Author's Note: So this particular chapter was a challenge to write. That said, I am also particularly proud of it. I hope that you will find it as thrilling to read as it was for me to write.

Chapter 7- Rebuild and Return

While the others went to grab lunch Cabbie excused himself. He needed to take a moment alone to breathe so the shear horror of his war memories didn't overwhelm him. Outside the lodge the air was cold, but not painfully so. The low temperature meant that air was the perfect density to support his great weight.

Without thinking he called the tower and asked permission to fly. He was greeted with an affirmative. There were not many visitors at this time of year and there was no line for the parks primary runway. Cabbie could take his time reeve up his engines and enjoy a long take off. With a full tank and nowhere really to go he climbed into the sky. Soon he found himself flying the ridges of his mountain home. It was soothing to glide across the peaks and valleys that he had grown know so well.

He throttled his engines up as he came over Canopy Dome and heard the thunder of his own engines echo across Fixed-Wing Cliffs. The sound made him feel alive. He scanned the horizon, making sure that there wasn't any other aircraft around. Noting that the coast was clear, he thought what the heck climbed to 5,000 feet and threw himself into a barrel roll. Transitioning from the roll be banked at 45 degrees and turned into a long spiral before leveling off.

"It looks like someone is enjoying themselves." Cabbie could almost hear the smirk in Patch's voice as she spoke over the radio.

"Sometimes I have to remind myself that while I am a cargo plane, I am built for combat cargo." Cabbie banked again to make a slow flyby of the Air Attack Base.

"Just as long as you don't pull those kind of G's when you have the Smokejumpers inside. I distinctly remember just how long it took to get your inners clean the last time that Pinecone got airsick."

"Wouldn't dream of it." Cabbie waggled his wings at the tower before pointing his nose back towards the National Park's main landing strip. "Well, I better get back to the lodge."

"Keep your eyes out for Blade when you head back will, ya."

"Oh?"

"He decided to stretch his rotors this afternoon as well."

"Roger that." Cabbie smiled as he noticed a small flash of red a valley over, close enough for the Chief to keep an eye on him but far enough away to insure that Cabbie had plenty of space to maneuver. No wonder he hadn't bumped into anyone. Even during the winter Cabbie would have expected to cross the paths of at least a Cessna or two, but it would appear that his tail insured that he had the space to burn off this morning's frustration. The C-119 switched radio frequencies. "Chief, would you care for a cup of coffee?"

On the other end, Blade scoffed. "As long as it isn't that lodge crap."

"Oh, I think that we can probably convince Pulaski to part with a few mugs of brew from the firehouse coffee pot…especially if we let Rake and him listen in this afternoon."

Pulaski was actually willing to loan them an entire coffee pot. The fire apparatus apparently had three of them stashed in the firehouse just in case the lodge ended up becoming an incident command center sometime in the future. The Type 1 even had included a stash of several types of beans, a grinder, and a stack of clean white coffee cups with different ICS positions stamped on them, which instantly gained Cabbie's amusement and Chief Blade's approval. The two aircraft were actually disappointed when Pulaski and Rake admitted that they couldn't join in on that afternoon's festivities.

Cabbie took command of brewing the first pot of coffee; if he was stuck storytelling, he was at least going to at least have coffee to his preferences…black as tar and strong as sin. Maru had once compared Cabbie's coffee to a vat of burnt crude oil, a statement that the cargo plane had taken as a complement. The C-119 took brewers privilege and practically emptied half the pot into the oversized planning section chief's cup. Blade was not far behind filling his Air Boss mug and the 315th historian was next. Jammer and the other park staff though took one sniff at the pot and decided to hit up the lodge coffee shop instead.

The lunchtime flight and the ritual of making coffee put Cabbie in a remarkably good mood. He knew that mood would instantly be changed when he actually had to start into his tale, but for now, he was savoring the company and being able to stick his nose in the coffee steam. Not a particularly bad way to spend a winter's afternoon. Cabbie put off talking as long as he could, but eventually, the impatient looks from the other people around the table got to him. Closing his eyes, Cabbie forced himself to pick up the tale where he left off.

"As you can probably imagine, medical evacuations for the bigger planes always have been…complicated. During WWII they actually put the large plane hospital tents at the end of the runways to reduce how far they had to move the bombers when they came in all shot up. During the first part of the Korean War, the locations of the forward lines were always in flux. We had field medics near the front line, but it wasn't really worth putting a full airplane mechanic that close to the front line…"

When Cabbie awoke, next entire right side felt as though it was on fire. The plane tried to shift his weight a little so that he could get a better idea of what was wrong, but as soon as he did, he felt the hard bump of a vehicle against his skin.

"Don't move." A tired looking jeep growled up at him. "You nearly got taken out of the sky by something with a high caliber. But don't worry kid. We wouldn't have let you get captured."

The translation, if they couldn't have evacuated back to the line, the artillery crews would have made sure that there were only pieces for the enemy to find. The statement made Cabbie's tanks slosh uncomfortably when he realized just how close he had come to oblivion.

"Sandy?"Cabbie slurred.

"I think he is asking about his Crew Chief, boss." One of the tugs finally mumbled after a few minutes. That comment actually got Cabbie a raised eyebrow from the Jeep.

"Now don't you worry your little tail feathers. Your Crew Chief is currently being treated at the MASH; once they get him patched up, they will be sending him home." When the Jeep noticed that the comments were making Cabbie agitated he elaborated. "The explosion did a number of your Chief's ears. Clean busted up his eardrums. While physically he is going to be okay, he isn't going to be able to hear anything, anytime soon, so he is going to get an honorable discharge from the military and sent home from his family."

'And what about me, will I be going home' Cabbie wanted to ask, but he didn't have time. One of the field mechanic crew accidentally bumped one of the open, jagged edges of his wing. The last thing that Cabbie could hear was the sound of his own screaming as the darkness claimed him once again.

"Okay, give let's give it another try." One of the field mechanics grunted as they gave Cabbie's right propeller a good turn. The cargo plane would have screamed in agony if they hadn't welded his mouth shut in an attempt to make him aerodynamic enough to fly back to Japan. Still, the pain was worth it when his starboard engine stuttered roughly and was eventually coxed back into operation.

More than anything, Cabbie wanted the comfort of his Crew Chief…the young plane had made hundreds of dangerous flights before and through each and every one of them Sandy had been a comforting weight in his hold. Now he felt practically naked without him. Still, he understood why the field mechanics kept them separated. Sandy was stable. He was going to survive the trip back to Japan and then back to the United States.

At the moment, Cabbie's fate was still up in the air. If he could make the flight back to the medical facilities in Japan, there was a chance that he would make a full recovery, but no one was going to bet on his chances of successfully making that flight. So the decision was to patch him up just well enough to get him into the air and join a medical air convoy. If Cabbie had the will and strength to survive the journey, the military mechanics would put in the resources to try to save him. If he fell from the sky, the crash would kill him outright.

"See you in Japan." Sandy said over the thunder of idling engines, before boarding one of the medical evacuation aircraft that would be escorting Cabbie to safety.

The other aircraft in the convoy took the sky, leaving the runway clear for the wounded C-119. Taking a deep breath, Cabbie tried to ignore the agony in his wounded right side and tried to take to the sky. Early spring wind ripped tore at the rough welding that held his broken wing in place, but the emergency patches held and he was able to claw his way into the sky. Once it was clear that he was not going to fall back to earth the other aircraft in the convoy formed up around him. With the other planes carrying him in their wakes, all Cabbie had to do was focus on the tails of the planes in front of him, fly strait, and try not to pass out.

Cabbie barely managed to limp across the ocean back to Japan. He was so exhausted that his landing gear buckled when his tires finally touched the ground at Nagoya Air Base.

"Is there anything you can do for him…" Sandy's voice sounded odd and the plane wasn't sure whose injury was responsible for that.

What followed seemed like an eternity as the mechanic's scribbled words on chalkboards for their deafened colleague. Sandy would take their scribblings in stride, nodding, and then asking more questions in his strange sounding speech. When he was satisfied, he turned his attention to Cabbie.

"You have fought so hard keep flying." The Crew Chief place his tine gently on the plane's, his eyes filling with tears. "I am going to be straight with you Cabbie. You were shot up pretty bad. The mechanics, can't promise that they can fix you. That said, no matter what happens, when you come to yourself next, you are going to hurt a whole lot less alright."

Cabbie blinked in reply, unable to communicate but understanding Sandy's meaning completely. Whether he lived or died under the mechanic's blade at least, it would be better than this agony.

"Cabbie, never forget that it has truly been an honor being your load master."

Cabbie wanted to speak, he wanted to tell Sandy just how grateful he was for the old forklifts mentorship, but his mouth was welded shut and no sound could escape it. Instead, Cabbie used the last of his energy to gently bump Sandy's tine. The Loadmaster looked up at him with a mournful smile and Cabbie sighed letting the medication pull him under.

Cabbie awoke in the recovery hanger fourteen days later. At first, he wasn't exactly sure if he had survived the surgery. For the first time in months, he was warm and dry, a cottony feeling chased away almost every ache in his body and his fuel tank was comfortable full. Perhaps when they had opened him up and got a good look at all the destruction they had determined that he hadn't been worth saving and they had allowed him to pass on quietly.

On a certain level, it was a comforting thought. If he was dead, Cabbie would never be asked to fly in the bitter cold again, he would never get shot at by the enemy, and he would never be asked to carry loads that made his spars ache for the day because of the strain. Instead, Cabbie could remain in the warm, pain-free place.

On a completely different level, Cabbie knew that he was probably not dead, because no one in heaven could possibly snore as badly as whatever was parked next to him. The realization that he was probably not dead was not enough to get him to move though. He was content where he was, and whether it was because of whatever drugs the mechanics had given him or simply a side effect of finally feeling safe after experience six solid months of brutal fighting, Cabbie really didn't care.

It took one of the nurses giving his right propeller a good spin to knock Cabbie out of his content haze. Yes, the C-119 knew that his engines needed to be exercised to prevent hydrolocking, but after a good two weeks on the ground oil had settled and Cabbie could feel the uncomfortable grind of un-lubricated metal on metal. The sharp pain bit through his drossiness and Cabbies eyes popped open as he gave a squeak of pain.

"So you are awake in there." The nurse mechanic clucked. "We were wondering when you would join us."

Cabbie tried to speak, but his words only came out as a low rumble through his parched throat. The nurse really didn't seem to mind. She gave him a soft pat on the nose then trundled off. A few minutes later she came back with a small barrel of oil and guided the straw to his parched mouth. The fluids tasted divine.

It didn't take long for Cabbie to realize that as pretty as the nurses were; he really wasn't all the fond of them because whenever they suggested something Cabbie knew he was going to hurt. As soon as they had determined that Cabbie had weathered both the tank hit and his rebuild with mental faculties intact his rehabilitation had begun in earnest. By the first afternoon, they had him revving so that he could get used to the weight and balance of his new propellers. By day two, a Duce and a Half was escorting him around the frozen runways to help him get his footing.

On day four they had him doing touch and goes with the help of the flying nurse staff. Sometimes there was just a pair of them, other times he would fly with a whole gaggle of them. Regardless of their numbers the chipper female C-47s and C-119s happily twittered away about the latest news from home or the Hollywood celebrities who the fancied. The cheerfulness of their conversation only seemed to make the painful ache in Cabbie's wings feel worse, so the young war plane was actually grateful when six days later the mechanics considered him to be in good enough shape to return to his unit.

Cabbie was a little bit surprised by the fact that the medical staff was actually sad to see him go. Apparently, mechanic staff had been so proud of themselves putting the shot up plane back together, that they were worried about letting back into the field. The C-119 did his very best to put on a brave face and let his fellow vehicles know that he was okay with the fact that he was being returned to his unit, that the front line was where he belonged. He made sure not to mention just how badly he was still hurting. Cabbie figured that pain was simply a part of getting shot out of the sky and in the future it would either go away or he would eventually get used to it.

The flight back to Ashiya was a quite one. Cabbie spent the entire journey flanked by two medical orderlies, whether the escort was out of medical concern, a formality or something else entirely Cabbie didn't know. The air base itself was incredibly quiet on approach. Apparently, most of his fellow aircraft were currently out in the field, which was a relief. It meant that there was no one there to make a fuss about his return. Cabbie didn't even have to think as he tires brought him to the Commanding Officer's hanger. With a slight wrap on the edge of the hanger door he entered.

"1st Lt. Cabbie McHale, reporting as ordered, sir." Cabbie tried to hold his tired body as straight as he could, but he could tell his form was less than ideal, he was still not quite used to his new configuration. Cabbie kept his eyes forward but even after holding still for only a couple of seconds his eyes were watering with the exertion. He prepared to get yelled at for improper form, but the yelling never came.

"Relax son." Lt. Colonel Glider, the ranking aircraft of the base instead spoke softly, a look of parental concern in his eyes.

"Yes, sir." Cabbie didn't need to be told twice.

After Cabbie had settled into a more comfortable position and the Colonel given the young plane a good looking over, the commanding officer spoke again. "Do you know why you are here?"

"No, Sir." Cabbie admitted.

"You are here because you are needed for the war effort son." The Colonel looked at the younger plane with a level quite anguish that made Cabbie a little bit nervous. "Based on the amount of damage you sustained some of the mechanics argued that you should be sent home and given an honorable discharge from the Air Force. The rest argued that you needed at least another three weeks of recovery time before you were ready to fly long distances. Unfortunately, we do not have time for either of these scenarios. As you well know, the cargo aircraft are the backbone of this entire campaign and in an upcoming operation it will be the job of aircraft like you to break the backs of the Chinese reds."

"So, you need me to fly cargo in an upcoming mission, Sir?"Cabbie asked quietly.

"No, Captain McHale." The old C-47 gave a wry smirk as he nudged a set of double bars towards stunned aircraft. "I need you to help lead it."

It was getting late by the time that Old Lt. Colonel Glider gave Cabbie the go-ahead to check in with his flight. They proved to be more elusive than Cabbie expected. Usually, Charlie Flight was pretty easy to find as they usually stuck to ruckus Delta Flight like glue. But while he was able to spot Delta, as well as, Alpha and Bravo flights for that matter, Charlie was nowhere to be found. Then Cabbie heard a muffled set of familiar voices coming from behind one of the storage sheds. Sneaking forward as quietly so he could he peak around the edge of the building. Bingo, he had found them.

"I still can't believe they sent us some upstart C-119G to be our flight commander." Bus grumbled under his breath. "Now we are going to have to babysit a Captain who's gone to school but hasn't even seen real combat yet. We are so doomed."

Short and Duce both quietly murmured their agreement. Inexperience officers were notorious for getting you killed, especially if they were young and cocky enough to ignore the people who had on the experience on the ground. Losing one of their number had been hard enough on the flight. No one thought their morale would survive loosing another. Fighter planes might get used to their brother in arms getting shredded right next to them, but Dodge, they were cargo planes. They didn't have the build to go down in a blaze of glory.

Cabbie watched from the shadows as the wings of his flight mates practically drooped, and the rebuilt plane had to bite his tongue to keep from chuckling. My goodness, the Lt. Colonel couldn't have given Cabbie a better set up if he had asked. He took a deep breath, and made his triumphant return.

"Hello, Bus." Cabbie's grin was almost predatory out from behind the hanger. "So Boys, do you think that this upstart 1st Lt has earned a few laps around the flag pole this evening."

"Cabbie." Bus's eyes were wide with shock as he scanned the plane in front of him. The voice was matched their lost comrade, even if the plane wearing the double bars of captain in front of them didn't.

"In the paint." Cabbie made eye contact with the other three planes in his flight and grinned. "You didn't think you could get rid of me that easily did ya?"

"Cabbie!" Bus was completely flabbergasted. "We thought you were, well we were pretty convinced that you were…"

"Just spit it out Bus." Short coxed, and when it was clear that his wingman was tongue-tied. "Fine, I will say it then. We thought you were scrapped."

"Sandy wrote us a letter before he got sent back stateside. From the details that he gave us we knew that it didn't look good."

"And the Colonel said that we were getting assigned commanding officer. You're a C." Short interjected.

"Technically I am a YC-119G now." Cabbie said giving his propellers a slow spin to emphasis his point.

Duce gave a low whistle. "You were that torn up then?"

"I believe they called it 'borderline salvageable'. Sandy and a few of the higher-ups put in some good words for me and the mechanics in Tokyo decided to try putting me back together." Cabbie shrugged. "And when they saw just how many pieces they were going to sort through they decided that they might as well upgrade me while they were at it."

"How long did that take?" Shorty asked eyeing the subtle changes to the sweep of Cabbie's tails and the change.

"They tell me I was out for two weeks." As soon as Cabbie said the number he could see the wheels behind his fellow C-119's eyes turning, so he quickly clarified things."And before you ask, I was out, out for those two weeks of repairs. I have been spending the week and a half that I have been awake relearning how to fly and giving the C-119 perspective in a couple planning sessions for an upcoming mission."

That comment got him some raised eyebrows, though Bus was the only who spoke up. "Anything you can tell us about?"

"OPSEC for now. But you will know soon enough. After all, our little Charlie flight is going to be leading the charge on this." At the notation that their little band would be leading all three airplanes perked up, but it was time to get his crew to bed. "Well, I know you guys just flew from Korea and are probably pretty tired, so we will continue catching up in the morning. Bus, you are with me. We have a flagpole to fly."

It was late enough in the evening that it was the transition between day and night flying. The last of the day planes were coming back to the barn to roost, but it was still early for the night interceptors that patrolled the boundaries of Japanese airspace to take off. As a result, it took Bus and Cabbie less than 15 minutes to become airborne.

It felt strange to switch positions. Cabbie had to fight his instinct take the lead instead of flying Bus's wing. Bus struggled a bit to match the changes in Cabbie's flight characteristics. It took them a good 45 minutes of flying for them to finally lock into step, but once the two planes could once again practically move as one.

"Chrysler, I have missed you." Bus sighed after they had tight flown a ridge.

"Missed you too, Bus." Cabbie smiled, the warm feeling of coming home settling deep in his driveshaft. "Missed you too."

"I was given three days to get his unit into fighting shape, which proved to be a bigger challenge than I would have hopped. The structural changes that had been made gave me greater lift capability compared with the C-119Cs that I was flying with, but often at the cost of fuel consumption. It got bad enough during our first flights as a team that Short had actually started chuckling that I would need to get a new name if the distance we traveled on all our sorties were based on my gas guzzling. We would make it work though, and we would be ready to lead the charge early on the morning of March 22nd. Though," Cabbie gave a big yawn, "I think that is enough for tonight."

End Note: Well that is a wrap...next chapter we will take on Operation TOMAHAWK, the second great airdrop of the Korean War.