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The roar of four powerful Pratt & Whitney R-2800-43 Double Wasp engines turning large Hamilton-Standard props served as Blackhawk's alarm clock. Outside, he found two Martin B-26 Marauder medium bombers in their old blue and red livery taxiing up to the buildings of the Soviet base. Even before the props stopped turning, all six of the Blackhawks piled out of the bombers. They swarmed around him, smiles battling looks of concern on their faces.
"By yimminy!" Olaf exclaimed, "you ban had us worried."
"I got shot down, by some sort of rocket. But I'm okay and the Russians have taken good care of me."
A crowd of young women, pilots and ground crew, began to gather around the blue uniformed men. Smiles and giggles accompanied the low murmur of whispered comments.
"Sacre," Andre said. The Frenchman preened his neatly trimmed mustache and smiled at a pretty Russian pilot. "You have found zee paradise, I zink."
"Later, Andre, we have work to do." Blackhawk said.
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