Northbound (2017) by Yoteicon92

Northbound (2017)

Yoteicon92, Adventure, Adversity, Alaska, Doberman, Florida, Flying, Friendship, Gamble, Husky, Malamute, Risk, Suspense, Vintage, Wolf, aviation, challenge, ohio

Joey Paulo embarks on an daring adventure to salvage and bring a rare Lockheed Super Constellation out of the deep Arctic cold. Limited time, limited resources make for a life or death gamble~

Part of my series on FA: http://www.furaffinity.net/journal/2143509/

Northbound

The air was uncomfortably sticky, dense with humidity. The muggy wind that rustled through the palm fronts took on an ominous feel as the sky slowly turned gray, the first hints of arrival of Hurricane Irma. There was a sense of urgency at Opa Locka's Executive Airport, a great commotion as facilities were hunkered down for the looming storm. Having torn up the coastline of Cuba, the great Hurricane was now poised to slam into Florida.

The flight line at Opa Locka was quiet, the oil stained tarmac just about empty. The usual gaggle of C-47's and C-54's were gone, having evacuated to safer climes up north. The usual arrival and departures of Paulo-Freightmaster's vintage planes were also gone, the fleet of L-1049's, DC-6's, and DC-7's held back to wait out the storm. All that was left on the bleached pavement was a single Super Constellation, painted in the former colors of VARIG, and a taxiing DeHavilland Caribou, the boxy, gull-winged CV-2 rolling to the active runway. The Brazilian L-1049H, christened "Queen Vanessa" awaited her passengers as the last of the cargo was loaded into the forward cargo hold under the belly.

With the whirr of his drill, Joey finished screwing a sheet of plywood over the door to the Freightmaster office building. The small white building sat with its windows boarded up and secured, ready to weather Irma's wrath. Wiping the sweat off his brow, Joey breathed a sigh of relief as he took a few steps back to examine his handiwork. A black and tan Doberman from Brazil, he looked casual with his sweat soaked baseball cap turned backwards, and his green and yellow Brasil tanktop that clung to his chiseled frame. He stood beside his business partner Kurt Tanager, a middle-aged Dober with black and rust fur and a tousled mop of black hair atop his wedge shaped head.

"Now we leave Freightmaster's HQ to the gentle mercies of Irma!" Kurt exclaimed with a sarcastic laugh to Joey. "I'm not too worried. This ole building has survived many hurricanes. Andrew, Charley, to name a few."

"Let's hope so. Heh, I've never exactly worked on hurricane proofing a building before." Chuckled Joey.

"That's cause you're from Ohio." Kurt nudged jokingly.

"Yeah, in Ohio you just deal with snow on Monday, then a heat wave on Wednesday." Grinned Joey with a laugh.

"Gotta change it up you know?" Kurt went along with Joey chuckling as they packed their tools away. "Irma coincides right when I go on vacation...just my luck."

"Something always comes up huh?" Joey smiled as he picked up his toolbox.

"Exactly. Ya know, I kinda enjoyed not having hurricanes for a while."

Walking onto the tarmac, Joey and Kurt ventured back to Joey's Connie, the curvaceous propliner awaiting them. Painted white and silver with a teal blue cheat, the VARIG Connie was their ride back to Ohio. Named after his late grandmother Vanessa Paulo, it was a virtual time capsule from the past. The fuselage was long and curvaceous, beginning with a pointed radar nose that was painted black, and ending with a taper to the unique triple-tail. The wings held the four massive radial engines, tightly cowled with long three-bladed propellers that were unpainted and polished to a shine. Each propeller sported a conical spinner, streamlining the air against an armored ring covering the crankcase.

Joey gazed up and examined his Constellation before being briefly distracted by the roar of his boxy Caribou taking off. Not far away, he watched his camouflaged CV-2 begin its takeoff roll, hauling two automobiles in the boxy fuselage. It's twin R-2000's roared as it quickly gained momentum and lifted off the runway to begin the long flight back to Newark with the Tanagers' vehicles.

Returning his attention to his Connie, Joey watched as Kurt climbed up the wobbly airstair first, Joey following last as ground crew approached to pull it away.

"Hey be safe when the hurricane comes!" Joey called down as he stood at the open rear hatch, listening to cynical chuckles from the ground crew waved goodbye for a safe trip. He waved in return and closed the hatch, locking it in place. Turning around, Joey stared down the corridor of the vintage passenger interior. Ahead, Kurt walked through the galley separating the rear first class compartment from the tourist class. Joey followed suit to find everyone sitting in the forward half of the plane.

Kurt's wife Susan sat close to their kids; thirteen year old Joachim, eleven year old Audrey, and their twelve year old nephew Kyle, who they were raising. Opposite of them sat his parents Lloyd and Kalina Tanager.

"Come on Joey! Let's get this show on the road!" Susan exclaimed with a laugh as she looked out the window.

"Patience!" Joey responded with a happy chuckle as he stepped into the crew quarters just aft of the cockpit. Entering into the cockpit, he was greeted by the sights and sounds of his crew at work going over the checklist. Felix Barion and his boyfriend Tony Alvarez sat at the helm. The two tan and beige Dobermans worked to check over all the gauges as their tattooed arms flipped the various dials and switches to prepare for engine start. Their flight engineer was burly Croat Vlado Horvat, a just as tattooed gray wolf who sat at his instrument panel reading out the instrumentation. Sitting in the redundant radioman's seat was Joey's nephew Alvin Paulo, the eager looking Dober watching excitedly at all the activity going on around him.

"We ready to get this show on the road boys?" Joey asked amusingly.

"I'm givin' her all she's got captain!" Tony responded in a mock Scottish accent.

"Gotcha Scotty." Chuckled Joey.

"Alright. Everything looks good on my end. Vlado, let's begin engine start." Felix called over to the flight engineer who turned to begin the sequence to start the engines.

"Go on three." Vlado called as he held the starter button down. Joey watched the gauges before hearing the deep thud of cylinders igniting, signaling the start of the third engine. He could feel the sheer energy of the R-3350 vibrate through the airframe as its cold cylinders chugged. Stepping back into the cabin, Joey watched gray smoke and puffs of flame shoot from the exhaust stubs of engine three. Engine four's propeller began to turn, aided by its straining starter. The engine caught after a few rotations, spewing a glut of flame from its power recovery turbines. The flames were snuffed out by a cloud of oily smoke, blown back against the wing by the immense propwash. The process was repeated for engines two and one, the deep rumble of four piston engines filling the cabin. The air grew hazy with a cloud of oily smoke burbling out of each Duplex-Cyclone, blown back by the propellers which churned as gray circles etching wispy vortices in the humid air.

Releasing the squeaky brakes, the Connie began to roll under her own power, in a very slow, arching turn on the tarmac for the service road. Rumbling along with the constant whine of Felix applying the brakes to maintain control, "Queen Vanessa" taxied to the runway where she turned slowly onto the runway. Wasting no time, Felix pushed the throttles forward to command maximum power. The four radials revved up to full power, pulsing flames from their exhausts as the propellers roared to life. Whipping vortices over the wings, the Connie began her takeoff roll. Lightly loaded, the L-1049 galloped down the runway, gaining speed and growing buoyant. With a nudge of the stick, the graceful Constellation was pulled skyward, its gray tires leaving the pavement of Opa Locka.

Inside the cabin, everyone settled down for the almost six hour flight back to Ohio. While Kurt's family rode in the forward half of the cabin, Joey and Kurt retreated to the rear fuselage, where the first class lounge resided at. In the rear of the plane, the engine noise was quieter, allowing them to conduct business together at their card table.

"I've reached a point in life where I don't want to ride out hurricanes anymore. Not for my children's sake at least." Kurt explained as he stacked paperwork to stow back in his suitcase. "Charley was the last one I wanted to deal with. My Grandpa on the other hand..."

"Oh boy." Smiled Joey. "Another crazy Harold Tanager story~"

"My Grandpa probably rode out at least thirty hurricanes?" Kurt figured as he held back from laughing. "The worst he said was Andrew, back in ninety-two. He rode out the storm in his closet, everything else was destroyed. He told me there wasn't enough liquor to make that bad situation better."

"Hah!" Joey laughed.

"Grandpa would always tell me 'Kurt, liquor makes any bad situation bearable. Trust me!' I disagree because I'm not a blatant alcoholic."

"My Grandpa is so mild mannered. My father on the other hand..." Joey chuckled.

"We all have that." Kurt smiled. "How's Rob doing by the way?"

"Rob is better. He's recovering from his second hip replacement." Joey responded with a nod. "Rob had to get put back together after being involved in a robbery..."

"Rob's always somehow in the wrong place at the wrong time." Kurt said with an amused tone.

"Yeah, tell me about it." Smiled Joey. "But no more chronic hip pain like before. Those idiots in Cleveland did his hip replacement wrong the first time, and shit was coming lose and grinding against the bone."

"Ugh." Kurt rolled his eyes.

"So Rob's attorney is standing by." Joey smiled as he rolled his eyes.

"I smell a settlement." Chuckled Kurt.

"It's always something with Rob." Joey joked with his wit. "Speaking of the court system, I received word yesterday that the courts in Alaska have granted me ownership of the Super Constellations that were found up in the Arctic by the Tharps."

"Oh really? Cool!" Kurt exclaimed.

"There's three Super Constellations at some abandoned airfield. Two Super-G's and a E model." Joey explained. "The E model is the only one mostly intact. Just needs new flying surfaces, engines, and props."

"What about the other two."

"They're going to need a lot more work." Chuckled Joey. "One sits on its tail, and the other is missing its tail."

"Grandpa always said you can get anything to fly if you have enough time, money, and booze."

"Always the booze." Joey chuckled.

"Always the booze." Kurt grinned with a snicker.

"I'm hoping we can put new engines and control surfaces on her and fly her out back to Anchorage." Joey offered as his plan of action.

"You really think that old bucket of bolts will make the trip?" Kurt asked curiously. "I mean, let's not try and pull a Greenamyer!"

"It's the only one that seems to be able to. Plus I won't be hanging a gas can from the roof to power the APU." Chuckled Joey. "Lesson number one~"

"Four new engines, propellers, and new control surfaces and cabling and she'll fly the distance to Anchorage?" Kurt asked as he tapped his paws on the desk.

"Yeah, I think so. We gotta clean out the crap from the inside, but that cockpit is virtually intact. Not a single gauge missing. She's a time capsule from her last flight, probably in 1975 or something."

"Heh, when I was born." Kurt smiled. "I think I'm up for the challenge. But man is that going to be a logistical nightmare, all the way up there. And winter is approaching too."

"Randy Senior said they're forecasting a sort of late start to winter...which is going to buy us time." Explained Joey. "I say we get what we can get done before winter closes in, and then come back next year to finish it. My buddy Mark is working on a way to airlift out the airframes with his newly acquired Chinook. Disassemble the wings and fuselage and haul em out bit by bit! Slow, but worth it."

"Sounds like we have a plan." Kurt nodded.

"Ugh, the cold." Joey smiled with his usual sarcasm. "But it's worth it."

"Good thing I take my usual vacation this time of year! Let's get this done Joey~" Kurt exclaimed.

"When we get to Newark, we'll plan some more with Mark. How about that?"

"Sure!"

The warm glow of the table lamp colored the room amber as Joey drew the curtains shut for the night. Casting long shadows, the Doberman, dressed in just his snug green briefs walked around getting things set for the evening. His husband Rob, his ailing wolf-hybrid sat up in bed, dressed in his red and white pajamas. Recovering from surgery, Rob looked tired, his scarred face looking dour as usual as he watched Joey move around the room.

"You know you look really cute in those jammies right?" Joey grinned.

"No thanks to your mother..." Rob sarcastically grunted.

Joey turned to look at himself in the mirrored closet door. He did a sarcastic pose and flex as he looked at himself. "Damn and this cutie!"

"Okay Roberto." Chuckled Rob who smiled at the sight.

Joey laughed as he turned to look at Rob. "The difference is that I'm taller and I don't fuck fourteen year olds."

"And you're not littered in tattoos and use steroids to get abs." Rob rolled his eyes.

"That's because once you create perfect, it's hard to surpass that." Grinned the Doberman with a laugh as he patted his abs.

"Oh you." Smiled Rob as he watched Joey walk over to the other side of bed to sprawl out next to him.

"You still look cute in those pajamas." Smiled Joey affectionately.

"Marie would not shut up until I put the damn things on..." Rob grunted.

"Now you know how my entire life has been." Joey laughed.

"Of course~" Rob nodded.

"But on a more serious note...do you have any issue with me going to Alaska to work on the Connie I obtained up there?" Joey asked.

"Why would I have an issue?"

"Let's see...you're bedridden with a hip that is mending, and being your spouse I should probably be behind to take care of your needs?" Joey sarcastically quipped.

"Umm I'm thirty-five fucking years old Joey." Rob sarcastically quipped. "I got a brother, your parents and others in my support base to take care of me if need be. I don't need you slaving over me all the time because I'm not that clingy type."

"Yeah, you're just a cold, battle hardened machine." Joey grinned as he laughed at Rob's blank stare at him.

"At the rate I'm going I will be a machine."

"The new T-1000 Terminator. I like it!" Joey teased.

"At least this time they did the new hip right!" Rob exclaimed. "No more grinding, chronic pain like before."

"And you'll be back to flying airplanes in no time." Smiled Joey as he sat up to put an arm around his lover to hold him close.

"I sure hope so. I really don't like the fact that Marie is bathing me." Rob grumbled. "I get uncomfortable when another person's mother is scrubbing my armpits..."

"Ha!" laughed Joey.

"Marie is bathing me, and Andrew is eating all my food. How typical~" Rob smiled as he rested his head against Joey's neck.

"Yep. Those are my parents." Chuckled the Doberman. "They care, in their own strange and unique way."

"So about the Connie." Rob abruptly changed the subject with an amused tone. "What's your plan?"

"Oh yeah, the plan." Chuckled Joey.

"You sound so prepared." Teased Rob as he nudged his Doberman.

"Fuck you Rob." Grinned Joey.

"Oh, the vision thing." Rob grinned, referring to a quip from President Bush.

"I got a plan! Me and Kurt have been working on it with Mark! We think we can hang new engines and props on the Connie, replace the control surfaces and cabling and ferry her out to Anchorage where we can do more repair work to make the long transcontinental flight." Joey explained. "There's your plan!"

"Just make sure you don't crash." Chuckled Rob.

"Yes. That's my goal." Laughed Joey. "There's a whole lot of nothing between the airfield and Anchorage."

Joey got up to grab his cellphone off the dresser. He promptly returned to show Rob the photos he had taken at the site over the summer. Rob swiped through the photos, examining the many photos of the L-1049E that Joey had taken on his brief trip to Alaska in June. Rob found the airplane to be just about intact; the duralumin skin looked good, without any dents or external corrosion. It was painted in a faded scheme of white and blue, with very faint letters that read "Excalibur Cargo Co." on the upper fuselage. It had all four engines and propellers intact, sporting Curtiss Electric units that had faded tips. The tail was missing its rudder and elevators, and the Pinocchio radar nose was smashed in, exposing the damaged antenna of the APS-10 unit.

"I think she'll fly." Rob nodded. "That's in pretty good shape."

"It's got a completely intact cockpit too." Joey added.

"Sadly I can't help you this time around...I gotta heal up." Rob explained. "And Vlado is tied up getting the WV-1 ready to ferry back from Dayton. I can offer you a boatload of parts and Pablo to help you out though~"

"Spare parts are good." Nodded Joey.

"I just got four R-3350's out of the shop, zero hour parts. They're rigged up for HS propellers though. I got a spare set of tail surfaces from a scrapped Warning Star you can use, and the cabling is pretty standard. Propeller hoist is also a must."

"Gotcha~"

"Oh and the tools. Don't forget the tools Joey." Rob added with a smile.

"Of course. I think I am very well aware of that." Laughed Joey.

"Just making sure! When you work with Dmitry all the time, you have to make sure you cover all the bases..." Rob sarcastically quipped.

"Luckily I'm not a morbidly obese dumbass like him." Chuckled the Doberman. "Well shit, it's getting late...I'm beat."

Rob moved over as Joey climbed into bed, shutting the lamp off in the process as he pulled Rob close to him.

"Good night Rob~" smiled Joey. "I love you!"

"I love you too." Rob smiled back as he kissed Joey goodnight.

Contrails marked their path through the frigid blue stratosphere. Four screeching Allison turboprops propelled the stretched Hercules along, northbound to Alaska with her sister ship in lead formation. "302" flew slightly behind and to port of "215", the two ex-RAF C-130K's painted in their original camouflage; "302" in a desert RAF scheme of earth and stone with shiny black undersides, and "215" in dark gray and green. They both were crammed with all the parts and equipment Joey needed for his Arctic adventure, including her motley crew that would help Joey bring one of the Connies back home, out of the cold.

At the helm of "302" sat her owner Mark Prince, a wolf with a shiny pelt of black fur. With a headset resting atop his slicked back hair, he flew with his father John Prince in the open cockpit. Mark's husband Tanner Rodriguez flew the lead ship as they crossed high over the Canadian Rockies.

Joey sat in the cockpit, behind Mark in a spare seat as he watched the jagged peaks of the Rockies drift below them from twenty thousand feet. The cabin was filled with the whistling hum of the T-56 engines, a different tune than the usual deep throbbing rumble of piston engines.

"I was hoping I'd be able to get to these planes maybe a month in advance...but you know, government bureaucracy." Chuckled Joey over the intercom to Mark.

"Always gotta expect bureaucracy. Especially when it comes to asserting legal right over abandoned crap." Was Mark's amused reply with his deep voice. "Trust me, just to get this Herky bird imported from Britain was a pain in the ass between the two countries."

"So you think this bird will be easy to fly?" Joey asked his friend.

"If nothing else comes up. In theory, all we have to do is change out the elevators, inspect the ailerons, replace the radome on the nose, hang new engines and props, and check the landing gear over, we should be okay. Easier said than done though!"

"Heh, yeah. Tell me about it." The Doberman chuckled.

"Myself, Mark, and Tanner basically got a parted-out L-1049G to fly out of Davis-Monthan six years ago for a ferry flight back to Los Angeles. They're pretty tough birds, those old propliners." John explained. "Only difference is that we had all the time in the world and wasn't trying to beat the weather!"

"Randy Senior says it might be a late start to winter in the Arctic."

"You know, because climate change..." Mark chuckled.

"Let's not make it political." Grinned Joey with a laugh. "But since I'm used to the bullshit mother nature does to Ohio, that could change at a moment's notice."

"Especially in the Arctic." John added.

"Exactly." Joey replied as he rolled his eyes. "Ugh, I hate the cold."

"You'll love Alaska." Teased Mark with a big grin of white teeth.

"It's not my cup of tea." Chuckled Joey. "I'm made for sun and fun!"

Crossing the Rockies and meeting up with one of Mark's company MD-11 tankers to refuel, the two C-130's made it to Anchorage by late afternoon. Arriving at the Ted Stevens International Airport, they landed within five minutes of each other, taxiing to the ramp that was leased by Tharp Aviation Services.

Looking slightly out of place in her desert camouflage, the Hercules taxied by the lineup of Tharp's green and white cargo planes, a mixture of L-382 Hercules and L-188C Electra III's. Navigated by Randy Sr. himself, the C-130 was parked next to her sister ship. "302" was destined to fly to the abandoned airfield to conduct the shuttle flights of equipment across Alaska.

As the last turboprop fell silent, the rear loading ramp was deployed, dropping slowly to the pavement. Joey climbed out first, followed by Kurt Tanager and his father Lloyd. Pablo Hernandez, Rob Barion's second mechanic followed suit, with Mark and his father John being the last to step out. From "215" stepped out Tanner Rodriguez and his flight crew, followed by a handful of members of Mark's aviation company Precision Group. Two Rottweiler's stepped out in their blue coveralls; Brent and Trey Collingwood of Collingwood Aviation, aircraft restorers noted in the warbird community. They volunteered to be part of the team to prepare the Connie's ferry flight. Last out of the other Hercules were members of Rob's broadcasting division; his business partner Maverick Tokarev, nephew Marcus Barion and his brother Borr Eklund, camera equipment in tow.

"Joey Paulo! What a pleasure to see you again!" greeted Randy Sr. An older gray and white malamute in his early sixties, he was the owner of his family cargo business.

"Hey Randy, where's your counterpart at?" chuckled Joey with a friendly smile.

Randy Sr. rolled his eyes. "My idiot son is still in the terminal."

"I see." Was Joey's response. "Well...you ready to do this?"

"It's gonna be an interesting adventure. Something I've never embarked on before~ But we got a clock ticking against us you know..."

"Time is of the essence." Joey nodded.

"We'll have to get there, work fast, and see if that old silver tin can will fly again safely." Randy added.

"It's a challenge. I live up for the challenge." The Doberman chuckled.

"Then let's get the job done right! We start tomorrow at dawn~"

Wilderness stretched for as far as the eye could see outside the porthole of the Hercules. Joey sat by the oval window, watching the propellers churn outside in the dim morning light as the miles and miles of wilderness drifted by below. There were hills and valleys, interspersed with miles of flatlands, with magenta and golden growth dotted with small lakes. The sky was a deep purple, turning to a golden orange color from the sun that barely peaked above the horizon. Outside, the Allisons hummed along, Joey watching the gray propellers that were tipped in red and white claw the air with their monotonous hum.

The cabin was crammed with as many parts as they could wedge inside the Hercules. A huge propeller hoist that Rob had built himself sat disassembled, a vital piece in moving engines and propellers. A small yellow bulldozer sat strapped along for the ride, parked next to the long crates that held the twelve propeller blades and four hub assemblies to make up the four props needed to get the plane flying. Four turbocompound Wright R-3350 Duplex-Cyclone engines sat on their shipping mounts. A massive radial engine, it was composed of two tightly packed banks of eighteen cylinders, complete with its rear mounted supercharger and three exhaust gas power recovery turbines that lined the rear bank of cylinders. They filled the Hercules with the smell of oil and cosmoline.

The forward half of the Hercules interior was red web seating for everyone to sit in. Lloyd Tanager sat with John Prince and Randy Senior, telling them amusing stories about his eccentric father Harold Tanager. Joey continued to look out the window as he heard a familiar tale about the late Harold.

"My father liked to store volatile chemicals for whatever reason. I have no idea what he used them for or why, but he had this shed in our backyard where he'd store things like ammonia, benzene, toluene, muriatic acid. Well one day I went to cut the back yard and the fucking shed exploded! The blast threw me through our patio door and into the kitchen! Dad comes running in and takes one look at me and yells 'Lloyd! What the fuck are you doing lyin' around? You workin' for the government or something?!'"

There were chuckles as Lloyd laughed cynically. "My father did everything wrong in life and made it to ninety-two. My Dad, as a side project removed asbestos from people's homes. He removed fucking asbestos with a putty knife and a Shop-Vac. He thought all that talk about PPE was bullshit. He drank too much, he did all kinds of dangerous shit...and don't get me started about the B-25 incident!"

Joey glanced over and smiled with a chuckle as he returned to watching the scenery out the window.

Gradually the landscape changed from flatlands dotted with hills to more rugged terrain, which became more barren, more brown. The temperate landscape slowly changed into tundra as they continued their trek north, into the Arctic. The Brooks Range passed below, a jagged landscape of valleys and mountains, some of which were already dusted with snow. It made Joey think ominously about his race against time from the looming Arctic night.

The mountains smoothed out to tundra once more as they flew over a dense taiga of towering conifers. Descending in, Mark guided his Hercules towards the abandoned airfield, which was carved out of the tundra. A gray splotch in a sea of black and green marked the site as Mark set aim for it with his Hercules. A gravel runway loomed ahead as preparations were made for landing.

Taking his spot in the cockpit, Joey buckled himself in as he watched the runway grow closer.

"I'm going to make a quick touch and go to check the integrity of the runway before we actually come in!" Mark announced to Joey as he held course.

"Okay!" Joey nodded.

Descending in with everything down, Mark flared for touchdown, momentarily reducing power to bleed off speed. With a rough jolt and the pinging of gravel, the Hercules touched down, Mark feeling and judging the integrity of the runway. He pushed the throttles forward to command maximum takeoff power from his T-56's, which responded immediately with a rapid spool-up. They climbed away from the runway, Joey watching as his Super Constellations flashed by.

"Runway felt okay~" Mark said over the intercom as he and his husband slowly banked to turn around to officially come in for landing.

"I think we'll be okay." Joey assured.

Turning around and descending in, Mark guided the Hercules in for a perfect touchdown. They were rattled and jolted by the rough surface as all four propellers roared in reverse pitch. The gravel bled off their speed as they came to a rolling stop, at the opposite end of the runway. Using differential thrust, Mark turned the plane around to taxi back towards the rusted Quonset hut that was partially collapsed. As Mark taxied, Joey leaned to get a view out of the right side cockpit windows, watching as his L-1049E came into view.

Sitting on all three gears, it was the most intact plane, though its nose radome was destroyed. It had all four engines and a complete set of Curtiss Electric Propellers hung, though its tail control surfaces were missing. It had a scruffy, worn paint scheme of chipped white paint on the upper fuselage, and a slate blue cheat line that ran from the nose to the tail. Very faintly on the upper fuselage read "Excalibur Cargo Co.".

Turning to park in an open area, the rear loading ramp was deployed as Joey climbed out first. The air was cool, the wind having a slight bite of winter to it. Joey zipped up his jacket more and adjusted the dark blue beanie that clung to his wedge shaped head. He scanned the abandoned airfield, his eyes noticing the rotting "McNamara Field" sign. It was completely silent around him, with only the sound of his crewmates behind him.

Since his first visit in June, Joey had come to learn a bit more about McNamara Field and its purpose. From the court records he had learned that it had once served an important hub flying men and materials into the North Slope during the oil boom of the 1960's and 1970's. The aircraft were formerly owned by the Excalibur Cargo Company, headed by a Doberman named Michael G. Wells. He started operations with a used L-1049C in 1963, and at one point had over twenty-five different Constellations plotting course all over Alaska to support the oil boom. For all his successes, Joey found him to be a tragic figure; he was a veteran of the Second World War, a man traumatized and maimed by war. He was burned and disfigured from a Kamikaze strike during the war, leading to numerous complications that plagued his health until his death in 1995. He lost control of his business because of corrupt business partners who swindled him out of his own aircraft, resulting in the destruction of the Excalibur Cargo Company. After losing his airplanes and his company, Michael withdrew from society, his back-story murky until his death at seventy-two from diabetic complications.

Joey returned to help set up camp. Working with Randy Senior and his son Randy Junior, they worked to erect an old Army tent that Randy owned. The large olive drab tent was soon stood up and secured; the idea was to camp out for a few days at the site and work on the Connie while periodically flying back to Anchorage to clean up and restock to fetch more parts.

By noon, with camp set up, work turned towards the Constellation.

The L-1049E sat on a large gravel ramp, next to the two L-1049G's that were in dilapidated shape. The two Super-G's were donor aircraft that Michael had used to scrounge for parts to keep his other Connies flying. He had picked them pretty well of their usable parts, with empty engine nacelles and missing components. Newly built components would eventually replace the missing parts, allowing them to fly once again. Only the "E" would get the chance to fly out of the field under her own power.

Wheeling a power cart over, Joey observed activity going on around engine four of the Connie. Randy Sr. stood on a ladder examining the oil port as Mark and his father poked around the innards of the original R-3350. Lloyd Tanager stood under the wing sampling fuel that remained in the wing tanks. Returning to his task, the Doberman stopped at the nose of the Connie and brushed the dust and grime off the access port. He plugged the receptacle into the slot and secured it before bending down to yank the pull starter to get the motor going. With a cough of smoke, the generator started, humming away loudly.

Gripping onto the ladder, Joey climbed up to the forward hatch high above him. Swinging the latch open, he stepped down a few rungs to allow the door to swing open. Climbing back up, he pulled himself into the cabin, which smelled like an old attic mixed with cosmoline.

The interior walls were dingy with age, the interior cluttered with various junk. Stepping into the cockpit, he found it to be virtually untouched since the last time he stepped foot in it. Joey even recognized his own fingerprints in the dust, from where he leaned against the cabin walls in June. The cockpit was virtually intact, with every single gauge, switch, and dial sitting under a thin covering of dust. The cockpit glass was yellowed with age, grimy and dirty from forty years of exposure to the elements. The sight of the old faded Dixie cup brought a smile to Joey; it was like stepping back in time, a virtual time capsule.

Leaning on the flight engineer's seat, Joey looked through the coating of dust at the switches on the engineer's panel. He reached forward to engage the circuit breaker, flipping over a dial and two switches as he kicked up some dust that filtered through the rays of light coming through the windows. As Joey pushed in one of the breakers, he watched as all the cockpit lights came on. Gauges that had sat dormant for four decades glowed once again, the Doberman stepping back to look around the cockpit at all the switches and gauges that were now illuminated. He knew that the power system was up and running.

"Hey Joey!" came Mark's voice. "Joey!"

The Doberman slid open the cockpit window and poked his head out. "Yeah Mark?"

"Randy and Lloyd want to see if engine four can start." The black wolf hollered up to him.

"I think that engine is all seized up now." Chuckled Joey with a smirk.

"No! No!" yelled Lloyd. "I was able to turn the propeller, and Randy says one of the power recovery turbines freely spun when he opened it up! I think this will be the real litmus test to see just how fast we can get this ole' bird in the air!"

"There's still some oil in the tank~" Mark added.

"Fuel amazingly is still good in the tank." Kurt yelled up to him.

"Fuck it!" laughed Joey. "Let's try it."

Randy Sr. filled the oil reservoir up with a bottle of 5W30 as Lloyd and Kurt turned the Curtiss Electric propeller to check for hydraulic lock. Climbing into the cockpit, John Prince took the helm at the flight engineer's station as he brushed the dust off the gauges. "This can go either way. An interesting experiment, or a complete disaster."

"Let's aim for the former." Joey sarcastically quipped from his vantage point.

"Let's go on four!" Mark announced, fire extinguisher in grip.

"Go on four John." Joey announced.

John Prince flipped the magneto switch over for four and pressed the start button. To Joey's surprise, he heard the starter engage as the prop briefly jolted and began turning. A deep whine from the engine filled his ears as the starter urged the heavy propeller along. Joey "counted the blades" as he waited for the engine to start, the propeller continuing to slowly turn. Slowly he heard the first pop of a cylinder as the engine began to cough smoke. A thick black smoke poured from the turbine hoods as the engine momentarily spun up, only to violently backfire and stall. A pulse of flame and smoke signaled the backfiring blast.

Waiting a few seconds, John engaged the starter again, Joey watching and listening as the propeller clanked in its slow revolutions. The engine coughed and smoke poured out as it began to slowly turn over, the R-3350 shuddering on its engine mounts. At low revolutions it coughed to life, chugging slowly as black, oily smoke poured out from everywhere. The smell of oil filled Joey's nostrils, a choking, nauseating scent. They had life in the old Connie.

Kurt gave Joey a thumbs up. Joey nodded with a smile and returned the gesture. He knew they could proceed.

The morning air was chilly, a brisk cold wind blowing over the airfield. The sun was hidden behind a milk gray overcast, a dreary cold day. But work continued on as the propellers were slowly stripped off the engines.

Working around the propeller hoist, Lloyd and Kurt assisted Mark and his husband Tanner in gently removing the three-bladed Curtiss Electric units off the driveshaft of engine number four. They worked carefully to remove the units; at sixteen feet long, the paddle blades were unpainted, with rounded tips that were faded yellow. Joey wished to salvage as many of the blades as he could to overhaul and reuse. They were rare and valuable, a favorite of Joey and Rob as well. Very carefully, Tanner wiggled the whole propeller assembly, as his husband sprayed WD-40 to lubricate. With a sudden pop, the propeller went swinging on its leather straps as Tanner stumbled back and held onto the ladder. Lloyd and Kurt pushed the propeller hoist back as the prop swung by its straps.

"And that's how it's done!" the tattooed brown and tan wolf exclaimed.

"One down...another three to go." Mark chuckled. "Then I gotta take the engines off."

"And do it all over again!" Tanner added with a laugh.

"We'll just work our way down the line. Starting with four since we kinda destroyed that engine." Mark pointed out as everyone chuckled. Their experiment to see if one of the engines would have started ended up damaging engine four. While it started, it ran incredibly rough, with a sickly cough. Examination after shut down revealed damage to one of the power recovery turbines and its fluid coupling, with subsequent metal shavings all through the oil system. Like the other three engines, it was planned to send it back to Ohio for a complete overhaul and repair.

As work continued on the propellers, Joey and his friend Randy Jr. worked to clean the cluttered interior of the abandoned Constellation. Throwing stuff out the opened cargo door, the Doberman wrinkled his nose in disgust at the foul smells that he found searching under old crates and boxes. A putrid mixture of sour, mildew smells mixed with the sharp stench of chemicals from time to time. He tossed out boxes and boxes of paperwork, yellowed and browned with age. It formed a huge pile beneath the cargo door as more and more was added to it.

"More shit to go!" laughed Randy as he threw another shoebox of paperwork out. "Whoo!"

Joey chuckled as he shook his head. He continued his search through all the stuff to see if anything was valuable. As he searched the forward section of the fuselage, he examined the small shelf space above the empty navigator's spot, his hazel eyes spotting a small leather bound book. Taking a curious look at it, Joey reached forward and picked it up. He opened it up to reveal a bunch of handwriting, faded cursive on yellowed paper. Going to the front page, he realized that it was a diary, from Michael Wells himself.

"Name: Michael Gregory Wells. Date: January 1975 -"

Joey held onto it and briefly read the first entry, which talked about a successful cargo run hauling fuel oil to a site at the North Slope. He closed the little book up and stowed it in his jacket pocket to continue working.

"Hey check out this picture!" came Randy as Joey turned to see the chubby malamute holding a photo in his grip. "This fella is one ugly motherfucker!"

Joey walked over to examine the photograph in Randy's grip. It was a faded black and white 8x10, showing two Dobermans. An older Doberman with the right side of his face disfigured smiled at the camera with a younger Dober who had his arm around him. In the slightly blurred background sat a Super Constellation, with a Quonset hut giving away that it was taken at the very airfield Joey stood at. Joey realized that it was a photo of Michael Wells himself, and his nephew Drew Wells, who he adopted and raised.

"That's Michael Wells, the former owner of these planes." Joey explained. "He was severely injured in a Kamikaze strike in the Pacific during the war."

"Oh." Was Randy's response. "I made a really bad dick comment didn't I..."

"Yeah..." Joey sarcastically nodded. "I try and be sympathetic to people with wounded faces. I see it all the time with Rob. He's very conscious about the giant scar on his face."

"Rob scares me." Randy admitted.

"As well he should~" chuckled Joey.

By the afternoon, the cabin was cleared out, revealing the reinforced magnesium floor that was stained and discolored from age. Joey spent time dusting off the cockpit, clearing the years of grime and dust off the instrument panels and walls. In his mind he could hear the sound of the radials droning away, the muffled roar of four R-3350's, the feeling of buoyancy in the sky rocking to turbulence. He planned on restoring it completely to put it back to work hauling cargo once again, in the white, blue, and gold colors of Paulo-Freightmaster.

Watching his warm breath waver in the cold still air, Joey felt annoyed at the cold. He looked out the cockpit windows at the gray sky, which occasionally spat rain on them. Putting his brush down, the Doberman stepped out of the cockpit to climb down the ladder, wanting to observe work on engine four.

He spotted Kurt on the ladder, securing the huge R-3350 to its support block attached to the propeller hoist. His father Lloyd worked behind the engine, in the tangle of cables and hoses to disconnect the engine from the plane. Black oil dripped onto the gravel below as Lloyd disconnected the oil return line.

Walking over to inspect, Joey knelt down to observe as Lloyd fumbled around trying to untangle the hose.

"This damn fucking thing..." grunted Lloyd as Joey suddenly saw his vision go black.

SPLAT!

A stream of thick oil splattered all over Joey's face as he jumped back in shock. He tripped and fell as everyone laughed.

"Ugh!" Joey exclaimed. "Not this shit again!"

"Hey Joey, looks like you got a facial!" Kurt grinned with a laugh.

Joey raised his middle finger up. "Fuck you Kurt."

The Doberman got up to wipe some of the oil off his face. It soiled his blue jacket, soaking all into his clothing and fur. "Fuck, fuck fuck~"

"They never give me enough damn space to work in these nacelles." Grunted Lloyd as he climbed down. "Son...your father isn't getting any younger!"

"Need a life alert bracelet Dad?" Kurt teased.

"Fuck you Kurt." Lloyd grunted.

Walking to find something to clean himself up, Joey took his jacket off to find his sweatshirt completely soaked with the foul smelling oil. It filled his nostrils, the Doberman wrinkling his nose in disgust. He walked back to the parked Hercules to fetch a towel, his eyes noticing Randy Jr. walking back from the woods with a weird limp to his gait.

"Randy? What the hell are you up to?" Joey asked him.

"I hurt my ass taking a shit in the woods!" Randy exclaimed. "I ran out of toilet paper so I had to use leaves that really hurt my ass!"

"What did the leaves look like?" Joey asked him.

"Oh, I took them off some pine tree! I thought it would work!" Randy said as he saw Joey roll his eyes.

"Randy, are you really this dumb?" Joey sarcastically quipped.

"Only on Tuesdays~" he quipped.

"I don't have time for this crap." Joey grunted as he stepped into the Hercules to find a towel.

"I do! I just did! I wouldn't go in that area of the woods!" the malamute exclaimed.

"Lemme tell you a good ole' Harold Tanager story."

Around the crackling fire, Joey and his crew sat eating dinner, under the twilight sky. From their position in the Arctic, the sun didn't truly set yet, it hung low, below the horizon for a few hours before rising again. But it signaled the looming winter, that held off for the moment. The heat of the campfire kept the cold at bay, coloring everyone in shades of orange as their shadows danced off the darkened conifers.

Everyone jokingly chuckled at the idea of another story from Lloyd as he sat on a log next to his son and John Prince.

"In the early seventies, my Dad bought a B-25. He wanted to use it as a sprayer for a fire ant eradication program. The only problem was- my father never flew a B-25 before. He was not type rated for it. And I tell him this. My Dad looked at me and said 'I've been drinking all fucking day. I think I know what I'm doing!' We flew the fucking B-25 upside down over Opa Locka because my father was trying to fix the artificial horizon indicator. I flew a plane that was not designed to fly inverted, inverted over my home at two thousand feet. I don't know how I didn't age prematurely because of him."

There was laughter all around the fire as Joey laughed with them, his black and tan fur matted from the oil.

"My father did everything wrong, everything dangerously stupid to one's health and made it to ninety-two. He endangered all his children constantly, and somehow kept us all together all those years. I'll never know his secret." Lloyd added. "He smoked like a chimney, drank like a fish. Fuck! He removed asbestos without any protection as a side job! Used a Shop-Vac and a putty knife! Made it to ninety-two and died of old age."

"Dumb luck." Chuckled Randy Sr. "My father was a war vet. He served in the Aleutians campaign. After the war, he started the family business with a single Beech 18. He wasn't a fucking psychopath like your father Lloyd. My Dad was kinda traumatized by the war, he was quiet and sometimes withdrawn."

"My father was messed up by the war. He was a mechanic in Burma, and when planes wouldn't return over the Hump, it made my father really hurt. He knew those pilots, and it broke his heart when a plane he worked on never made it back." Lloyd explained. "So after the war, my father coped in very unorthodox ways, to the horror of my family."

"And speaking of crazy family members..." Kurt chuckled. "Joey? Would you like to tell the crowd about your parents?"

"Oh boy..." Joey muttered.

"Joey's parents are the most dysfunctional married couple I have ever met." Kurt pointed out.

There were murmurs of agreement around the fire as Joey saw Mark and Tanner nod in agreement with John.

"Your parents just randomly stop over to our house and just cause chaos somehow." Tanner added with a snicker.

"I wake up and your father is watching Pay-Per-View on my television..." the black wolf added.

"Andrew and Marie argue about everything! Before we flew up to Alaska, me, Susan and the kids stayed with them. They argued about how deep a pan is before it constitutes a pot. They spent half an hour arguing over pots and fucking pans! Marie is annoyingly overbearing and nosey- she lectured my wife on how to properly cook! And don't get me started about your brother Roberto Joey! He's about the most disgusting thing to ever walk on the face of his planet! Bragging about...how he banged two high school cheerleaders. How is this even legal?!"

"Yeah, that's my family in a nutshell. It's amazing I've turned out so well." Smiled Joey.

"And in the Tharps...you got the village idiot...my son." Randy turned to stare at his son.

"I'm not a village idiot Dad!" Randy Jr. protested.

"Hey son, why don't you get a baked potato for your father..." Randy asked.

"Okay!" his son obliged as he reached in to grab a potato, only to scream and throw it back in the fire as he grabbed his paw.

"Yeah! I rest my case! Hey dumbass! They're sitting in embers! Embers are hot!" Randy Sr. exclaimed.

"That kinda hurt..." Randy Jr. frowned.

"Thirty something years ago, God blessed me and my wife with a son, our only son. The only problem is that he didn't bless him with any common sense." His father mocked.

"You're not perfect Dad!" Randy exclaimed with a snort.

"I know I'm not perfect! Nobody is perfect! But I don't live my life in an oblivious bubble just farting around having a good time!" Randy Sr. mocked with a laugh.

"I mean...I think I'm pretty close to perfect..." grinned Joey, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Get outta here!" Mark laughed.

Everyone shared a hearty laugh with Joey, the mood being joyous. They had managed to remove two engines and all the propellers, leaving engines three and four lying on the ground awaiting shipment back to Ohio. A huge stack of Curtiss propellers, twelve off the Constellation, and dozens more found in one of the Quonset huts also awaited return to Ohio for overhaul.

In the dim blue light of twilight Joey walked over to examine the work done on the Constellation. Stepping around the R-3350's that lay in the gravel, Joey looked up to stare at the empty nacelles attached to the wing. They would soon have the other two engines removed and the overhauled engines hung up. Joey hoped that once they replaced the control surfaces, they could get close to flying. The cold breeze that blew from the north made Joey shiver; it was a sign that he was working on borrowed time.

Returning to civilization, Joey sat by the porthole watching Anchorage pass below on descent. Looking bedraggled, the Doberman sat in his grease covered clothes, the tan parts of his fur taking on a dingy brown from all the sweat and oil that smeared his face. He looked and felt tired as he watched the runway slip below, feeling the final flare for touchdown as the engine power was reduced. Bracing himself, he was jolted by touchdown, the turboprops spooling up in reverse thrust.

Looking back, Joey saw the fruits of their labor. The cabin of the Hercules was filled with four radial engines, crates of propellers, and boxes of gauges and other electronics scrounged from one of the Quonset huts. Filling up almost half the cargo space was the complete tail from one of the L-1049G's, disassembled into its various components to be taken back for repair and replacement.

Joey longed to return to civilization; almost a whole week of being isolated in the Arctic, a week without a shower, and eating just canned food cooked over a fire. He reeked of oil and grease, an unpleasant feeling all over him.

Rolling towards the Tharps' hangar, the C-130 turned and parked, its turboprops spooling down to Mark's command.

Stepping out of the cockpit was Mark himself. The usually well kempt wolf looked messy himself; his shiny black hair that was always neatly greased back against his head was matted and tousled, taking on a dull sheen. "Welcome back to civilization folks."

Stepping out through the side hatch, Joey climbed out, followed by Randy Sr. and his son Randy Jr. Mark and his father John were the last out with Tanner as they made their way to the terminal. Joey was left at the Hercules, as he did the post flight inspection of the desert colored Hercules.

Looking up to examine engines three and four, Joey heard a deep rumble come from the runway, which got his attention. Turning his head around, he watched the bulbous sight of his C-97 touchdown, its huge Wasp Major radials roaring in reverse thrust down the runway. "The Silver Bullet Express" was ahead of schedule, surprising Joey as it slipped momentarily from view. When he got eyes on his cargo plane again, it taxied on its two inboard engines, which coughed a steady stream of white smoke from the exhaust. Unpainted and wearing its original USAF markings, the polished Stratofreighter turned onto the tarmac to taxi past the resting Hercules.

A smile crept on the Dober's face at the sight of his husband Rob in the captain's seat of the C-97. Still dressed in his pajamas, the battered looking wolf-hybrid opened the window and stuck his upper body out, looking happy as he jokingly held his index finger up to his muzzle to "shush" Joey about the fact he was grounded from flying.

Ground crew walked over to push the airstair up against the forward fuselage. The aft cargo door opened first before the main hatch opened up, revealing Joey's nephew Alvin, who ran down the steps immediately to greet his uncle.

"Uncle Joey!" the thirteen year old greeted with a happy grin on his face.

"Hey!" Joey smiled. "Greetings Alvin!"

"You smell like oil!" Alvin giggled with a happy smile.

"That's because Uncle Joey hasn't bathed in almost a week." The Doberman chuckled.

"Now you sound like Dmitry next door!" Alvin laughed.

"Ha~" Joey chuckled. "It's always a pleasure to see you Alvin."

"Thank you!" Alvin smiled.

Joey looked up to see his husband Rob emerge through the hatch, still dressed in his red and white pajamas. He looked peppier as he walked down the steps slowly, showing no discomfort from his mending hip as he walked without a limp.

"Well what a surprise!" smiled Joey. "What brings you up here?"

"You think I'd ignore all the fun?" Rob smiled in return. "Plus it gets me away from your parents..."

"Exactly." Laughed Joey. "You look much better!"

"I feel better. Still on the mend though! And don't tell the FAA I flew~" Rob chuckled.

"I won't." smiled Joey.

"I come bearing a gift to you!" came the voice of Vlado, their Croatian mechanic.

"Me!" exclaimed his eldest son Ivo jokingly as he burst through the hatch, only to stumble and nearly fall down the stairs. Everyone shared a laugh as Vlado helped his son up.

"What an entrance." Teased Vlado.

"Oh boy, I can't wait to see what I got!" Joey sarcastically exclaimed as he walked over to stare at a new radar nose for his Constellation, polished and shiny with the radome painted black. It sat strapped to a pallet, ready to be unloaded and flown to the site in the Arctic.

"We'll fly the used engines and props back to Ohio." Rob said as he put an arm around his lover.

"You're the best Rob~" smiled Joey as he leaned against Rob to nuzzle him, only to stain his brown pelt black with oil.

"Oh fuck me~" grunted Joey.

Two Weeks Later

The motor to the winch strained against the weight as slowly, the large propeller was hoisted up to engine number four. Manning the hoist stood Mark in his grease splattered coveralls, watching his father who stood on the ladder guiding the propeller in.

"I need you to up another two inches Mark!" John called out.

"Two inches it is then!" Mark called back as he manned the controls. The motor whined as the prop was raised another two inches, to be in line with the driveshaft of the new engine.

"You never forget this stuff." Chuckled John as he adjusted himself on the ladder. "Back in my heyday working for Air Aspen."

"Just like riding a bike, you never forget huh?" Mark chuckled in return.

Propping another ladder up, Mark's husband Tanner climbed up to assist John in getting the propeller installed. The wolf with his tattooed arms braced himself against the open cowling petal as he watched the propeller dangle. With sixteen foot long blades, the massive Hamilton Standard unit swayed back and forth slowly.

"Okay Tanner! Help me guide it onto the shaft." John exclaimed as he looked over to see a smile and a snicker creep up on Tanner's face. "Shut up! I didn't mean it that way!"

"Whatever you say John~" grinned Tanner.

On the ground stood Marcus Barion, the white and gray Swedish husky shouldering his 4K Ikegami. He recorded a wide shot of everyone at work, the midday sun spread out as a glaring six point star in his picture. From his view, he watched as Mark and everyone strained to wedge the prop onto the driveshaft of the massive R-3350, John slowly wiggling it into place.

As engine four's propeller was installed, Kurt Tanager and his father Lloyd worked with some of Mark's employees in connecting engine three up to the rest of the Connie. Working in tight spaces, Kurt aided his father in connecting the many hoses, pipes, and electrical fittings in the rear of the engine. At the rear of the Constellation, surrounded by erected scaffolding, Joey worked with the Tharps in installing the new control surfaces to the triple tail.

"Randy! There's a flange there!" Randy Sr. called out. "No! Put it there you dimwit!"

"I'm trying Dad! It's a bit awkward up here!" Randy Jr. protested. "I gotta contort my whole body just to get into position!"

The elevator surfaces were duralumin, covered with a thin metal skin. It made them lightweight, though their size made it awkward to handle. Slowly, the two Randy's and Joey got the left, then right elevator installed. Along with the rest of the team, they worked all the way till sunset when they called it for a night.

By seven-thirty the campsite was plunged almost into darkness. The sun had finally set, signaling the start of the polar winter. The air had taken on a colder, more frigid feel in the following weeks, but everyone battled through the cold, desperate to get the Constellation ready for the ferry flight.

The flapping green canvas shielded everyone from the wind as dinner was cooked and served. The hum of the generator filled the tent as a single light bulb dangled, providing light for them as Randy Sr. cooked, flipping hamburgers on his camp stove. They sat around a plastic table, telling stories and bragging about old exploits. Everyone listened to one of John Prince's exploits; ferrying ex Navy C-121's to Colorado to fly for Air Aspen.

"After I got home from 'Nam flying Warning Stars, I started working for Air Aspen, which had at the time a few Constellations in 1974. Well being the veteran Warning Star pilot, I was assigned ferrying duty to get a couple ex Navy C-121J's out of China Lake in California. These airplanes were worked hard and put away wet; they were beat up and had hydraulic leaks out the kazoo!" John explained to his crowd. "I get assigned to this bird- it's just been barely overhauled for the flight, its hydraulics barely patched up to get us to Aspen. The Navy wouldn't let us use the main runway, we had to use this little dirt strip, maybe fifteen hundred feet long. We're lightly loaded so I'm like 'Okay, we can do this'. We get lined up and I push the throttles forward and we begin taking off. It's a bumpy ass runway and lo-and-behold we started bouncing really badly. The nose wheel steering kicked out of course, and we lose control and run off the runway and through a fence. But I didn't give up then!"

Joey and everyone laughed with John as he concluded his story. "Those were the days~" Taking notice of a tired looking Mark, Joey chuckled at his unkempt appearance. His usually slickened shiny black hair was a mess, his goatee taking on more of a beard from being unshaved.

"Hey Mark, you're starting to take on the looks of someone from Newark." Grinned Joey.

The black wolf held up his middle finger. "Funny~" he retorted. "It's not easy to keep yourself styled with a twig and a pebble..."

"You can't make brylcreem out of bear shit sadly." Laughed Tanner.

"Ya know I hear all this talk about Newark being a terrible place...why's that?" Lloyd asked. "Your partner Rob seems to have a lot of disdain for his hometown?"

"Newark literally is where your hopes and dreams come to die at." Joey snorted in a snarky tone. "It's a town literally filled with walking trash all fucked up on drugs. I lived in Columbus at one time and I see more people openly fucked up on drugs in Newark than I did in Columbus! Half the town is on welfare, the average income is just nineteen thousand a year, and while our downtown is being renovated, everything else is coming apart at the seams."

Tanner chimed in. "Me and Mark were out exploring Newark when we moved from Los Angeles, and I had tripped and fell in the snow. This guy who looked like a text book meth head waltzed up and said 'Whad'ya do? Drop 'yer donut?'"

Mark shook his head. "Thank you Michael Meth..."

There were a few chuckles around the table as Joey rolled his eyes. "Jesus Christ... Newark is just trashy, full of tools. Aging overweight men in cutoff t-shirts with their man tits hanging out the sides waltzing through Home Depot acting entitled."

"Sounds like my son here." Randy Sr. joked as he nudged his pudgy son.

"Hey! I'm not morbidly obese!" Randy Jr. protested.

"Not yet Randy, but you're getting there Pillsbury!" laughed his father.

"You know...I have to say...we have done one hell of a job so far." Joey spoke up as he changed the conversation. "We are getting closer to making this Constellation flyable. And I'm excited."

"Just gotta tweak the propellers and fix up the cowling petals." Kurt added.

"We have the rudders and elevators installed. Control cables replaced, we're just about ready." Lloyd added.

"And not a moment too soon...because we're honestly running out of time..." Randy Sr. admitted. "We really gotta push to get this bird taxiing and ready for flight because when winter comes, it comes."

"Yeah, that's what he said too." Laughed Tanner as his husband shook his head. Randy Sr. shook his head and chuckled.

"What more can I say~"

A slate gray sky hung low over McNamara field, drizzling an icy rain on the campsite. Rain pelted against Joey's jacket as he stood watching the landing lights of Rob's C-121A emerge through the low cloud deck. The short nose Connie, carrying drums of avgas straightened out of a banking turn, its spidery landing gear extended into the slipstream to descend in on the gravel runway.

Joey stood with pursed lips; the hills forming the backdrop were now white with snow. It's beauty took on an ominous tone that he was really down to the line to get the Constellation flying. The Doberman stood watching as "Thing Two" touched down, her pilot, Felix Barion smoothly rolling out in full reverse thrust. Tires crunched against the gray gravel at the other end of the runway, where the C-121 came to a bumpy stop.

Turning his attention towards the L-1049E, Joey saw the progress that was done. A new radome, devoid of its radar replaced the original destroyed unit. Four overhauled turbocompound engines sat tightly cowled, with four sets of Hamilton Standard propellers hung up and secured. The usual conical spinners were absent, to be replaced once the plane was back in Anchorage. Six new nylon tires were installed on the landing gear, the final hassle to check over, as well as the engines. It was absolutely critical that the landing gear and engines work as expected, to make the two hour flight to Anchorage.

Walking over towards the Connie a few thousand feet away, Joey watched the red and black Moffett unload pallets of fuel drums, which were slowly lowered and moved away to be staged.

"Hey Felix! How was the flight?" Joey called over to the tan and beige Doberman.

Felix stood examining the inboard number two engine with his boyfriend Tony, the two of them looking over to notice Joey's presence.

"Hey how was the flight?" Joey reiterated as he approached.

"Uneventful, but I got news." Felix said, his usual enthusiasm replaced by a serious tone.

"Yeah?" Joey asked.

"Rob's Grandpa is dying." Felix admitted. The news shocked Joey as he frowned. He was unable to think of what exactly to say.

"That's not good news." Joey replied.

"He collapsed and had a seizure a few days ago, and they diagnosed a brain tumor that's inoperable." Explained Felix.

"Even if they could, at ninety-one, he'd die." Joey shook his head.

"Unfortunately. Rob's not taking the news very well..." Felix cringed.

"Rob and Gordo are close. Like a father and son relationship." Joey nodded. "Rob's gonna need my emotional support."

Joey looked down at the ground, his face taking on a serious look as he thought. "I need you to take me back to Anchorage. I have to get a hold of Rob."

"Whatever you need to do." Felix nodded as he watched Joey run back over to everyone that surrounded the L-1049.

"Mark! Mark!" Joey called, getting his friend's attention.

The black wolf looked up from servicing a hydraulic line to the nose wheel. "Yeah Joey?"

"I need to fly back to Anchorage, it's urgent." Joey said, getting an "oh?" from Mark.

"Rob's Grandpa is dying." Joey announced.

"Oh no." Mark muttered.

"I need to get a hold of him. Urgently." Joey said.

"You do what you need to do. We'll keep on chugging here." Mark motioned as Joey nodded in agreement. He ran back to the C-121A, asking Felix to fly him back to Anchorage.

Without a moment to waste, Felix got the C-121 turned around, poised for takeoff. Joey sat in the cockpit with Felix, Tony, and their friend Ivo as they began their bumpy takeoff roll in the lightly loaded Constellation. They quickly got airborne as Joey watched the hills approach through the haze of clouds. Below, the snowy peaks passed by, the sign that winter was fast approaching them. Work would be impossible once the gale force winds, blinding snow, and the blackness of the polar night envelop the area.

"I'm running out of time..." Joey admitted.

"She'll fly~" Ivo encouraged. "You're right there at the cusp!"

"Hopefully." Joey said, looking glum as his mind raced.

Holding onto his cellphone on the tarmac, Joey waited impatiently listening to his call ring out. He tapped his foot on the pavement as he watched Felix refuel the Constellation.

"Hello." Came Rob's drab voice.

"Rob! This is Joey. Hey how are you doing?" Joey exclaimed.

"Eh. I'm fine. Just kinda bummed. I take it Felix-"

"Yeah, Felix told me." Joey acknowledged.

"Grandpa has a pretty serious glioblastoma. Inoperable. And at ninety-one, I don't have much time with him."

"Rob, I wish I could do something to help you out. Do you need me to come back to Ohio?" Joey asked.

"No, you have a job to do in Alaska. Do not come back to Ohio just for me. I'll be okay." Rob said in a serious tone. "Death is part of living. I'll deal with it myself."

"You sure?"

"Positive." Rob bluntly stated. There was a very short pause before Rob continued.

"You're so close to getting that bird flying. You need to get it done, time is of the essence."

"Okay. If you insist, then I will see you in probably a couple of weeks." Joey promised.

"You get the job done! I'll worry about the bullshit on my end. It's not my first rodeo dealing with a loved one dying...it's just...one that I'm very close to this time around~"

"Be strong Rob. You got our support."

"Thanks~"

Joey said good bye and put his phone away to turn and watch the commotion getting the C-121 refueled. "Thing Two", painted in her original USAF "white top" scheme had her wing tanks topped up by Felix who kneeled on the wing manning the fuel nozzle from the truck.

"So what's the plan yo?" asked Tony.

"I'm staying to get the job done. I don't have much time left, winter's encroaching in." admitted Joey.

"Let's get you back to the site." Tony nodded in agreement.

Returning back into the darkening sky, the Connie flew Joey and the crew back across the vast wilderness of Alaska. Joey felt depressed at the news about Rob's grandfather, who was now dying of brain cancer. It hung on his mind as he also thought about the Herculaneum task of getting the L-1049E flying under such difficult conditions. Everyone was exhausted, Joey himself exhausted. He looked unkempt, his clothes tattered and smeared with mud and oil. They were so close, yet it still felt so far away. Joey smacked his lips together and leaned back in the radioman's seat to hear the big radials grumble outside the cockpit.

Urged by its whining starter, engine three's propeller began to turn. The prop lazily turned for a couple of seconds before the engine finally cough, sending out a back blast of oily blue smoke that was blown away by the propeller's wake. A few seconds later, engine four followed suit, its propeller spooling up to life as a glut of flame erupted out of the turbine hoods. The scruffy looking Constellation began to come to life as Joey and his crew laughed in excitement.

Engine two fired up, backfiring and stalling briefly, but roaring to life under the watchful eyes of John Prince in the cockpit. Finally engine one turned over, all four engines to the L-1049 idling at low power. The smell of oil filled the air as everyone shared the excitement of watching their hard work begin to really pay off.

"It's beautiful!" Joey grinned as he stood with Kurt.

"It's a great sight!" Kurt exclaimed happily. "She's almost there!"

Walking up with his fire extinguisher in grip, Mark tapped Joey on the shoulder. "Hey why do you start off on four and walk your way down to check for any oil leaks."

"Gotcha." Nodded the Doberman.

Walking over to engine four, Joey carefully examined the underside of the cowlings for any leaks as the prop wash blew over him. The air was very cold, with snow flurries spitting from a milk gray sky above. But the engine exhaust took some of the bite away as Joey tilted his head looking for any leaks. He repeated the process under engine three, examining the entire cowling for anything abnormal. The roar of the two engines up close was overpowering, the raw power of the R-3350 deafening.

All four engines were run at low power for ten minutes before John and Pablo had the engines shut down. Emerging from under the wing, Mark and Joey met back up.

"Engine one has a oil leak, two's got a loose pusher rod." Mark reported as Joey nodded.

"Little gremlins that need to be ironed out." Joey figured. "So far so good."

"Hey Joey!" called Pablo from the open cockpit window. "How'd we do?"

"Looks good! Just a few little issues to be ironed out!" Joey called back.

"Good!" Pablo gave a thumbs up.

The snow came down heavier, blowing in the frigid wind as work continued for the final push to get the engines up to spec. Working for the rest of the day, Joey, Mark, Kurt, and the others worked to eliminate the oil leaks. They adjusted and fine tuned the hose fittings and connectors, checking over all the bits and pieces wedged under the cowling until there was no more daylight left to allow them to work.

In the last bits of twilight, Joey watched as Mark, Tanner, and John Prince rocketed off with the Tanagers in the desert Hercules, to fly back to Anchorage to fetch more fuel for the Connie. It was their turn to get cleaned up and rest in civilization before flying back to finish the final pull.

Watching from his vantage point by the tent, Joey watched the Hercules rocket away, faintly casting an exhaust plume behind it as Mark climbed away over the snow covered hills. A blast of cold wind and snow made Joey shiver as he adjusted his winter cap, the Doberman retreating into the ice covered tent.

Outside the wind howled, flapping the flimsy Army tent around as dinner was cooked up for an exhausted crew. The shadows of people danced against the walls from the squiggly white bulb that dangled from the ceiling. Around the table sat Randy Jr. with Pablo Hernandez, Maverick, Marcus, and Mark's three crewmembers. Randy Jr. manned the griddle and stove as he cooked baked beans and hamburgers. The older malamute took notice of Joey's presence.

"Joey!" Randy called with his booming voice.

"Yeah?" Joey replied.

"We gotta get that bird up in the air. Now." Randy said in a serious tone.

"I know." Joey said as he brushed the snow off of him.

"I give it about three days before the weather completely seals us in. The Connie either flies before that, or it stays here until spring." Randy sr. bluntly stated, giving Joey an ultimatum.

"Engine one still has a oil leak on the feathering pump line." Joey explained.

"I've lived and worked up here all my life. Once it hits, it hits. And we're all gonna be fucking icicles!"

"Cool!" Randy Jr. blurted out, only to shut up at his father's glare.

"Sometimes these old birds need just a bit more work..." Pablo spoke up. "It's hard enough to change an engine out in a warm hangar. But in the cold? Just an extra layer of chaos."

Joey exhaled, watching his cold breather waver in the stagnant air. His faced showed the strain of the mission, the Doberman feeling cold and exhausted.

"Tomorrow Mark is returning with more fuel. If we get the oil leak fixed, we gas her up and go. If we don't, we leave her for the spring. Deal?" Joey stated.

"Deal~" Randy nodded. "Get that old tin can up and out of here."

Joey sat down on one of the flimsy plastic lawn chairs that they had brought with them. Joey plopped down, only to suddenly have the brittle plastic give out from the freezing cold. Joey landed on the dirt hard as Randy Jr. laughed at him.

"Joey broke the chair!" cackled Randy in laughter as Joey let out a sigh, his hazel eyes watching his warm breath be lit up by the sterile white light.

Snow blew practically sideways as work pressed on with engine number one. Standing on a ladder and bracing himself against the freezing propeller blade, Pablo worked with Joey as he changed out the feathering pump for the Hamilton propeller.

"In Mexico, I used to do this in the blazing heat. I thought that was bad!" Pablo exclaimed to Joey over the wind.

"I'd take some heat..." Joey grumbled. "I hate the damn cold."

"Because you're from Brazil?" smiled Pablo.

"Now you're catching on." Joey nodded with a sarcastic smile.

Standing on the ground, Maverick Tokarev recorded the work with his insulated broadcast camera. Bundled against the cold, the tall Russian husky looked completely natural with his gray wool karakul that sat atop his head. The camera rolled, capturing Joey and Pablo straining to change out the part as they waited for the return of Mark and the Hercules.

"This is why I like Curtiss propellers! It's all electric!" Joey exclaimed towards the camera.

"Yeah, until the carbon fittings foul and you lose control of the prop." Chuckled Pablo cynically.

"Random reversal at takeoff or something." Joey rolled his eyes with a laugh.

Out of the corner of his eye, Maverick spotted something emerge through the low cloud that obscured the hills, the familiar outline of the C-130K, returning from Anchorage with another batch of fuel drums filled with avgas. Spinning the camera around, the husky zoomed in all the way and focused, getting a slightly shaky shot of the Hercules descending in.

The growing whistle of turboprops got Pablo and Joey's attention as he paused what they were working on to watch them come in for landing. The wind made the Hercules dance through the sky as Mark held on, using his rudder to compensate and maintain his heading. Joey felt the wind suddenly shift, going from blowing the snow nearly sideways to suddenly blowing down on him. It immediately showed on the Hercules as the Lockheed suddenly was pushed down by the downdraft.

The camera captured the Hercules sink into the path of a few conifers that lay near the runway approach. The nose of the C-130 was suddenly pulled up tightly, the four turboprops spooling up to maximum power to try and climb away when the nose and wings plowed into the tops of the deep green evergreens.

A sound of splintering wood and the impact of metal broke the silence as Maverick watched through his viewfinder. The wounded Hercules limped for a few seconds, sputtering smoke from engines three and four. It mushed onto the runway with the right wing dropped, the C-130 landing hard as it violently bounced back into the air for a moment. It's wheels dug into the gravel as the wheels of the right landing gear collapsed, sending the plane skidding to the right and off the runway into the dirt. As quick as it happened, the Hercules came to grief in a cloud of snow and dirt.

"Oh shit!" Joey blurted out as he jumped down from the ladder with Pablo. Others ran to the stricken Hercules, a fury of commotion as engines one and two spooled down. All the while, the camera continued to record as Joey and Pablo rushed over to the damaged Lockheed.

"302" sat at an angle slightly nose down in a small ditch. The propeller to engine four was completely bent up and destroyed, while engine three had its red and white tips curled back a couple of inches from impacting the ground. A very faint smell of jet fuel was emitted from the destroyed turboprops.

Kicking a hatch open, Tanner Rodriguez jumped out first, assisting John Prince along the way.

"Come and help me!" came Mark from inside the plane. "Lloyd is hurt!"

Wasting no time, Joey jumped into the cabin to find a tremendous mess inside. In the darkened cabin some of the fuel drums had shifted, through thankfully none of them had leaked. Lying on the ground, Kurt held his father Lloyd, who groaned and cussed about being in immense pain on impact.

"God damnit! I think I broke a couple ribs or something!" Lloyd griped.

"Dad's hurt!" Kurt exclaimed.

Joey looked over to see Marcus Barion grabbing his camera, his forehead bleeding from hitting his head on the rough landing.

"Marcus you okay?" Joey asked.

"I'm fine." The husky huffed. "It's just a cut."

"Come on let's get out!" Joey called as he assisted Marcus out of the hatch.

Tossing Marcus free, Joey helped Kurt in moving Lloyd, who moaned and winced in pain as he was moved. Stepping out into the blowing snow, Joey and everyone retreated away from the wounded Hercules that sat broken.

"Take Lloyd to the tent! Get him out of the cold!" John commanded as he jumped in to assist Kurt. Joey stopped as he watched the commotion around him, the deteriorating weather, the freezing temperatures. Turning around he stared long and hard at the C-130, slowly accepting the reality that their lifeline back to civilization was gone. Looking up at the gray sky, Joey knew that life would soon be impossible at McNamara Field.

He looked helpless and lost. The Doberman felt an acknowledgement of his own mortality as he started at the reality that faced him and his crewmates.

"Well fuck~" was all Joey could think of. An icy blast of wind made him shiver, as the snow blew in his face.

Returning to the tent, Joey stepped inside to see everyone tending to a badly injured Lloyd.

"Dad needs to go to a hospital." Kurt said to Joey in a stressed tone.

"No shit~" Lloyd winced. "God it's hard to even breathe..."

"Joey what do we do?" Randy Jr. asked, his face full of nervousness.

Joey seemed at a loss of how to answer.

"You see this is what I've been trying to mention!" Randy Sr. grumbled. "We're fucked Joey."

"Lemme think!" Joey snapped.

Turning around, he exited the swaying tent to suddenly stare at the patched together Constellation opposite of him. The L-1049E sat in the blowing snow, its wings and fuselage beginning to accumulate the thick powder. Engine one's cowling sat opened up, the work to replace the feathering pump still incomplete.

It suddenly made sense.

Joey realized they had a lifeline back to Anchorage, the Constellation. It was nearly ready to fly, with only the feathering pump left to complete. It would be risky; would the Constellation hold up to the rigors of flight? Would the four radials give them enough power to takeoff, could they navigate with no functioning radar unit? Would the landing gear handle the rigors of takeoff and landing? But staying at McNamara Field and waiting for him would be suicidal. It was literally all or nothing for them.

Turning around, Joey ran back into the tent. "Pablo! Let's get the feathering pump going! That's our lifeline!"

"You mean all of us are going to fly out on that tin can?" Randy Sr. asked.

"Yeah." Nodded Joey.

"If we don't get out now, we never will." Tanner added.

"What about all the equipment?" Randy Jr. asked.

"Forget the damn equipment! Our lives are more important!" Randy Sr. scoffed.

"You think that old bird will take us all back in one piece?" Pablo asked.

"We got nothing to lose." Joey shook his head.

"Okay! Let's do this!" the Mexican Dober announced as he placed his winter cap atop his head again. "Come on Joey!"

Straining with all his might, Joey heaved in his effort to push the lower cowling back into place under engine one. His muscular arms trembled as he forced the lower cowling petal up above his head, as Pablo labored on the ladder to latch it back into place.

The snow blew fiercely, the air taking on an even colder bite. Everyone worked desperately to fuel and oil up the Connie, their last hope of getting back to civilization. Work became a life or death struggle as all hands were aboard to preparing the L-1049E.

Battling against the wind, Kurt Tanager struggled carrying another jug of oil up to fill engine four's reservoir. At engine three, Randy Jr. sampled the oil quantity as his gray and white fur was blown all around. Mark's three workers labored to prepare the engines for takeoff, as one manned a oil burning heater that blew hot air under the cowling of engine four to warm the cylinders up. Two of his parka clad workers strained turning the freezing steel blades to check for hydraulic lock. Behind the Constellation sat a pile of green fuel drums, tossed around after being depleted of their cache of 100LL. The Connie was fueled with enough gas to get them to Anchorage.

Across the runway, Mark himself dragged his Hercules along with the slow bulldozer, grinding the immaculate C-130K across the gravel to an empty spot to clear the runway. It would have to wait until next year to be rescued. The yellow bulldozer got the plane cleared from the runway, which Mark quickly unchained and turned around to plow the runway gravel flat for Joey. Conditions were getting into near whiteout as Joey saw Mark as a mere shadow in the tremendous snow storm.

It felt surreal; other than the wind, it was completely silent around them. But it was truly a life or death situation. Joey remembered the last time mother nature struck; it was the tornado he survived in 2013. Loud, ferocious- an almost indescribable sound that left nothing behind. But this time mother nature was silent, with just a wall of white powder slamming them.

Abandoning the bulldozer, Mark ran over to get the power cart ready.

"Dad! You're flying right?" Mark asked.

"Co-pilot!" John exclaimed. "Come on! Help me with the power cart!"

Powering up the gas motor and hearing it loudly hum, Mark plugged the unit into the nose receptacle to power the plane. There was a mad dash to get ladders stowed to safety as preparations were made to start the engines. John Prince and Mark were the first to climb aboard get the aircraft ready.

Randy Sr. stood with a fire extinguisher as he watched engine three turn over. The propeller lazily turned for a few revolutions before finally catching in a cloud of smoke. Chugging cold cylinders shot flames out of the exhausts as the engine belched a cloud of smoke. Engine four was started next, hacking out flames and smoke that was blown away by the propeller wash.

Through the blowing snow, Joey helped Kurt and Randy Jr. in moving Lloyd, who had grown weak from being injured in the Hercules crash landing. Carried out on an old door found in the rusted Quonset hut, Lloyd was bundled from the cold in his fur lined Parka as they made their way to the L-1049.

"That old bucket of bolts better get us out of here." Grumbled Lloyd.

"Oh it will Dad~" Kurt promised.

"Come on! Let's not waste time!" Joey shouted over the wind.

"Come on! Come on!" motioned Tanner as they all strained to hoist Lloyd up the ladder into the open cargo hatch. He moaned and winced in pain as they hoisted him up the ladders to drag him aboard. It was a mad dash as everyone climbed aboard, leaving Joey behind to unplug the power cart. Wheeling it away, he ran under the fuselage, beneath the glowing red strobe light that amazing still worked after all those years.

His frozen fingers gripped the freezing aluminum ladder as he made his way up, being helped in by Kurt. Joey kicked the ladder away as he closed the hatch. The electric motors whirred as the door shut and locked into place. Everyone crammed into the forward crew compartment with its rest bunks as Joey made his way quickly into the cockpit.

"It's really all or nothing~" John said from the right hand seat as Joey jumped into the captain's seat. Looking down, the Doberman saw all the gauges glowing, the original gauges registering life. It really was all or nothing as he placed his cold paws against the faded grips to the control yoke.

John handed Joey his headphones as he buckled himself in. "Amazingly the old radio still works."

"And let's hope it continues to." Joey bluntly stated as he looked through the new Plexiglas. The snow was letting up lightly, through it would be a treacherous takeoff run.

"We are good!" Mark said from the flight engineer station.

"Let's fucking go!" Randy Sr. shouted.

Gripping the throttles, Joey released the brakes as he began inching the throttles forward. The Connie's tires had frozen into the slush, holding them into place. It took nearly maximum power to finally break free, the tires beginning to plow through the accumulating snow as they began slowly rolling onto the runway. For the first time since 1975, the Constellation rolled under her own power.

The taxiing was rough as the wind and uneven snow bounced the Constellation around. Joey glanced out the window to see the wings flex to the bucking of the landing gear. Coming to the end of the runway, they turned around slowly, aiming the nose directly south down the runway.

"All systems are go!" Mark yelled.

"Here we go!" Joey announced. He pushed the throttles forward to command maximum power, the four Cyclone-18's revving up to maximum power. Flames spewed from the turbine's exhaust as they began rolling- the moment of truth for everyone.

The tires scythed through the snow as the propellers kicked up a cloud of snow behind it. The Constellation gained speed, the scruffy bird galloping down the runway that had become a blanket of white.

"Vee one!" John called. "Point of no return!"

Joey's face was dour as he held his paws firmly on the control yoke that shuddered to each jolt. They were bucked and thrown about as the tires continued their relentless charge through the snow. The end of the runway was marked by a couple conifers that had their tops chopped off by Mark's crashing Hercules. Pulling the yoke back, Joey felt the nose grow buoyant. With hesitation, the Connie began lifting off the runway, the rough bumps stopping as the tires broke free from the snow. After forty two years of being abandoned in the Arctic, the Connie rose to the sky again.

There was a split second feeling of jubilation to Joey as he realized that his dream of making the Connie fly was finally upon him. His euphoric feeling was cut short by a sudden whirring sound, the sound of an over speeding propeller.

Turning his head to his left, Joey looked out the window to hear the whirring come from engine number one. As flames shot from the turbine exhaust stubs he took notice of the gray propeller shadow, which seemed to look different than engine two's prop shadow.

"Joey! Overspeed on one!" came Mark's voice.

The Connie did not feel as buoyant as their climb rate was eroded by the added drag. Looking ahead, Joey noticed the hills and a tall conifer that lay dead ahead.

"Mark feather one!" Joey commanded.

"No response from the feathering pump!" the black wolf exclaimed.

"Feather one!" Joey shouted.

"It's not responding!" Mark shouted.

Realizing that the propeller governor was malfunctioning, Joey gulped at the seriousness of their situation. He watched as that single conifer seemingly took aim at them, its slender top coming right for them. Unable to feather the propeller or raise the landing gear, the Connie struggled to climb as its three good engines strained at maximum power.

"Oh boy." Was the only thing out of Joey's muzzle as he turned the yoke slightly to the right, the right wing drooping in a last second effort to avoid the pine tree. Turning his head as he watched the nearly black tree zip by, they heard a terrible boom that shook the entire plane. The propeller sliced through the tree's canopy, its branches impacting the lower cowling and ripping it away. Unlatched, the petals that made up the cowling were torn open, ripping away in the slipstream as branches and needles flung over the wing. The engine immediately lost power, the Constellation crabbing to port as Joey slammed in opposite rudder to compensate. To his surprise, the propeller finally feathered, the long gray blades windmilling to a complete stop undamaged. It made Joey roll his eyes for a moment.

John held on looking apprehensive as the Constellation barely cleared a snow capped hill, its spidery gear barely clearing at twenty feet. With drag reduced, the Constellation began to climb a bit faster, through still hampered by the landing gear and now a missing cowling. John could just barely inch back on power and flaps as they flew over the hills and valleys that surrounded McNamara Field.

Joey exhaled slowly, his face showing the tension as they flew threw another round of whiteout conditions in their attempt to climb for safety. He turned around briefly notice Maverick standing with a glowing tally light to his camera. Joey rolled his eyes and continued concentrating on flying. They weren't out of the woods just yet.

"Altitude five thousand feet, indicated airspeed, hundred and ninety-one knots, heading, one-four-three."

Flying over the vast emptiness of the Alaskan interior, the three-engine Connie limped on towards Anchorage. From the cockpit, Joey watched the vast expanse of nothing drift below as they continued their trek aboard the frozen aircraft. Everyone rode in the empty interior as they made their way slowly back to civilization aboard the old and tired Super Constellation.

At the helm, Joey looked back out the windows on his left side, to stare at the propeller frozen in place in the slipstream. Engine two purred away, looking unusual with the bare prop boss instead of the usual conical spinner encasing it. Looking back at his gauges, he sat back in the rough seat to watch the scenery drift by ahead.

"I didn't think we were going to get this bird ready in time..." John admitted with a cynical chuckle. "Boy Joey, what an adventure!"

"Yeah, I'll say." Was Joey's burned out reply.

"We still got about half way to go." John said as he checked the altimeter. "So far so good."

"As long as this old bucket of bolts holds up." Joey said, sounding exhausted.

Stepping into the cockpit was Kurt, who gave Joey a tap on the shoulder.

"Yeah?" Joey acknowledged.

"Dad's doing okay. Still in pain, really exhausted though." Kurt explained. "Everything good on our end. You just wanna turn up the heat a bit?"

Joey chuckled. "Sure. Lemme get right onto that."

Kurt chuckled in return. "We're flying in a meat locker."

"No shit." Joey smiled.

"At the rate we're going, we should be arriving to Anchorage in...maybe ninety minutes."

"Oh goodie!" Kurt sarcastically exclaimed. "Well if you need me, I'll in the cabin."

"Sure." Joey nodded.

The cockpit door was shut with a click as Joey sat back, listening to the three Cyclone-18's rumble outside the cockpit.

"Mark, I didn't mean for my adventure to break your C-130." Joey admitted.

"It wasn't your fault there was a downdraft~" Mark shrugged. "Shit happens. I'll fix her next year and fly her back. The damage isn't anything I can't fix."

"Heh, just part of the game huh?"

"Exactly." Chuckled Mark. "I feel like we're part of the Flight of the Phoenix."

"Stranded in the middle of nowhere where an old bird rode up for the challenge again." Joey laughed.

"Damn miracle if you asked me." John huffed. "Ya' know, this could have ended in disaster."

"But did you die?" grinned Joey with a laugh.

"If we didn't get out we might have up at that site!" John exclaimed. "You know I'm getting too old for this shit. I'm sixty-eight! So much for being retired!"

The cockpit was filled with laughter as Joey felt reenergized by it. He felt the euphoric rush once again as it once again dawned on him that he got the plane flying. From an abandoned hulk sitting in the Arctic, to now flying under her own power again, it made Joey feel great that he could accomplish such a goal with his friends.

"So Joey, now that you got the old tin goose flying, what's your plans with her again?" Mark asked.

"Well, first of all this plane is going to be completely overhauled before attempting the flight back to Ohio. Umm...my plan." Joey said with some thought. "I want to dedicate this plane to her former owner, Michael Wells. If it wasn't for him, this plane would have been a soup can or something for all I know. So I think I might paint her up in her former scheme or something. I found some interesting photos of Michael's early Connies. Bright orange and black outlined lightning bolt cheat and whatnot."

"Neat~" nodded Mark. "You know I'll be there to help you along the way."

"Of course." Smiled Joey. "That's what friends are for!"

"Exactly~"

Limping across Alaska, the tri-motored Connie finally reached Anchorage by early evening. The sight of the bustling city brought excitement to everyone as Joey nursed the Connie along, beginning to get ready for descending in to land.

The old radio suffered from a lot of static, but it allowed them to communicate with the tower at the Ted Stevens International Airport.

"So what all happened to the Herky bird? Over." Joked the air traffic controller.

"We broke it." Was Joey's deadpan reply.

"Tell you what, you come on in straight ahead for the runway. We'll get you taken care of."

"Acknowledged!" John accepted as he released the microphone toggle. "Almost there."

As soon as John's words left his muzzle, Joey felt the Constellation slide to starboard. A buzzer went off alerting to a loss of power on engine three as the autofeather feathered the propeller. Mark immediately went to his gauges as he killed the buzzer.

"And that's what I was kinda worried about. We're running on fumes."

"Lovely~" Joey sarcastically said as he maintained focus on turning towards the runway.

"I guess when you expedite fueling the tanks up in not so ideal conditions, you get a little rushed topping up the tanks!" Mark cynically laughed, his right paw tapping the fuel gauges that were down close to empty.

Joey set his sights on the runway as he dropped the flaps. With the gear already down, he maintained his descent, though with two engines out, the Connie felt heavy and awkward to fly. John aided him as they kept the nose lined up with the runway, descending in as fast as they safely could for the safety of the runway.

"Keep together for me..." Joey thought to himself as the runway loomed. He grew nervous about whether the landing gear would survive the rigors of landing. He needed to come in and flare for as gentle of a touchdown as he could get.

Crossing the threshold, Joey began reducing power on engines two and four, which powered down to his command. Holding the nose up and flaps all the way down, the Connie floated for the last seconds, which seemed to drag forever as Joey awaited touchdown.

With a jolt that rattled through the airplane, the L-1049E touched down right on the centerline, puffs of smoke coming off the tires that momentarily scraped against the pavement. Joey held the nose wheel off the ground as they bled off speed, as he gently released the yoke to feel the nose wheel make contact.

Nobody said anything as they slowed to a taxi, the Connie turning off the runway with some difficulty due to the uneven power. Slowly they taxied back to the Tharp's hangar, the battered Connie taxiing by the row of Electras and Hercules being loaded for more cargo runs.

As soon as Joey made the slow turn to park, he heard both radials cough and backfire. They had finally run out of fuel. The propellers clambered to a stop as Joey and everyone sat in silence. It had finally dawned on them that they made it home.

"We did it!" John exclaimed as they all exploded in cheers. The whole Constellation was filled with excitement at the reality that they had pulled it off perfectly. Joey clapped his paws together in excitement; he had brought the Connie out of the cold. John and Mark laughed and gave each other a hug; the two black wolves looked exhausted and unkempt like Joey, who sat in his oil soaked jacket and sweater.

"Mission accomplished." Joey smiled as he got up out of his seat.

"Dad we made it!" Kurt exclaimed as Joey stepped into the cabin.

"Good, 'cause I need to get to a hospital." Lloyd grumbled. He took notice of John stepping through the cockpit door. "John! I'm getting too old for this adventure shit~"

"Same here~" John nodded sarcastically.

Ground crew approached the Constellation, followed by an ambulance. The rear cargo door was opened up as a large hydraulic platform was wheeled over and secured. It allowed everyone to disembark together as they all exited the L-1049.

"It's a lot warmer! Forty-nine degrees." Kurt chuckled as he stood next to Joey.

"Not a meat locker anymore." Joey laughed before wheezing with a cough.

"I can't wait to get back to Opa Locka. Warmth! Sun! Hurricanes!" Kurt quipped with a grin.

"We did it though." Joey pointed out.

"That we did. We got the bird flying." Kurt nodded in agreement.

Lloyd and Marcus were crated up into the ambulance and taken away for the hospital as the others were left to stand around the scruffy looking Connie. Gradually everyone went their separate ways as Kurt went to the hospital with his father, and the others ventured to the airport to clean themselves up. Joey was left alone on the tarmac as he stood with his plane.

Walking over to examine engine one, Joey took notice of the missing cowling petals of the exposed R-3350. It's oil cooler was damaged, filled with tree debris soaked in black oil. The propeller was undamaged, in perfect feathered position. Walking over to engine three, he examined its feathered propeller. They had come in on the very last drop of fuel.

Patting the nose gear shock absorber, Joey turned to head into the terminal to call back home, the Doberman looking and feeling exhausted as he walked at a slow pace.

"Hey Joey! It was a real treat to fly with ya." Randy Sr. complimented. Standing with his son, the two malamutes said goodbye to their friend, who was ready to depart with his entourage back to Ohio. In the background, Joey's ride awaited him, his husband's Starliner, "Altair", from "Barion-Tokarev".

Cleaned up and looking cheerful, Joey stood with them as he himself said goodbye as well.

"Well thank you. I had a lot of fun. You two really helped me." Joey smiled.

"Well one of us at least." Randy Sr. chuckled as he pulled his son close. "Isn't that right son?"

"I didn't break anything!" Randy Jr. exclaimed.

"That and you didn't pee on me this time." Joey grinned.

"That too!"

"You tell ole' ironsides Lloyd he'll be alright." Randy Sr. smiled. "And don't you worry about the Connie. We'll start cleaning her up when Mark brings his crew to start working on her."

"Thanks~" Joey nodded. "Well I better not waste any more time and fuel! I'll hear from you folks later!"

"Have a safe flight Joey!" Junior waved as the Doberman turned to run back towards his aircraft.

Rob's L-1649 was white, blue and silver, modeled on the old Air France scheme. The big propeller spinners shimmered with the propellers, the huge Curtiss Electric blades gleaming in the sunlight etching golden circles in the cool air. Stepping underneath the thin graceful wing, Joey climbed aboard through the rear hatch, as the ground crew pulled the ladder away.

Inside the cabin, Joey spotted everyone lounging about the executive interior of "Altair". The narrow cabin felt more open by the warm whites and tans that made up the interior. He spotted Lloyd Tanager sitting in one of the large padded chairs, looking relaxed as he sipped a large mug of coffee. He had spent the night at the hospital in Anchorage for bruising a bunch of ribs in the Hercules crash. Opposite of him, Marcus Barion relaxed, his forehead bandaged up from hitting his head in the collision.

Joey checked on everyone as he made his way to the cockpit, finding his relief crew of Felix and his boyfriend Tony resting in the crew compartment with Vlado Horvat. Inside the cockpit, at the controls sat Ivo and his boyfriend Jordan Hoover, the German Shepherd riding in the right hand seat. Their flight engineer was Joey's pilot George Najjar, manning in the engineer's station at starboard in the cramped cockpit.

"We ready?" Ivo asked Joey.

"Everyone's aboard."

"Here we go~" Ivo announced as he released the brakes.

Joey walked back to the cabin as the Constellation slowly rolled for the runway. He took a seat and buckled up next to his friend Mark, who looked like himself once again with his neatly trimmed goatee and slicked back hair that shone from brylcreem.

"So you decided not to fly your other Herky bird back to Ohio?" Joey asked with a grin.

"I have others to do that for me. That's why they get paid by my company." The black wolf chuckled. "I want to relax."

"Same here." Agreed Joey.

"So how do you feel? You pulled it off." Mark chuckled as he pointed out the window to the L-1049E, which passed by them.

Looking out the window, Joey watched the old and tired Constellation sit, its propellers to engine one and three still feathered. It was hard to imagine such a plane flying with its unkempt paint bleached out by the sun. It looked as though Joey dredged it out of a junk yard. It needed a lot more work to make the trip back to the mainland, but Joey felt proud that he got it out of the Arctic. The Connie had saved their lives, and got them out of the Arctic. The scruffy plane finally passed out of view as the Starliner turned on the service road towards the runway.

"I feel like dumb luck prevailed once again." Joey chuckled with a smile. "Really dumb luck."

"The best kind." Grinned Mark. "So you gonna paint her in Paulo-Freightmaster colors?"

"Nah. I'm gonna paint it as Michael's old scheme; bright orange lightning bolt cheat with black outline as his early Excalibur 1960's scheme. I'm going to dedicate it to him."

"How nice." Mark smiled.

"Clipper Michael G. Wells is to be her name!" Joey exclaimed. "Since he saved that old bird."

"Those Super-G's that remain...we're gonna disassemble them and airlift them out." Mark stated bluntly. "No more playing Russian roulette."

"Agreed~" nodded Joey.

Listening to all four engines rev up to maximum power, Joey watched their takeoff run from the window, the Starliner gaining speed as Ivo lifted off the runway to begin the sixteen hour flight home to Newark.

"Sorry we lost all your stuff there." Joey awkwardly smiled. "We'll get it next year."

"Heh, I don't think anyone's gonna steal it." Mark laughed.

Reaching cruise altitude of seventeen thousand feet, the Starliner's long slender wings kept them aloft as they entered through Canadian airspace.

Stepping into the rear compartment, which served as a bedroom, Joey closed the door and locked it as he ripped his jacket and sweater off, followed by his sweatpants. He kicked them aside to stand in just his white tanktop and lime green briefs. Looking at himself in the mirror, Joey saw his tired reflection stare back at him. Looking back at the cozy looking bed, the Doberman walked over to lay down, pulling the covers over him. It felt so relaxing, so good after a month of lying on an uncomfortable Army cot in the cold. Sleep finally overcame the Dober as his haze eyes closed. Joey finally fell into a deep sleep as his mind relaxed, a feeling of calm hitting him at accomplishing his mission. He slept for the remainder of the flight home, as the Starliner carried them all back to the heartland.

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