“Let’s do it!”
Aboard the Deliverance, Frick looked from the pilothouse to the saloon. Of those aboard, only Tina and Foster were there, Fred, Malala, Michie and Capo were in the main cabin downstairs, as were Frack and Bernie in the captain’s cabin, doing whatever. “Tina! What do you know about handling drones?” he called out.
“Quite a bit. I learned it as a hobby while I was being reassembled, and came up with a few uses for them after. Why you ask?” Tina asked from the saloon table.
“Something’s going on in Havana, and they’re not answering the phone. Frieda and Harry are heading in to look, but an additional eye won’t hurt, right?” Frick observed.
“Good point, Frick. Where’s your drone?” Tina asked, getting up.
Foster opened a storage compartment and floated out the controller. “It’s upstairs. Ah’ll go get it an’ set it up aft. You figure out the controller. Ah’ll be down in a jif.” he said before heading upstairs to dismount and unplug the drone.
Tina looked at the controller. “Okay, I know this one. Shouldn’t be too hard. Captain, what’s our distance from Havana?”
Frick looked at the chart display. “A bit under nine miles.”
“Let’s wait until we get within three before launch. This model claims a four mile range, but one thing I have learned is to never trust the labels. Closer in, better chance of maintaining good control,” Tina advised.
“Sounds good to me.” Frick opened the intercom to the bridge controls. “Fran, come to sixty percent throttle. We need to get closer before launching the drone.”
“Sixty percent throttle, aye.” All could feel the twin Cummins diesels increasing speed. “Captain, ship is at sixty percent of full throttle.”
“Very well.”
Above, Frieda and Harry closed in on Havana Harbor. They could see flashes of light, both inbound from something big in the water and outbound from a fort at the entrance. Harry was the first to resolve what was going on in the water. “Frieda, does it look like the Creature from the Black Lagoon is waving a huge trident while on the back of a damn big fire-breathing sea serpent?” he asked.
Frieda went to a hover, focusing with her monocular. “Harry, that’s a good call. That’s what it looks like to me.” She then quickly blinked as a bright light came from the points of the trident, going up into the thick cloud cover. From above came a clap of thunder, and something big and flaming coming out of the clouds to smash into the city. “Ho boy. No wonder they’re not answering the radio or the phone.”
“Got that right. Got any ideas on what to do about it?” Harry asked.
“First thing, let’s get back to the boat. The longer they stay ignorant of us, the more of a chance we can do something about it,” Frieda said, readying her radio. “Husker Three to Husker Base. RTB. Film at Six on NewsWatch Seven.”
“Husker base copies and confirms RTB, Husker Three. Awaiting video. Base out,” Frick said over the radio.
“What did you mean by that, Frieda?” Harry asked as they started heading back out to sea, both, by unspoken agreement, traveling along the base of the cloud layer, dipping in and out of the gray mass.
“Private code. Frick knows we have seen something serious, and will await a formal IN-PERSON report. Who knows who or what else may be listening? Remember, even paranoids have enemies, and I would not call those two friends.” Frieda replied, voice serious.
“I understand that,” Harry muttered as they flew back.