Book One

Chapter One

A Distraction

"Hey, wait a minute! Your face!"

"Get away from me!"

Porco Rosso waved Donald Curtis away as he stumbled towards his seaplane. He didn't have time to wait for the American to resolve his apparent astonishment. Not when the fascists were on their way. Not when they had to create a distraction to allow the pirates to escape. Not when he'd just turned back into a-

Hey, wait a minute.

He reached for his face, felt it, ran his hands over it. The skin was no longer porcine.

Human flesh.

He bent over the water, stared at his reflection.

What in blazes-?

"Um, Porco?"

The sound of Curtis' voice caused him to look up.

"You're human again."

"Of course I am, you idiot," Porco snapped. Then, abruptly, he grinned.

"There must be a God in heaven still."

"'Course there is," Curtis replied. "Always was."

He gestured towards the sky.

"But I ain't ready to meet him yet."

Porco's eyes strayed to where Curtis had pointed. The first of the Italian planes had begun to arrive.

"Move your butt, cowboy," Porco snarled as he scrambled towards his plane.

"I am movin' it," Curtis said. "You're the one who was takin' so long-"

"Take off!" Porco shouted, sliding into his seat.

"Got it!"

As he activated his plane's engine, Porco suddenly had a weak feeling in his stomach.

My gun was jammed. And they aren't going to give me time to fix it in the air.

And Curtis is out of ammo.

The second thought prompted the weak feeling to increase in intensity. He shook his head, willed the feeling away.

Bah! We'll just have to improvise.

The plane began to move forward, sliding across the water on its pontoons as it picked up speed.

Of course, we're probably going to die. At least it'll be for a good…

As the plane rose into the air, he saw the might of the Italian Airforce surging towards him, the noon-time sun gleaming off of the planes' metallic sides.

…cause.

"Okay," he muttered. "We're definitely going to die."

As Curtis piloted his own plane into the air, he too saw the oncoming foe. He reached for the lever to his machine guns.

"Sayanara, you liberty-snatching jerks!" he shouted as he pulled the trigger.

No bullets came out.

"Shoot!" he growled. "Oh wait, that was an accidental pun-"

A stream of bullets cut him off and forced him to steer out of the way.

"I forgot I was out of ammo!" Curtis shouted as he arrived beside Porco's plane.

"Away!"

Curtis glanced at Porco.

"What?"

"Away! We split up now!"

"Where do we meet?"

"White Cliffs! Northeast!"

"Great! I'll be sure to bring barbeque!"

"Move it, dumbbell!"

"Oh, right!"

Curtis angled his plane away. Glancing behind, he saw that three of the Italian fighters had broken out of formation in order to follow him. He smirked.

"Hey, come and get me, Dagos!" he hollered.

The slur was greeted by a burst of gunfire that he had to dodge.

"Hey, what's the matter? I can make fun of Italians. I'm Italian!"

The Italian planes fired again.

"Alright, I'll grant you the connection is slight. But it's there."

The Italian planes fired yet again.

"Alright, fine. Its barely there. Now stop shooting!"

The planes fired once more.

"Don't know how to take an apology," Curtis grumbled as he strove desperately to evade the bullets.

Suddenly, the gunfire stopped. The sound of the planes following him began to fade ever so slightly. Looking behind him, he saw Porco steering his red seaplane in a wide arc, drawing vapor trails across the sky. The three pursuing fighters had begun to follow him. As Curtis watched, Porco maneuvered so that he was between two of the planes.

What is he-?

As one of the Italian gunners began firing, Porco abruptly dove, allowing the bullets to strike the tale of the second plane. Curtis laughed.

"They're dumb as bricks!"

His laughter ceased instantly as he saw the other planes flying towards the fray. Instinctively, he began to turn his ownp lane. Instantly, he heard Porco shout:

"What are you doing, you idiot?"

Reluctantly, Curtis returned to his former course. Still, as he sped away towards Porco's chosen rendezvous point, he felt a twinge of regret.

There's no way he'll get out of that. No way. And I've got no ammo to help him.

Within an hour, Curtis reached the white cliffs overlooking Porco's beach hideout. After checking to make sure that he hadn't been followed, he brought his plane down into the inlet, finally stopping beside the beach. Leaping out onto the shoreline, he whipped out a pair of binoculars and scanned the sky. He saw nothing but a few birds.

"How long do I give him?" he wondered aloud. "I can't be all day."

He paced back and forth across the sands, his mind returning to the day's events.

Lost a wife. Course, she didn't really want me anyway. She wanted Porco. She wanted the pig. Kind of infuriating!

And probably as much as I deserve.

He stopped. It was the first time he'd ever had such a thought.

Women who don't want me. That's a novelty. Makes one think about…stuff. Life. Priorities. That sort of thing.

Guess it means someone else'll have to be the First Lady. Sad, but they made their choices, and I've gotta respect 'em. After all, I lost Fio fair and square. And Gina…well, no gentleman'd ever force himself on a lady. Even if she does lack a bit of taste. Well, only a bit. Porco's got some gumption. And with a stache like his, it's no wonder he's got European women fawning over him.

A rumbling in his stomach informed Curtis that he was hungry. Returning to his plane, he retrieved some dried beef he had stashed away in his plane. Tearing apart the wrapping with his teeth, he began the down the meat. When he had finished, he resumed staring at the sky. When he tired of standing still, he began to pace back and forth. When he tired of pacing, he seated himself on a boulder and began whistling The Stars and Stripes Forever. And all the while, the sun sank lower and lower in the sky.

Porco had still not returned.

"Oh no."

Spotting Porco's tent, Curtis scrambled towards it, Ducking inside, he scanned its contents.

"He's gotta have a phone around here somewhere- aha!"

Grabbing the aforementioned item, he hurriedly dialed the number for the Hotel Adriano.

"Come on, come on," he said, tapping his foot on the ground as the call was carried through.

It was only a minute before he heard Madame Gina's voice at the other end of the line, but to Curtis, it felt like another hour.

"Hello?" she asked. "Marco, is that you?"

"Hello?" Curtis said.

"Curtis?"

"Yep, it's me."

"Listen," Gina said, sounding tired, "I haven't got time for small-talk. Where's Marco?"

"That's just what I'm trying to tell you!" Curtis snapped. "He hasn't come back yet."

"What? What do you mean? Where is he? Where are you?"

"Slow down!" Curtis pleaded. "One question at a time."

"Where's Marco?"

"I don't know. I last saw him hours ago. He was up in the air, evading the fascists. He said he'd rendezvous with me, but he never showed up."

"That fool!" Gina cried. "He must have been showing off. We need to organize a search."

Hearing the tent flap open behind him, Curtis turned to see a person entering. He lowered the phone from his ear, his mouth agape.