Hoof Beats

Maconochie! Maconochie!
Bully beef and biscuits!
Hullo, damn it! that's a crump,
How those bangs give me the hump;
Here's another!  Where's she dropping?
Duck!  or pieces you'll be stopping!
Plum and apple!  Beef and biscuit,
Well, here goes, I'd better risk it;
Just round here, there is no telling
When the Hun begins his shelling
How good my dug-out seems to me
Maconochie!  Maconochie!

July 18, 1918

The Turning of the Tide; Aix-la-Chapelle

The mist only remained for the space of an hour. The morning, eerily reminiscent of another just over two years ago, was calm and beautiful.

Grass that still lived, still remained beyond the deep lines of death cut into the landscape, swayed and bobbed.

It, and the birds singing brightly, was ignorant of what had been done mere kilometers away.

The war, unmoving, unyielding and unforgiving, was a world away.

Here, in these calm fields, was a sanctuary undisturbed. Until today.

It was the beginning of the end, the delayed Big Push.

Instead of a shouted glory however, there was a respectful silence.

Young, fresh-faced soldiers walked slowly across the fields as a cacophony of sound crescendoed on either side, building into a roar of rage and turning the earth in front asunder.

One soldier, his face bearing that odd mix of lost innocence, weariness and excitement, picked a blood-red poppy out of the batches that grew in small clumps. He looked at it for a long time before putting it into his uniform pocket.

Many others quick-marched beside him. They met no resistance in front.

Three Alemanians ran toward a small platoon, filthy scarecrows all. Their arms were up and they were shouting, "Kamerad! Kamerad!!"

Two were old, aged before their time. The other looked like he hadn't been a teenager very long.

"Send 'em back to the lines, Billy" The soldier with a picked poppy nodded at his sergeant before motioning to the three prisoners.

As they began walking back, the soldier looked behind him to the distant figures marching bravely in front of those massive explosions.

He then wordlessly took some hard biscuits and a crumbled cookie from his pack and handed it to the three who began devouring it greedily. "Sorry ain't got nothin' else. Limey's got some o' that god-awful Maconochie, no better'n pig slops if'n ya ask me, but I couldn'a be paid to eat it."

Which they didn't. He assumed that they spoke nothing but their own language. It was dangerous to assume.

Before reaching the camp, one spoke to the young soldier in heavily accented words.

"Vhy here?" He was the younger, still just a child. He pointed the the Usland soldier, honestly puzzled.

"Vhy, er...Why here _what_?"

"Vhy fighting? Only money, politiks, no better. One side, no better. Dey starve us, we gas dem, no better!"

"That's all over now" The Usland soldier said, feeling suddenly exhausted.

"No, no. Never over. Open up box, *poof*, demons out. See to East, now Vest. Starving kinder, old ones. So, we bomb ships, but never over. Only, too tired to go on. Too tired."

The other two nodded, their faces lined with more than what the Usland soldier understood.

When they reached the nearby camp, with its airfields up and running even this early, the Uslander saw a young racoon jogging toward them.

He was a pilot, according to his cap, but he also bore insignia of rank.

Being only a humble private, but damned proud of it, the Uslander didn't know how superior this one was.

"'Ere now, where did these chaps come from?" The crisp accent clipped the words, matching the hardness in the racoon's eyes.

"Surrendered, er...sir. All o' 'em. Starving, by the looks of it." The Uslander didn't mean to look at the other, but he did.

The racoon, if he caught the glance, showed no emotion whatsoever. "Brought it on themselves, didn't they? Filthy Huns, every one. Or so the papers say." The officer's mirthless laugh was like fingernails on a chalkboard.

The three Alemanians looked at him with dead-pan expressions.

The racoon motioned to some NCO's close-by and they led the three away, leaving the Uslander trying to fill the silence awkwardly. The other made no attempt at cordiality.

"Nearly over, 'bought time to."

"Yes. About time. More for some than for others." The racoon sneered at the younger soldier who didn't rise to the bait.

"How's the fighting out there, boy? Our gallant lads giving them what for and all of that rot? Bloody lies."

The Uslander was taken aback by the bitterness in the other's tone. He spit the words out as though he was glad to be rid of them.

"'Cept it isn't over, is it? Like a pot that has a lid but will boil over eventually. Only it will be worse, so much worse. Gods what I wouldn't give to have been born twenty years earlier. When it wasn't considered so bloody stupid to die for one's country. Actually meant something, even if that something was being buried thousands of miles away in some heathen infested land and a shiny medal being presented to next of kin. Oh yes, bring on the good old days."

That cold, cold laugh again.

The racoon's eyes fell on the Uslander, who didn't flinch but fingered the dying poppy in his pocket instead.

"Want to go home, lad? All of you Uslanders do, after only a short time. There'll be hell to pay before it's all said and done. But go home, if that's what it takes. Marry your sweetheart and surround yourselves with brats, I give you my blessing. When the inevitable hits, you won't even remember how it happened."

"I came here because it was my duty, sorry you've had such a rotten time of it." The words rang out in the clear air. Now, the Uslander backed away from that gaze. He had never seen such hatred, and wouldn't until years later.

But now, and in the future, he never, _ever_ wanted to understand it.

"Rotten time?" The reply was a silken whisper, virulent and intense. "Talk to those who'll look at this day and thank whatever deity they worship that it's come at last. Or talk to those who'll never see an end to it. Those who'll sow the seeds, and then reap the fruit of this. Now you, private, can go straight to hell."

It was a month later, when the private remembered the conversation with brilliant clarity. He was racked with fever and clutched in his hand was the note that said that three of his mates had already been taken. Some kind of terrible curse had been unleashed on them all.

And it turned out that they were all right, in a way. This was a hell and it spared no one, no side. His pain-racked body wouldn't let him remember anything else.

Eric Baggett, calmly walking past stretchers and tents filled to the brim with the dying, recognized the young Uslander's tranquil face and filed it away for memory.

Flu, at so young an age. After four years of the meatgrinder, it was the flu that took more than what could be counted.

He himself was perfectly healthy. He was spared, as always. But he didn't care. Nor did he feel sorry for those who would lose so many of their families.

He would probably not even remember the fleeting thought that so many gone would have inflict a terrible cost on society. Only the hardest, the strongest came from this and into the next world being rebuilt on the ashes of war and disease.

If he had remembered, he would have believed, as he did then, that there was no loss such a generation couldn't take.

**************************************************************************

May 2, 1945

Linder

"Tho you thee, young capitalist Uslander whom I have _never_ before met, I _Colonel Thigot_ have once again triumphed over my enemieth and marched into their city, Victorious!!"

Because for the first time in days Kit was warm, semi-fed and could think and move without pain, he tried to wipe the spittle away discreetly though his inner, rebellious self he'd never been able to conquer screamed for a tissue.

Or a raincoat.

Kit's improved situation was largely thanks to Lieutenant Dunder. Kit was willing to put up with pompous little blowhard who almost refreshingly hadn't changed, if it meant he could speak to his long-time friend.

While Spigot continued his tirade, not noticing that he'd lost his audience, Kit leaned forward.

His voice, still raspy and weak, caused the large, soft-hearted Thembrian's brow to crease in concern.

"You've been promoted huh? 'Bout time."

Dunder ducked his head modestly. "There was no one else, Mr. Cloudkicker sir. No one, almost all were er..well, y'know? Um, occupied or d-delayed. _Permanently_ in Marshallburg. Nasty."

Kit was surprised at Dunder's comparative candidness. He looked past the officer's sheepish gestures and saw how tired, even aged Dunder looked. Innocent, unchangable Dunder.

Even he couldn't look past the destruction of his homeland. A shot rang out and harsh voices were yelling from not so far away.

Kit tried to stand when all three heard a shrill screaming. Dunder put a beefy hand on the former navigator's thin shoulder and shook his head imperceptibly.

Even Spigot had stopped speaking. They were in a half-collapsed building, right next to the pile of rubble where the two Thembrians had found Kit Cloudkicker.

While Spigot had raged typically about spies and sabotage, Dunder had been totally shocked. There was no other description for it.

Kit remembered himself being gently picked up off the ground and looking into the stunned, sickened expression of the large, soft-spoken warthog.

If such a coincidence hadn't been surprising enough, neither had demanded an explanation. They had merely pulled necessities out of large, lumpy knapsacks and sat Kit down in front of a small, oil-burning stove.

The two were.....changed. They no longer moved with fear and consequently, ineptness. They no longer looked like they didn't know which end was up.

Guiltily Kit tried to remember more than one solitary story he had heard about the East and what had been going on there. He failed.

Whatever the events, the two officers, while deceivingly the same were possessed of an efficiency for survival that Kit had seen nowhere else. It was astonishing.

Of course, if any people had a penchance for suffering, it was the Thembrians.

The city, though Kit knew otherwise, seemed deserted. The great Thembrian invasion that had been so dreaded had actually brought about a reprieve in the never-ending bombing.

Still, the silence was unnerving. There were thousands of soldiers lurking inside the abandoned buildings. Kit had no idea of what they hoped to accomplish and frankly, he didn't care.

Not anymore. He didn't care anymore. Maybe a few days ago, he could have tried to feel something, but now he was sickened to his core. He hadn't listened to Baloo, hadn't listened to Eric, but it really didn't matter anyway.

It was the people here. Kit could recall a time, not so very long ago, when he had very little or no faith in people.

~Ha! _Friends_?! I, don't have any friends.~ His own voice haunted him. So did a deeper one, full of love even when it was strained with frustration about the boy he was. ~Thanks, Papa Bear~

"I'm sorry?" Kit slowly turned his bruised head to Dunder, who looked even more concerned.

"Um, was it hard trying to get here Mr., er, Kit? We don't know much about what's west of here."

"And that'th jutht as it thould be, Thergeant!!" Spigot bellowed.

Dunder sighed deeply. "Lieutenant, Colonel, I was promoted two years ago, remember?"

Kit could find nothing to even smile about with the exchange. The pint-sized Colonel had always been a tad, flighty, but now he seemed a bit unhinged.

Dunder, shockingly, just ignored the other. Kit had never seen that before.

"Mr. Baloo know you're here?"

Kit felt a stab of pain that the officer caught. "Not really."

"He'll be worried." An understatement from anyone else, the words from Dunder cut a hole in the erstwhile navigator.

"I don't know what to do about that." Kit, for a moment, felt twelve again. Confused, angry and determined. But so very, very lost also. Something about seeing his old friend, alive and changed, wrenched him. It reminded him of something he couldn't get back and he didn't want to be reminded of that.

He felt vulnerable and that feeling had always been _bad_ for Kit Cloudkicker. The large warthog put a hand over Kit's scratched one and patted it gently.

Kit suddenly realized that Dunder had seen soldiers die. They might have even been his own men. He realized that brave men followed the Lieutenant and that Spigot was here because of Dunder's unflagging loyalty to others. Perhaps he had saved the Colonel from a fate worse than any the Marshall could concoct.

He realized that Dunder was a leader and would become a 03great, if he ever had the opportunity. If he never went home.

"You need to find a way to get out of here, Kit. You shouldn't be here, young man like you. You always did have quite a talent for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Mr. Baloo, um, he..."

*Flew to Thembria to save me, never did anything without me, never wanted to leave me behind. He never wanted me to change, to grow up. But I did, and look what happened. Oh, Papa Bear, you were right all along. But you couldn't keep protecting me.*

"Kit?"

Kit was shaking. He wanted to tell Dunder something but the words wouldn't come.

"We can take you to the river, but it won't be for awhile. Orders, y'know."

"I hate that we've changed, Dunder." Kit choked out. He hated _himself_ for this moment. His cheeks burned and so did his eyes. The former sergeant looked wise, kind and very sad when he looked at the younger pilot.

"I think that it was fate that you were right here for us to find ya. I know things are tense, things never were too good between Thembria and, any other place, but red tape can't be that bad, right?"

Kit was shaking harder.

"Red Tape?!! Sergeant Dunder, in my day you couldn't polith your tusks without the proper formth, and heaven forbid you didn't fill out twenty per tusk!! My own dear uncle, flatulent fraud though he wath, wath too lazy and alwayth went around with one tusk shiny and the other, well, dithgusting. You've all gotten soft, jutht becauth the High Marthall tharted to let whipperthnappers leading uth all around! By the Great Patriotic Flounder thingth have changed."

Kit was crying. He was sobbing noiselessly into Dunder's large, dusty shoulder. The older Thembrian, his compassion finally put to good use, knew what was needed and said nothing.

"It may look that way Mr. Cloudkicker. But the right things are never gonna change. The way people feel will never change."

But Dunder was wrong and Kit pulled back, seeing the Thembrian as a stranger. There had been too much water under the bridge. His friend was gone. He liked this stranger but Kit no longer felt the comradeship that had existed before.

He felt as though he had missed something very important and he'd been cheated. It wasn't as though he hadn't ever felt that way before.

~Kit Cloudkicker tried to remember a time when he'd been so angry and humiliated and failed. If it wasn't bad enough that that wretched pirate was always pulling things like this, now he was in the same kind of situation without even a decent alibi to go with it!!

He kicked at the large man behind him who could barely speak English but the thug didn't relinquish his grip. Kit's arms were losing their feeling and he could barely breath with that filthy, fish-smelling hand over his snout.

He felt, for the first time in awhile, a tendril of fear creep into his gut. It wasn't as though Rebecca and Baloo had any money for a ransom. They weren't famous and he certainly wasn't the most obvious hostage.

So what was going on?

Then there had been that girl, the one who had been so anxious upon hearing his name. Why? Kit felt another strange feeling in his stomach that had little to do with fear.

Though she was clothed in rags, the girl's hair caught the light like a mirror, it was so dark and shiny. Her eyes were shaped like almonds and Kit had felt himself getting lost in them.

Even that soft accent was charming. He couldn't remember ever seeing a girl that beautiful before. Ms. Cunningham was pretty but this girl made his toes curl up and his hair stand on end.

Or she had until he'd been snatched by this goon. He tried squirming again and had his breath squeezed out from his mid-section.

"Boss wants you, don't give any more trouble small one. Only for a short time, fat bear get what he wants and we get same."

Kit scowled, not believing a word of it. When they reached their destination, Kit wasn't too impressed. It looked like a seedy laundry establishment until one stepped inside.

Jade, rubies, emeralds and gold coated the walls and doors. Kit gaped a bit as he was being carried into a large office-like room.

The hand was removed from his mouth, but before he could unleash a storm of abuse on his abuductor, he gasped.

The office chair turned and the most hideous being Kit had ever seen grinned at him maliciously. The thing had mottled green skin, a pointed nose, a few hairs that were greasy and long. Elongated yellow fingernails which were clasped into a 'T' along with his bony fingers were resting on the mahogany desk.

A permeating smell wafted through the room and Kit, struggling against the larger goon, could feel him take a step back.

"Let _go_ of me! You can't do this, I'm a Uslander citizen."

"You are orphan and have no rights by our laws." The fish-being's raspy voice cut Kit's indignant words off.

"This is bait, sir?"

"Yes" A sinister chuckle raised the goosepimples on Kit's arms. "It would behoove you to be quiet, small one. You have been brought here for one purpose alone, and we will hope you have no trouble in fulfilling it. The large pilot bear seems fond of you, we will see how far it reaches tonight when he discovers you are amiss."

Kit struggled harder. "What does Baloo have to do with any of this? All he's doin' is a job for Mz. Cunningham!"

The grin widened and Kit saw yellow, razor-sharp teeth with bits of green seaweed in them. He shuddered and the monster seemed pleased at the reaction.

"Yes, but neither of you have any idea of how important such a shipment is to me. The foolish ones outside this city wish for my power, but such is my ticket to getting rid of them once and for all. I must thank you for making it so easy."

Kit saw red. "What about that girl? What's she done? How does she fit into your great master plan? I want to know what's happened to her!" Kit's voice echoed off of the glittering room's walls. "Just, who are you?! Some freakish creature from the black lagoon? You can't do this!!"

The piranaha creature spoke some sharp words to the thug still holding Kit, who shrugged.

"I know not of what you are speaking of idiot boy. If you so wish for more information, it is enough to know that I am Emuil Pirahna and I am used to having things my way. I can do whatever I wish, as long as you are here. I grow tired of this, let the fat pilot come to fetch him."

Unlike Karnage, Kit later thought, these twerps had no idea that underestimating him was a bad idea. When the self-named, Emuil Pirahna came close enough, Kit sank his teeth into that pointed nose.

The taste was revolting but the bite did the trick. Kit dashed around the room while the other two crashed into each other, howling in fury. He glanced behind him for one moment and it cost him dearly.

A door slid shut from the other side and Kit collided with it painfully. His head spinning, he felt himself beign picked up. A skinny, strange-looking thug in glasses, wearing what looked like yellow pajamas, glared down at him.

"No, no. Not good to run away, no. I want to see cowering, I wish to see those knees knocking."

Kit, grimacing, brought a foot down on the other's sandled one as hard as he could. The goon yelped in pain but Kit was already surrounded by his other two friends.

"Bind him. Make sure he cannot get free. He has caused enough trouble, I have no wish for him to cause more."

Kit kicked and struggled but he was over-powered by the other two who dragged him into a drafty room, sat him down on a chair and twisted his arms behind him painfully.

"I hope when Baloo finds out about this he tears your arms off then beats you with them. I hope that whatever karma your hokey religion has, has you racking up the worst points ever. I hope you're reborn as a slug, or a maggot, or..."

The bespectacled goon's hand came down over Kit's mouth, cutting him off. Kit was now immobilized but that didn't stop him from trying to bite the other's hand.

"Should we gag this squawking bird?"

"Nothing was said of it." Both looked at Kit leerily. The cub had murder in his eyes, but he tried to look innocent.

"Well boy, will you continue your ceaseless noise?" Kit nodded his head fervently and tried again to look sweet and innocence.

When the two left minutes later, Kit couldn't swallow or breathe very well, the fabric over his snout was so tight. He cursed into it but didn't feel any better.

He hoped Baloo was all right. As much as he hated letting people like this intimidate others into giving them what they wanted, he knew that Baloo would do it.

Kit hated himself for getting caught, he hated that he was Baloo's Achilles heel and that he could always be used against the large pilot, just because he cared about him.

He _really_ hated that he couldn't stop thinking about that girl. He had never given anything, let alone a flower to a girl before. But she...well, she....

What was he _doing_? He needed to get out of here! Who knows what they wanted? Kit didn't believe for a second that they would let him go. He knew too much and now, Baloo probably did as well.

Still, he couldn't live with himself if he did nothing to try and find that girl. Her eyes, Kit remembered seeing something in her eyes that he could relate to. Overpowering, encompassing loneliness.

She had no one. He _had_ to find her!

**************************************************************************

*I _have_ find that kid!* Baloo thought, getting angrier and more anxious by the minute.

It wasn't as though Kit had never scooted around curfew before. Or wandered off in a strange place. Whether they were in a city, in the mountains, desert, _wherever_, that kid was aging Baloo before his time.

Baloo's worry was making him sick to his stomach. He'd had to pay that lousy crook of a dock lackey just to keep the Sea Duck docked for a few hours, then missed the shipment looking for his navigator!

It was getting dark. Baloo glanced at the merchants closing up shop and felt real fear course through him. He wanted to kick himself for jumping to false conclusions, but something in him, some deep instinct that he couldn't name just yet was screaming for his attention.

The kid was in trouble. Kit was in trouble. Baloo knew it, it was a parental instinct from a bear who didn't even know how to spell either word.

He resisted his first urge to go running up and down the streets of the city, shouting Kit's name. He grabbed a few merchants, frantically asking about Kit before they shrugged at him. He remembered too late that they couldn't understand a word he said.

Cursing fluently, he looked for a phone. He needed to call Becky to....

*To what? Scare the bugger out o' her? If she finds out Kit's missing, or....* Baloo swallowed painfully, *somethin', she'll go bonkers. Need to be calm, need to stay calm, Calmness an' me, we go _way_ back an-*

Baloo yelled and jumped quite high for a bear of his size when a cold hand grabbed his elbow and jerked him into a cramped alley.

There were four other people in there, each looking about the same, with a concerned joe and a shifty weasel all talking like they meant it.

Baloo shook his head. *What kinda city is this?*

"You, bear. Missing something you need?" Baloo felt anger flash through him but clamped down on it with a trememdous effort.

"What about it?"

"You miss boy? Want to talk about it?"

"What're you, my shrink? Get to the point, _now_" Baloo growled menancingly and the other gave up his game quickly. He motioned for Baloo to follow him. The large bear did, seeing few other alternatives.

He followed the other through the near deserted streets, growing more and more uneasy all the time. The other didn't offer any more information and Baloo was willing himself again to stay calm.

He was failing badly.

Still, he had to admit that the joint where he was led to was real snazzy. Didn't look much like a place for kidnappers.

Or so he thought until he saw the guy in charge.

He gaped at the fish-like thing behind the huge mahogany desk in horror.

"Really, Mr. Baloo, you flatter me. You know why you are here? Is quite simple, you give me what I want, I return boy."

"Where is he?" Baloo's voice was low and very dangerous. "I want to see him."

"He is unhurt, all is well. For now." Those pointed teeth grinned at Baloo, who felt his stomach drop out.

"It is depending on you. Where is your shipment? It is mine, rightfully. Give it to me, I return whelp to you, fair?"

Baloo felt sick. "I don't have it. I missed it today."

The other's glassy fish eyes grew hard. "You had better be joking bear. Not only for your sake. I will take out my, er, _frustrations_ on the boy."

Baloo's fists came up and the two thugs at his side barely stopped him in time. "You'll have more than yer frustrations taken out if you lay one finger on that kid. Where is he?! I'll turn you in so fast-"

"Do so, and the boy is gone. You will never lay eyes on him again." The room's temperature dropped by degrees. Baloo knew he meant it.

"I don't have what you want. What else is there?" The large pilot could have cared less about his dignity. The pleading in his voice was very sincere. "I could give you something else, anything else that you want. But don't hurt Kit, he doesn't have anything to do with-"

But then, another goon, *how many does this guy have?* came and whispered something into the pirahna's um, ear.

The fish-being's expression turned quite ugly, if that was possible from what it was before.

He barked out an order that Baloo didn't understand and the large bear was dragged from the room.

"Hey!! No, wait! Just let me see 'im! You rotten-" Then he was gone.

************************************************************************

Kit was tired and bruised, the ropes cutting into his arms from his hours of struggling. At least the gag had come loose but apparently there was no one within yelling distance.

Now, he was hoarse, exhausted and furious. He couldn't recall a situation that he hadn't been able to get out of somehow. The fact that he was no better off now than what he was hours before made him see red.

A slight noise outside his door made him turn and stare. Slowly the door creaked open and a beautiful girl stood there, as bedraggled and dirty as the first time Kit had seen her.

"_You_!" He gasped. "Who, how, w-what?" He shook his head and started over. "How did you get free?"

The girl looked confused and stared at him intently. She began chewing on her bottom lip and Kit knew she was thinking something over carefully.

"Help!!" She suddenly yelled, catching him off guard. She began rocking his chair roughly.

"The boy, he is trying to escape! Guards!!"

"Are you nuts?!" Kit hissed, even as the chair toppled over and he wriggled out of his bonds.

"Go!"

"But..."

"GO!!" It was only a half-hour later. Kit thought it felt like a week. He'd thought the girl was a prisoner, then a traitor, then...he had no idea what.

Was he so gullible? What on earth made him care anyway? Baloo was yelling frantically at him, holding his arm.

They had barely made it out of Pirahna's palace. Baloo, whom Kit might tease later, had been in some suicidal sumo match with a bull on testosterone. They had been shot at, bombed, pursued and even shouted at on top of everything else.

But what Kit was most confused about now was the girl. This lovely girl whom he didn't understand at all. He didn't _need_ her did he? He didn't _want_ to get to know her, spend more time with her, maybe even something...else?

Baloo pulled Kit into the Sea Duck as a cannon ball splashed the water mere inches from where he'd been.

"KIT! Let's go, we have to get out of here!" The fear was still in the large pilot's eyes. For him. Baloo had nearly crushed his navigator's ribs seeing him safe, not mentioning anything about Kit actually rescuing _him_ for a change.

Kit tried to wrench out of Baloo's grip, trying to ignore the pain that flashed across the larger bear's face.

"NO!!" But the Sea Duck was taking off. The girl, *I didn't even find out her name*, just stood there, her long hair whipping in the Sea Duck's wake. Kit watched her, saw her uncle being hauled away by the authorities, probably to be freed in a day or so.

He thought he saw her wipe something on her face. The last thing he saw was a flower in her hand. The one he'd given her. Then, the Sea Duck was inside the night clouds, rising over them and to safety.

Kit sat there for a long time, quiet and hurt. Baloo kept shooting him concerned glances, knowing that the boy was physically fine, except for a few bumps and scrapes. It was that melancholy expression that worried the pilot.

"Papa Bear?"

"Yeah, Little Britches?" Baloo hoped that Kit would turn to look at him, but he didn't.

"Why would a girl _not_ do something she really wanted to do? It doesn't make any sense!"

"_GIRLS_?!! Yer askin' me to explain _Girls_?! Kit, I'll tell you true, it's easier to chase chickens barefoot on greased linoleum than to explain girls."

After an initial look of confusion, Kit seemed to sink further down in his seat. "That's what I was afraid of." Then he said no more.

It was the sun peaking through the cliffs of Cape Suzette that finally prompted Baloo to speak up. The view was so beautiful, and the pilot finally allowed himself to feel the relief that he'd experienced when Kit had just shown up to help him, safe and sound.

"Little Britches?"

"Hmm?" Kit was still looking out the window.

"You sure yer all right?"

"Yeah, sure." The navigator didn't sound like it though.

"That filthy piece o' garbage didn't hurt ya? Hit ya or anythin'? 'Cause if he did, I'll personally see to it that he don't have any o' those fancy teeth left to-"

"I'm _fine_ Baloo. I can take care of myself."

Baloo looked saddened. "Yeah, I know Kit."

Kit finally turned to look at him, confused at the large bear's tone. "I'm sorry Papa Bear."

Baloo waved a beefy hand at his navigator, the two's secret signal that said, "that's fine, forget about it _right now_."

"I mean, I'm sorry that I um, make you worry. You and Miss Cunningham. I'm like a spare wheel, an' I'm always gettin' in trouble. I guess you both don't need that."

"You didn't do nothin' wrong, kiddo. It was all that fruity Pirahna's scheme. Threatenin' kids. Guy should be taught-"

"Baloo" Kit cut the pilot off just in time. "I, um...I'm confused. I'm real confused."

The gray bear looked at his navigator and was stunned by what he saw. Kit, tough, independent Kit, never looked like this. He was absolutely lost. And young, Kit looked like he was eight instead of thirteen.

Miss Cunningham was waiting for them, a blanket around her shoulders when the Sea Duck pulled into Higher for Hire, docking. Baloo ignored her for just a few minutes more, however and held Kit for as long as the boy needed it.

"I know Kit. I know, you're safe and it'll work itself out. Trust me, you just gotta trust me and have faith in yer ol' Papa Bear. I, er...love you, Little Britches."

Kit was shocked. No one had ever told him that, at least not that he could remember. He held Baloo as tightly as the other bear held him and the two stayed that way while Rebecca Cunningham waited apprehensively outside.

"It'll be okay, I promise."~

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"Kit?" The stove had gone out.

Kit had dozed off. Spigot was snoring like a buzzsaw in his corner but Dunder was still as wide-awake as before. Kit wondered if he slept at all now.

"I gotta go, Kit. Don't go anywhere, all right? I need to control some of this looting that's going on. Standard procedure." Then the large warthog disappeared.

Kit was nervous about the officer going, though his better sense told him that Dunder certainly knew what he was doing by now, probably much more so than Kit ever would.

He stared out of the empty doorway, trying to make out anything in the streets. Then he saw it.

Smashed windows, furniture, everything. Clothes strewn out in the street, everything seemed destroyed. This wasn't from the bombing, it hadn't been here before, according to Kit's memory.

He then saw a group of Thembrian soldiers silently hauling sack after sack out of a gutted building that had probably once been a department store. They were barely distinguishable in the darkness.

Kit heard more shots from farther away, several more screams, glass breaking and the harsh language that he wasn't used to.

Before he could figure out what to do next, Dunder reappeared startlingly. The Lieutenant looked very worried and that worried Kit.

"Kit, there's something going on. Orders I wasn't aware of. This city is, dangerous, maybe more so than before." Dunder was avoiding Kit's eyes. Kit felt apprehension creep up like a thief.

"I can't leave, I need to try and keep some order. It's quiet here but it won't last. There are, _changes_. I can tell you where to go."

"But-"

"Trust me Kit, you don't want to be here come tomorrow."

"I didn't want to be here at all!!"

The two stared each other down, Kit practically daring him to ask the question and Dunder knowing it. The Thembrian, however, didn't.

"Go west, it's still across the city but it's the only thing. It's going to get worse, Kit Cloudkicker. I'm, sorry."

It was the last thing Dunder said to him. Kit had the feeling that it had to do with more than their current situation.

The young pilot barely spared the stoically sleeping Spigot a glance as he packed supplies that Dunder had generously provided him. He would have given anything for his compass, but that couldn't be helped.

Come sunrise, he'd know where to go.

May 4, 1945

Lindon, Anglia

"'Ey, watch it Guv'ner!"

"Yeah, takin' a ride on the nuclear, 'ere?"

"Lookin' sound, fer a overseas outstander, comin' to?"

Baloo looked as helpless as Max had ever seen him. Trying to control his laughter, he kept leading the large bear away from the large crowd of peddlers on Lindon's east side.

"Wazzat English they were speakin'?" Baloo asked, huffing and puffing when the two had finally reached the telegraph station. It smelled as though it had barely been re-built, which, Baloo reminded himself, it probably had.

The office was 90% female, something else he wasn't used to seeing. It was yet another unpleasant reminder.

"What was that?"

"I said, big guy, that after you hear the rhyming after awhile, you pick up on what they're actually saying."

"What, like a code er somethin'?" Baloo scratched his head.

Max shrugged, his threadbare bomber creasing. "Guess so. Crazy, these Limeys."

They were both silent for some time, Baloo trying to guess what Max might be thinking and Max keeping clear of the maze that was Baloo's predicament. Or trying to.

"No sign of the weasel?"

"Racoon."

"I _know_ that, idjit. Finger o' speech."

Baloo shot the younger pilot a dirty look. "No, nothin'."

Silence again.

"Don't get easier, Baloo." Max said, his young face looking very aged suddenly. He focused out of the window and Baloo felt alone, as though the dog was millions of miles away.

Baloo didn't trust his voice. He glanced down at the finger-marked piece of paper that he would be sending to Becky in a few moments. Once again, he blessed the comforting numbness that had encompassed him. It kept him from feeling and thinking too much.

After Eric's sickening revelation, Baloo had thundered and raged like a full-blown hurricane. His anger hadn't abated for some time. Because he'd known that it wouldn't do any good at all.

No matter what Eric had told him, no matter what his empty reassurances had been, Baloo knew.

He couldn't look at it just yet. But he knew.

Surprisingly, Max, his young companion throughout this magnificent mess, had stuck by him. He had come to Lindon, though Baloo didn't remember asking him to accompany him. He had remained uncharacteristically silent. He had even helped Baloo phrase what it was he was going to have to say.

And Baloo, just starting his long, long journey, almost envied Max, who was coming to an end of his. That pathway which was their shared grief. It seemed so small in such an overwhelming place. It even seemed selfish with so many having lost so much.

But that hollow look in people's eyes, the way shoulders stooped and smiles showed rare and insincere. All of that told Baloo that they were part of a larger picture. It was no comfort, but misery did indeed love company.

"He was my younger brother." Max's voice didn't choke up, or break. It was strong and steady.

"I loved him so damn much. He was a pest and an annoyance, always breakin' my stuff and tryin' to crash in wit' my friends. He did every little stupid thing I ever did and it drove me crazy."

Baloo felt something begin to ache deep inside. He said nothing.

Max could have been made of stone, he was so still. Others waiting in line passed them by, Baloo waving them on. It was like they were in another world, with Max and Baloo trapped in a future that they didn't have to share.

If he didn't hurt so damned much, he would hate them.

"He went to the train station and I went to suit up at the airfield. He held out a hand to me and I waved him off. I can still see him plain as day, grinnin' like the devil, hand outstretched. Last thing I think I said to 'im was, 'See ya when I see ya' an' he said, 'Good luck'."

"It was like we was strangers. I thought o' a million things I wanted to say after, not all o' 'em pleasant. I pictured how it happened time after time. Got so's I couldn't sleep no more. Then, after I met Sophie, I went back. You an', um, Eric were talking."

Baloo remembered.

"He was there, Baloo. He was right there, waitin' fer me by my cot. An' he was like, you stupid so and so, I'm dead but you're not. You've gotta let me go. An' when I said I couldn't, there was too much to be said he grinned that ol' grin and shook his head. He said, 'Nothin' you coulda said that day woulda been anythin' I didn't already know my whole life through. Idiot. You need to be happy. I know you won't forget, but you can't stay here in the past. You just can't. Then he was gone, just faded away like a dream."

Baloo was shaking. Max looked back at him, his face peaceful but etched with deep pain.

"Sorry Baloo. I should've stopped him."

"No, Max. I hadta let 'im go....too."

"Next!!" The voice made both pilots jump.

Baloo tried to ready himself. But he couldn't. Gods he just couldn't do it.

He turned back to Max, who raised an eyebrow. "Whatcha lookin' at me for? He's your son. You can go back and try and live without 'im, or you can search like hell until you find 'im. Though I warn ya, I'm a god-awful navigator."

Baloo's hands were shaking. "I really hate you sometimes, you know that? I mean I can't stand you, kid. Royal pain in my rump, always changing yer mind, wish you'd pick a personality then _stay_ with it."

"NEXT!!" The rhinoceros behind the telegraph machine was looking mighty annoyed.

"Was all that blather so's we could have a conference?" Max asked, a sardonic edge to his already sharp but mellowed voice.

"Er, jus' a minute more. Jus' _one_ I promise!" Baloo gestured frantically to the clerk.

"Look 'ere, _mate_, if'n you-"

But the impatient clerk was being ignored.

"Well, what's it gonna be?" Max asked, sounding nearly as impatient as the telegraph clerk.

"I, I...um, don't know where ta look, we can't get through."

"Hate to burst yer bubble, o' flatulent one, but there're more ways to get to where I'm guessin' you wanna be than a direct route. I've gotta plane, so do you, though'll I'll take yer word for it."

Baloo looked pretty steamed now so Max cut to the chase.

"Yer choice, but I'll help."

Baloo looked at the young pilot who, for all of his grating personality quirks, he now considered a friend.

"What's a way that we can go?" Baloo asked, the old glint of determination back in his eyes, much to Max's relief.

"_Excuse_ me, er, gentlemen but-"

"Shut up!!" Both pilots bellowed at the clerk, who looked affronted.

"New plan, then?" Max asked, casually.

"You just wanna meet up with that pretty waitress."

"Guilty, as charged. Now, I think you still need to message yer _mum_ to tell her about the situation, changed though it has."

"Shut it, kid." Baloo grunted. "All ready!" He then turned a 100-watt smile onto the clerk, who looked murderous.

"Destination?"

"Higher for Hire, Cape Suzette."

May 5, 1945

Higher for Hire

Wildcat was trying to remember a time in the recent past when he'd seen Miss Cunningham look so angry.

She was clutching a telegraph in her hand and wringing it out. She then threw it on the floor and jumped up and down on it in an undignified manner. She kicked it, she spit on it, she ground her heel onto it.

Then she read it and re-read it and the process started again.

"Er, Miss Cunningham?" The lion asked, meekly.

"What is it, Wildcat?!" Rebecca asked through gritted teeth.

"Um, someone give you a crank call? I hate those, I spent all night once lookin' for my refrigerator because someone said it was running. Good thing it didn't take that long to find my nose, only a few hours, so it couldn't have run...very.....far."

Wildcat trailed off at Miss Cunningham's expression.

"Wildcat, you know that you're the best mechanic I've seen and you know that times are rough. I hope you also know that you're my friend and I care about you but if you don't get your grease monkey behind out of my personal space in the next nanosecond I'll take your best wrenches and make sure it will take several days for you to find them again. Not to mention the havoc they will wreak on your digestive system. Am I making myself absolutely clear?"

The lion had already fled.

Rebecca tried for the fifth time to read through Baloo's message without losing full control of her faculties. He had learned, oh yes. That crafty ball of fat and fur had learned long ago when it was okay to make her mad. And that was never.

He had just casually informed her that since there was no way to get to the city where Kit might still be, *if he's still alive*, Rebecca shook that chilling thought off, he was going through another route.

Which was fine, if it was somewhere comparatively safe like a volcano, or a blizzard, even a pirate attack or two along the way, but no. He was going through the Falkans.

And although he might read up on current events any more than what he had to, she did. That place was a seething cauldron of unrest, hate and violence. On the ground.

He had sent the telegram and Rebecca had tried nearly everything in her power to contact him right after he'd sent it. But that wretched bear had sent it and left immediately after. It almost frightened her how well the pilot knew her and her moods by now.

Rebecca didn't want to assess why she was so angry. She wanted to say that it was because he had just gone and done something else to add to his long list of stupid deeds. He would be endangering her property, he hadn't even _bothered_ to consult her or discuss the extremes that may have made him make this decision.

But she knew that all of them, irritating though they were, didn't hold a candle to the real reason.

The pain that had come with Kit's disappearance had been a deep and terrible blow. And though it would take years, possibly the rest of her life, she could heal. It was something she couldn't face now, however.

But the thought of Baloo in danger, hurt or dead. She winced visibly at that. Well, it....well, um, what was the difference?

She loved them both with all of her heart. They were all her family. But if Baloo were to never return, Rebecca knew a hole would be opened inside of her that would fester and poison, never, ever healing properly.

And she didn't know what that would do to her, or to her daughter. She didn't even understand it. She just knew it was real.

Sometimes things didn't have to put into words. There were actually times when it was too awkward. It made Rebecca want to scream in frustration. It made her writhe and kick herself mentally. But she could not, would not, push it away.

And now, that stupid bear had just gone off and left her, putting himself in danger. It was different than before. She knew that she couldn't maintain contact with him, even if she could be certain that he would even try.

"Mom?" Rebecca looked up. She didn't understand the shock on Molly's face until she felt the wetness on her own.

"What happened? Mom, what's happened?! Oh no, no!! Mommy?!" Molly's terrified voice jolted Rebecca out of her funk.

"Shhh, it's okay baby. Nothing's wrong with either Kit or Baloo, _yet_" she said, ominously, though she held her daughter tightly.

Molly looked lovelier than usual today and even in her black mood Rebecca registered it. A blue peacoat covering her gray slacks brought out the golden color of her fur and hair.

"Mom? What's _wrong_ with you?!"

For Rebecca had started to cry, small whimpering sobs that greatly alarmed Molly.

"Y-y-you're g-g-grow-wing up so fast. You l-l-look beaut-tiful. That, stupid, fat, imb-b-becile!"

Molly gently led her mother to the worn armchair and looked for the phone. If her mom had lost her mind then it was best to stay calm and deal with the situation.

Then Molly saw the telegram. She gingerly picked it up. After reading it, she gazed at her mom thoughtfully.

"Mom, do you remember when I thought you and Baloo should get married?"

Rebecca weakly made to stand up, decided it wasn't worth the effort and buried her face into her hands. She nodded.

"Well, at the time it was because I wanted a dad and Baloo was the closest thing I had to that when I was growing up. It wasn't as if you weren't a great mom, you're the best, but...."

"I understand" Rebecca said tiredly, not really caring where the conversation was going.

"Do you? You've played hard to get since you and Baloo met. And that's really not your fault either since he's played harder to get."

Rebecca looked shocked but Molly ignored it.

"You're not really going to let him go, are you?"

Rebecca's bottom lip twitched. "I-I-I, d-don't have much of a s-say. Not anymore."

"That's where you're wrong mother. I think we need to take a trip abroad."

Rebecca looked up, her daughter must be joking. Why it was absolutely _ridiculous_. She had a business to run, and what kind of respectable person galavants all over the globe, especially in the current situation, especially.....

Then again, when had she _ever_ done things the conventional way? She had dressed up like a gangster's moll, switched places with a pirate, flown a giant iceberg, nearly fallen out of a moving airplane _several_ times, even knocked out men twice her size.

But....

"If I do go, what makes you think you'll be coming with me?" She asked weakly, seeing the triumphant flash in Molly's eyes.

"Because there isn't anyone here to look after me and you'd never forgive yourself if I ran off with some playboy here in Cape Suzette because I was starved for a little adult supervision."

"Molly Cunningham!!"

Molly rolled her eyes. "Really Mom, I love Wildcat, he's a dear but do you really think he's the right guardian for a teenage girl just entering her turbulent years?" She batted her eyes.

"That's dirty pool young lady and you know it!!"

"Come _on_ Mom. They're my family too."

Rebecca wondered at her sanity. "Let me make a few phone calls. And you'd better pack sensibly!!"

Two hours later, Molly was nearly regretting her little pep talk when her and her mother had quabbled over how many suitcases to take and what would be suitable to wear.

But when they boarded the large plane to take them to Lindon, Rebecca grasped Molly's hand tightly and Molly smiled at her mom. Love wasn't always romantic, but it was well worth waiting for.

A fleeting picture of Kit flashed before her and Molly felt that familiar stab of pain, before it released her.

Whatever the consequences of their actions, at least the other half of their small but loving family would know that under no circumstances did abandon each other. Any time, any place.

Eric didn't know how long he'd been walking. He had long since lost count of how many soldiers he'd passed and he really didn't care.

They all looked the same, dirty, exhausted and beaten. And they were the victorious ones.

Eric's jeep had broken down, though he had driven on a flat tire and had used up his seemingly inexhaustive supply of curse words on it.

So, he was on foot.

Over and over again he asked himself why he was doing what he was. He didn't owe anything to that large bear, nor was he truly responsible, regardless of how he sometimes felt.

Eric fingered Kit's compass in one calloused hand. It's surface, though scratched and smudged, was still impossibly bright. It reminded him of Kit.

Eric sighed. That wretched boy. Everything reminded him of Kit. And if he found the boy? What would he do then?

Confess to everyone and hope that with everything else going on they wouldn't notice his lack of character?

Tell him where to go and then leave it at that. Find the body and return it to the family?

That last idea made Eric shiver. No. He'd done that too many times. Bloody hell, he hated it.

He really wasn't the villain here. As more days passed, he realized that no one was. No one. And that scared him.

It was as if all of the destruction and pain was for nothing. Again.

"Hey pops! Outta the way!!" Eric jumped out of his skin as a rough, young voice yelled out.

"Got some wounded here. Found 'em miles back, c'mon gramps."

Eric glared daggers at the bedraggled soldier, who just grinned cheekily back.

"Plenty o' room 'ere, son" Eric said acidly, resisting the urge to 'V' the fellow.

"Plenty of wounded too. Come to think of it, you look like you could use a lift too. You're goin' in the wrong de-rection. War's over, or did you forget?"

"Now you listen-"

Eric was cut off by voices in the back of the tented truck.

"Aw, shut it Charlie!!" "We wanna go home too, save it fer the payin' crowd."

"Don't know about you, but Linber was as close as I wanna get to any Alemanians ever again, so floor it, ya bloody ijit!"

It was that last voice that jolted Eric. He paused for a moment, then spoke up.

"Sure, I could use a lift. Want me to tell you where ta go?"

"Oh, you're hysterical pops. There's a reason why we don't like your types' humor."

Eric grumbled but climbed in. He winced when he heard some joints pop and creak and tried to ignore the looks of sympathy from the battered soldiers lying haphazardly in the back.

"What're you doin' way out here? Not much o' a uniform too. Special assignment?" A very young looking fox with his ear bandaged spoke quietly to Eric.

The raccoon, however, wasn't in the mood for small talk. "Who was it that spoke up earlier? The chap with the accent? Come on now, kip together there, let me through."

Loud groans and guffaws met this statement.

"One wit' the accent he says! Like we all don't have accents o' some kind."

"How're you fer talkin' fancy-pants? Sounds rather, top drawer to me."

More laughter.

Eric didn't heed any of it. His eyes met those of a very pale, weak but cheerful youth. A dingo.

"You mean me, old gent?" The heavy Oceanic accent was softer now, but unmistakable.

"Yes." Eric pulled himself over some bodies, apologizing whenever he stood on something soft, and made himself as comfortable as possible as the truck lurched it's way along.

"You came from the city."

"Sure enough. Not a pretty picture, eh? All's blown to 'ell and no one, nor nothin' to re-build."

"Why were you there?"

The dingo shrugged. "Crashed. Rotten luck, felt as foolish as a new-born joey but can't do anythin'"

Eric suddenly felt very foolish but was spared asking any more vague questions when the dingo eyed him sharply.

"You don' wanna go anywhere near there, mate. Death-trap. Seen too many good lads vanish."

Eric's breath caught. The dingo was looking at his compass.

"Nice trinket there. Yours?"

"A….Friend's."

"Looks familiar, somehow, but me head's been bangered so much can't tell which way is up. Not too bad where I'm comin' from but bad enough here."

"My name's Eric, I'm not used to manners."

"Eh, that's all right. Me name's Robert, born and raised a half a world away. Please ta meet ya."

The two didn't say anything more for awhile, though Robert occasionally winced from the bumpy ride.

"How did you get out?" Eric finally asked.

"I was found. Thembrians, near dead I was. They fished me out and sent me packin'. Not the friendliest o' blokes but I guess I was lucky. They ain't botherin' to send any more out. Too bad too, plenty o' lads there wanting to come home. Why, even this last lad I was jawin' at afore the sky fell. Uslander, bad situation that. Don't think he cottoned on to how much trouble we was all in. Hope he got out, by the time I woke up I weren't nowhere near where I started and covered with a ton o' rubble. Bloody mess."

"Hmm, too bad, sure." Robert continued, seeing that Eric wasn't especially talkative. "Young lad, younger even'n me." The dingo grinned and Eric, despite everything, found himself smiling back.

"Even had a family back at home. Lots do, but Kit sure seemed anxious ta get back to see them."

Eric felt a wave of shock pass through him. "Kit, Kit C-C-Cloudkicker?"

Robert gaped at him. "How in bloody all did you know that?!"

"Not important. Listen to me, I want to know where you last where, the last time you saw Mr. Cloudkicker. It's very important."

"But, 'ere now, wait a minute! Who are you?! You can't think that yer goin' back there? Yer mad, ya can't get in!!"

"So I've heard" Eric said shortly. "We'll see, that's all I'll say."

Robert just looked at him until Eric lost his patience. "I don't have all the time in the world, lad! This is a desperate situation!! That kid's father is here, very close by, looking for him!! I know how to get in there and I will do it!!"

Robert's cheerful, open face closed up. "Think yer immortal, eh? Ya can't go back there, the Thembrians ain't our friends anymore. Sure, think yer tough an' all that, my dad served in the Great War too, an' he saw things that gave him nightmares till he died. Made him drink too much and care too little. He lost mates at Galipolis, plenty o' em. Mainly thanks to yer kind, no offense now."

Eric sighed and ran a hand over his face.

"None taken"

Robert picked at the blanket covering him before throwing one arm up into the air.

"Ah, yer mad! Nutters, all the way, but I'll tell ya. If he's alive, then here's hopin' ya find him."

Eric looked even more determined and the young dingo felt a stirring of respect for the old pilot. "Er, good luck too."

"I'll need it."

Eric shook his hand briefly, thanked him for the information and hopped out of the slow moving truck. He didn't look back at the soldiers calling after him.

Author's Notes;

Yep, it's been nearly three years. I put SOI on a back burner for a long time for several reasons. 1. I was getting ready to go to Graduate school, (which I finished, woohoo!!) 2. I was getting ready to graduate and 3. I really didn't think that the interest existed for me to continue it.

Well, I just wanted to say thank you so very much for everyone who has reviewed, been supportive and kind and kept interested in this fic. It really is my baby and I sometimes have way too much fun working on it. There may or may not be two more chapters coming, it depends on whether or not I can wrap it up. We're getting there. Thank so to everyone, truly. TaleSpin lives on and I'm so happy that a love for history does also. You're all terrific.

Some credit is due. Several concepts and names were invented by Dan Green, and all recognition goes to him. They are used with his permission (thanks!)

Also, if a certain portion of this fic seems familiar, you can find the inspiration for it in the March, 1993 edition of Disney Adventures. The TaleSpin comic there, "The Girl from Spango-Bango" was the very general basis for it. I certainly don't want to plagiarize, or to take credit from the great comic. I only used bits and pieces of it, and a few lines of dialogue, the rest is my own twisted, artistic license. Look it up, folks, it's a fun little story.

Take care and the next segment will be out before Thanksgiving.

-Aly