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Chapter Text

Chapter I - The War Abroad

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Somewhere over Panda-La,
Near the End of the Second Great War
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The Rolls-Royce Merlin engine of Kit Cloudkicker's P-51 Mustang roared as he accelerated, metallic pangs of gunfire snapping against the metal hull of the fighter plane as the young bear tried to evade two Nakajima Ki-84s that chased him down.

He had been cut-off from his column, a bombing run over Panda-La that should have been a breeze but the Pandas weren't messing around today. They had shot down two of the bombers and several other fighter craft during the escort mission and while Kit was lucky; no, skilled enough to down three of them, he had just about exhausted all of his options.

More gunfire as one of the Panda planes soared past him.

"Son of a bitch!" Kit cursed, fighting with the controls of the plane.

The bullets had struck his engine and black smoke billowed out, obscuring his vision. He looked to his instruments -- the plane was pushing over 300 miles per hour, altitude of 20,000 feet over Panda-La.

Where he was in the godforsaken country he had no idea.

"Where's my goddamned support!?" Kit yelled into the radio, "I am being shot to shit here!"

"We are issuing a general retreat," The radio buzzed back. "All fighters return to FRRRZT!"

Static.

"Wonderful," Kit frowned as he ripped off the mic of his radio on his face.

His engine let out a sputtering noise, this wasn't ideal.

Still, Kit had flown worse and made it back to base safely. For 3 years he had been a pilot of the Alliance forces in the campaign, the Second Great War they called it. Kit failed to see how this was so great. It had started when Thembria pushed neighboring borders but even then the Alliance wasn't quick to act -- it took Panda-La joining the war and attacking his home of Cape Suzette for them to marshal the courage to fight.

And fight they did.

Thembria was the first to surrender after the death of their leader, the Thembrian High Marshal. However, Panda-La had their own rules about war and swore to fight until the last man was dead. They attacked without mercy or remorse, any conventions laid down by governments were ignored for the honor of Panda-La.

Nothing in Thembria prepared Kit for how brutal the fighting was in Panda-La, the exotic nation was rife with mountains and humid jungle, islands spread apart, too many places to hide and gain an advantage over the Alliance. Even in the air, the rules of engagement felt different. Deadlier.

"Just hold together, gal." Kit said to his plane as the smoke finally cleared a bit.

He looked over his shoulder, one on his tail. Ahead, the one that shot his engine had swooped around and was coming for another pass.

Kit gripped the flight stick and accelerated, dark brown eyes narrowing on his objective ahead.

"You want to play chicken with me, huh?" 325mph.

The Ki-84s both fired their guns, bullets narrowly missing Kit from behind and in front.

"C'mon, gal, a bit more..." 350mph and another sputter from the engine.

Bullets pelted the Mustang but Kit didn't return fire, he couldn't risk the strain it would put on the mechanics of his plane.

A shattering of glass and a scream from the 22-year-old bear, a round from the oncoming plane had torn into his left shoulder, spattering blood across the cockpit. Even as a graze, the 12.77nn round was enough to do some serious damage.

But Kit kept pressing forward.

375mph.

"C'mon you, bamboo-eating bastards," Kit snarled as the flight stick shook violently in his one hand, his left arm limp and bleeding at his side. "C'MON!"

400mph and Kit pulled up, screaming in pain as he did so.

The Mustang shuddered and tore towards the sky, and an explosion as the two Panda planes collided with one another.

Kit fought with the controls, twisting to the left, sending his plane into a corkscrew as the machine fought with him. He threw his left hand on the stick, he had no strength in the arm but he had to get leverage somehow.

His vision was starting to tunnel, fast...too fast, the speedometer was buried, the engine gasped for air, a flicker of flame erupting from it.

Kit Cloudkicker blacked out.

He awoke to screaming, not from any living creature but the wind rushing past his plane and through the holes in his cockpit canopy. No engine sound, his plane was free-falling. Kit reached for the stick, the hydraulics were at least still working as he wrestled with the Mustang, getting himself out of a spin.

The ground was coming up fast, one of the many islands of Panda-La was down there waiting for a Mustang-sized crater.

There was no pain, Kit had gone into shock. Years of flight school and combat training guided his hands, instincts over reason. Even a plane without an engine wasn't just a brick thrown from a window, he had wings and could glide.

If he could just get the plane to even out.

Kit pulled back on the flight stick, it resisted; he didn't have the strength with one hand. He released it only for a moment, grasping a red scarf around his neck. He lifted his left hand and placed it on the stick before quickly tying it with the scarf.

Both hands were now on it, and Kit grunted as he pulled back once more, teeth nearly grinding to dust as he grimaced.

Finally, there was some give.

He reached to the control panel, flipping switches, trying to get the engine going. Nothing. It wouldn't turn over. He had no choice but to glide himself in, try and find a clearing to land in the middle of enemy territory.

All he could see was jungle.

Something mechanical popped in the back of the plane and the control stick shuddered in his hands; the Mustang dropped suddenly but Kit leveled out again – his plane was falling apart.

“Just stay with me, gal,” Kit muttered, scanning the horizon for somewhere, anywhere to put the Mustang down as his altitude dropped. “Just need you to hang in a little longer.”

The jungle finally gave way and Kit saw rice paddies that spanned for at least a couple miles, and while the flooded fields weren't as smooth as tarmac, they might at least stop any fires Kit's plane might erupt into.

If his fuel and ammunition didn't explode.

Landing gear at this point would have been useless, in fact, Kit quickly realized that landing on the belly of his plane was a smarter idea – instead of catching the landing gear and doing even more damage.

He leveled the plane, increase drag with flaps, trade speed for some height to make his approach smoother. It may have seemed counter-intuitive to a non-pilot, it helped the Mustang to slow down and while the crash might not kill him outright, there was no way of avoiding a hard landing.

Kit looked to the instrument panel of his plane.

A picture of friends; no, no, family was there. Baloo, Rebecca, Molly, and him, all smiling just months before war broke out. Home. He told them all he was going to come back home to them, that all of this would be over and they could be the family Kit always wanted.

He closed his eyes and saw Molly. Molly Cunningham and her yellow fur, tears streaming down her furry cheeks, the 13-year-old girl pleading for him to not leave. Kit promised he would be back, that he would take her for all the ice cream she could eat.

Kit Cloudkicker never broke a promise.

He opened his eyes, gave out a grunt, and then put the plane down in a field as farmers below scrambled out of his path.

He hit hard, the metal crunching, the canopy exploding in a shower of glass shards as Kit brought his untied hand to his face to shield himself. Rice plants were torn from the ground and debris scattered every which way, the left wing catching into a mound and being sheered completely off before mercifully the plane came to a stop hard into a small hill.

Kit blacked out once more.

The screams he heard this time when he regained consciousness were not from his plane but voices in the distance, the Panda language. Kit felt something hot on his face, he wiped at it with his hand, staining his fur with blood from a gash above his right eye. He had no idea just how bad he was hurt but he had to soldier on, had to get out of his plane.

He untied his paw from the control stick and unfastened the canopy with a grunt, luckily it gave way with ease. The safety harness was next to go and then he tried to stand; only to let out a scream and collapse back in his seat.

His right leg was broken, bone jutted out through his pants.

The world spun around him, he felt like he was going to vomit.

A gunshot brought him back into focus.

Kit peered around for the source, spotting two Pandas with rifles charging towards the airplane, taking shots at him as they did so.

They weren't the only ones armed.

He reached to his hip, pulling a .45 pistol from a holster and pulling the slide against his limp left arm to chamber a round. Kit then took aim and fired. Each shot sent a jolt through his body, his side hurt, as though he was being punched with every round fired.

Broken ribs.

The Pandas yelled at him in their language, fired again, bullets ricocheting off the hull of his plane. Kit was thankful they wouldn't catch a whiff if they were shooting for shit and in return, he fired on them once more.

He emptied the clip and found a target, two rounds pumped into the chest of one of the Pandas who screamed, fired in the air, and then fell in the water of the rice paddy.

Kit dropped the magazine of the pistol and fumbled for another.

He was then cracked in the jaw by the butt of the rifle of the remaining Panda.

The Panda screamed at him, pulling on Kit's flight uniform to pull the young man from the wreckage of his plane. Kit tried to fight back but he was too weak, his world was fading again, and his last ounce of strength was focused on something else entirely.

His working arm lashed out, his hand trying to grasp at the picture on the instrument panel of his downed Mustang, fighting with everything he had to grab onto that last piece of home, of his promise.

But the dull thud of a rifle against the back of his skull ended his endeavor and Kit was knocked into unconsciousness.

Kit's promise would have to wait.

Chapter Text

Chapter II – Homecoming

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Cape Suzette,
2 and a Half Years Later
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Kit was home. 

He stood for a moment on the deck of the passenger ship he took into port, looking down at the off-ramp as people moved past him. 

He had been gone for almost 6 years. 

Kit gripped the railing of the ramp with one hand, his rucksack in the other; dressed in military uniform. He closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling the scent of the ocean air, the sounds of bustling busy work on the docks, somewhere a prop engine was fired up. It was all so familiar but seemed like a lifetime ago that he had taken in these sensations and Kit just needed a moment; several, to soak it all in. 

To remember it all. 

Kit stepped forward. 

When he opened his eyes again he was on the bottom of the ramp. Kit looked around, seeing other soldiers reuniting with families, husbands to wives, brothers, sisters, fathers, and sons. Some laughed, more cried, hugs and pats on the back to greetings of “welcome home!” 

No one was there to greet him, Kit Cloudkicker was listed as killed-in-action 2 years ago. Closed casket without a body in it, just his service record and some personal effects he was told. 

Kit was back from the dead. 

He dropped his bag and then removed his wedge cap, wiping tears out of his eyes before suddenly yelling out, 

“I'm home!” Kit jumped into the air, both arms raised, and then quickly fell to his hands and knees, kissing the dock he once stood on; much to the confused looks of those passing by.   

Well, he was almost home. 

Kit grabbed his belongings and made a mad dash. At the other end of the pier were taxis, all waiting for potential fares. Kit placed two fingers into his mouth and then let off a shrill whistle, hailing one of them. 

“Yeah, where to, bub?” The walrus cab driver asked as Kit climbed into the back seat.

“Higher for Hire!” The young man announced as he closed the door. 

They had to enter the main city and skirt around construction to get to Kit's destination and he stared out the window, taking in old sights and new. Six years wasn't that long for the average person but to Kit, it was a lifetime but he took solace in the fact that he could see buildings and landmarks that look even better than his memories. 

“Pilot?” The cab driver asked. 

“I was,” Kit replied. 

“Welcome to Cape Suzette, kid, this used to be the home to the best pilots in the world.”

“What do you mean used to be?” Kit raised his eyebrow as the cabbie looked back at Kit through the rearview mirror. “Cape Suzette is where pilots are born and become legends!”

“Not anymore,” The driver turned right, “I see a lot of you flyboys that served come here after the war, all of you looking to get into the flying business. Sadly, those stories you hear over there about air pirates, daring air freight adventures and the like are all just, well, they're stories now. World's changing. See that?”  

They were now back along the coast, in the industrial end of Cape Suzette, factories, dozens of men working, and massive freighters that dwarfed some of the biggest ships Kit had ever seen. 

“Super freighters,” The cabbie continued. “Able to carry more weight than an entire fleet of airplanes, more reliable too. Yup, those old days are long gone, kid. Heck, I think Higher for Hire is one of the last and probably won't be here much longer, so if you're looking for a job...” 

“I'm not,” Kit frowned, watching cargo containers being loaded onto one of the ships as he whispered. “Just take me home.”

Ten minutes later the cab pulled up to the curb, 

“Just head down there, watch the steps,” The cabbie said before turning to Kit. “And hey, hope I didn't offend you with all that garbage I was talkin', I was a flyboy too once.”

“It's fine,” Kit said as he climbed out of the cab and grabbed his bag. “How much?”

“No charge, kid.” The cabbie smiled, “Thanks for your service over there.” 

The cab left Kit behind and the bear just stood at the top of the stairs leading down to Higher for Hire for a moment. This was it, this was his homecoming – and no one was expecting him. 

For six years he had been overseas fighting in the war, almost half of that spent in a Panda-la jail as a prisoner of war. When he was finally rescued by Alliance forces he was as close to death as a man could be, beaten, malnourished, changed. A couple of months in a VA hospital recovering, he never had the chance to reach out to his family until he was already on a ship back home. 

His hands trembled as he reached into his uniform, bringing forth a pack of Lucky Strike cigarettes and steel, Zippo lighter. He popped a cigarette into his mouth and lit up, trying to calm his nerves. 

How much had they changed? How would they react to seeing a man they all thought was dead; suddenly on their doorstep? 

Kit dropped the cigarette and extinguished it under his boot, taking a deep breath before descending down the stone stairs. 

He spotted the watchtower first, battered red flag flapping in the spring breeze. As he rounded a corner he could then see the warehouse, main office, and living areas of the business – he also two figures walking towards him. 

Weasels in suits and fedoras, chucking among themselves as they approached the bear before pushing roughly past him, 

“Watch where you're walking, kid,” One of them narrowed his eyes at Kit. 

“You bumped into me, pal,” Kit snorted, eyeing up the two men. “So you watch your step, cool?”

The weasel that spoke stepped up to Kit, almost nose to nose with a sneer on his face. 

“What you say to me, kid?”

“Leave em, Smarty,” The other weasel said. “No harm no foul, right?”

Kit stared down the weasel in his face, grinning at the man. 

“Yeah, no foul, right, fella?” Kit said. 

The weasel that stepped to Kit looked the bear over, let out a chuckle, and then slapped a hand on Kit's shoulder,

“No foul,” The weasel said. “Welcome home, soldier boy.”

“Thanks,” Kit replied, brushing the hand of the weasel off his shoulder. 

The weasels stepped back, the one called Smarty adjusted his hat and smiled. 

“Lookin' for work, kid? Won't find it down there but best of luck to ya.” And with that the two weasels turned heel and continued back up the stairs, whispering to each other. 

Kit didn't like them. The way they spoke and carried themselves, criminals. Scum bags. Kit had no use for such types but why were they down at Higher for Hire? What business could those two bozos have with his home? 

The answers to those questions would be found below and so, Kit continued his walk home. 

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Minutes Later
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Baloo von Bruinwald sighed as he washed his hands off in a nearby basin just outside the repair shop of Higher for Hire. 

“Just what I needed,” The grey-furred bear grumbled, picking some splinters out of his knuckles. Baloo grabbed a nearby rag and dried off his hands, staring out into the bay. 

Foreclosure. 

Truth be told, it wasn't the first time he had faced the bank and them wanting more money he could come up with; hell, it had sort of been his modus operandi for damn near 20 years now. The times were changing. The bills were piling up faster than he could pay them off and work was getting scarce, the age of independent air-freight companies was coming to an end. Now it was all done by huge conglomerates, mostly by super freighter ships, companies that were worth millions and were bankrolled by the wealthy elite. 

Baloo barely had enough money to keep the lights on. 

“Making new friends, Papa Bear?” 

And now Baloo was going stark-raving mad on top of it all. 

“Little britches?” Baloo blinked, swallowing a lump in his throat as he turned to see a ghost standing before him. 

But Kit Cloudkicker wasn't a ghost. 

The young bear was now a man, standing there with a bag in his paws and dressed in a military uniform; the same military that told Baloo the boy had been killed overseas.

“Hey,” Kit rubbed the back of his head. 

“Hey,” Baloo blinked, feeling hot tears well up in his eyes. 

He rushed to Kit and pulled him into his arms, his tears now falling unchecked down his furry cheeks and gripping into Kit with all of his strength. 

“I'm home,” Kit hugged the man back. 

Baloo released his hug but kept his hands on Kit's shoulders, just staring at him, mouth agape, heart pounding, mind spinning. 

“How is this...?” Baloo shook his head, “They told us you were dead.”

“Me, dead?” Kit smiled, his own eyes glistening. “C'mon, Papa Bear. You're the one that taught me how to fly – you really think I was going to not come back to show you up?”

“You son of a bitch,” Baloo laughed before pulling Kit back into a hug, both men weeping. “I love you, boy. I thought I lost you.”

“You didn't,” Kit muttered, “I'm here and I am staying here.”

Baloo finally released Kit and stepped back, wiping his eyes on his forearm, 

“You really know how to make an entrance, kid,” The older bear chuckled before he suddenly yelled out, “BECKY! GET OUT HERE! BECKY! KIT'S BACK!” 

“She's going to have kittens,” Kit laughed as he wiped his own tears away. 

“Kittens?” Baloo snorted, “Considering you damn near gave me a heart attack she's going to have lions. BECKY! GET YOUR BUTT OUT HERE!”

“Kit?!” A female voice rang out. 

Kit turned and looked towards the office where Rebecca Cunningham stood; she didn't look a day older. Brunette hair was still styled in a French twist; though it looked a little messier than usual. Purple slacks, white turtleneck – signature style; she was just missing one of her dress jackets. 

“Uh, hey Ms. Cunningham.” Kit smiled at her. 

“It's you.” The female bear brought her right hand to her mouth to cover a gasp as she walked towards him. “It's...really you.” 

“It really is,” Kit nodded. 

Rebecca went into a full sprint, nearly bowling Kit over as she embraced him. 

“Kit, oh my god, Kit!” Her sobbing brought forth more tears from Kit as he held onto her. “Tell me this isn't a dream, please god...”

“It's not,” Kit said as he pressed his face into her shoulder. “You're not dreaming Ms. Cunningham, it's really me, I'm really back.” 

“Oh, Kit,” She didn't dare let go of him, squeezing him tighter just to ensure he really was there. “I knew you couldn't be dead, I just knew it, I would have known. I never gave up even when they told me.” 

“I knew you wouldn't Ms. Cunningham,” Kit said.

“You didn't tell him, did you?” Rebecca finally pulled herself off of Kit and turned to Baloo. 

“Oh, because I woke up today going, gee, Baloo, don't forget to tell Kit when he comes back from the dead!” Baloo rolled his eyes. 

“Wait,” Kit looked between the two. “Tell me what?”

“You can stop calling me Ms. Cunningham, Kit.” She smiled at him, “It's Mrs. von Bruinwald now.”

Kit's jaw nearly hit the ground. 

He looked at Rebecca, to Baloo, back to Rebecca, and then repeated this a few times before Baloo finally stepped over and placed his paw on Kit's shoulder. 

“That's right, Little Britches. Decided to make an honest woman out of Beckers.”

“Rebecca,” She crossed her arms over her chest. 

“Well I'll be a son of a bitch,” Kit cocked a brow. “You two, really? I figured I would come home to find out one of you killed the other.”

“Most days I want to,” Rebecca laughed as she stepped beside Baloo. “But after we found out about you, you know...”

“Me dying?”

“You brought us together, kid.” Baloo squeezed Kit's shoulder and smiled softly. “Plus, who can resist me, am I right?”

“Oh, will you shut up,” Rebecca elbowed Baloo in the side, making the big bear grunt. “Despite everything we've been through, yes, I married the big lug.”

“So how was the honeymoon?” Kit chuckled, 

“Well let me tell you – OOF!” Baloo was cut off as Rebecca elbowed him once more. 

“The honeymoon was just fine!” Rebecca narrowed her eyes at Baloo before turning to Kit. “But let's get inside, get some dinner on the go and talk more. You have a lot of explaining to do, young man. First and foremost how you're standing here. Baloo, take his bag.”

“Yes, dear.” The big bear sighed. 

“Hold on,” Kit stopped them from going up to the living area of Higher for Hire. “Where's Molly?”

Chapter Text

Chapter III – Where the Heart Is

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Cape Suzette,
Pop's Diner
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“Order up, Molly!” The bulldog cook yelled out from the kitchen as he set down two plates of food in the window.

Molly Cunningham let out a sigh as she stepped to the window, picking up the plates in her furry hands,

“Thanks, Pops.” The cream-furred bear chirped, spinning with a flourish, the white apron of her red waitress uniform twirling along with her. “Hopefully these guys, tip!”

18 years old and this wasn't where Molly wanted to be. She had dreams, hopes, aspirations – university. She hoped to do something with her life, maybe study archaeology, travel to distant places, explore the ruins of ancient, forgotten cultures, discover lost civilizations and the people that lived therein.

Explore a new frontier.

Adventure. Excitement.

But then the depression hit just before the Second Great War, putting the kibosh on any future savings, her mother tried as best as she could along with her step-dad but the bills kept piling on, the business her mother set out to make for herself began to flounder.

Then war.

“Here you go, gentlemen,” Molly said with a smile as she set the plates down at a table of two burly-looking construction workers. “More coffee?”

Things were rough for everyone.

Mothers lost sons, and daughters, wives lost husbands, and children suddenly without parents. The brave men and women of the Alliance went off the fight the evil empires of Thembria and then Panda-la. Years of brutal war drained nations, and while the Alliance ended up winning in the end, the world had been changed.

Molly had been changed.

“Hey, Molly!” Another waitress called out. “Some guy is here to see you!”

So many people lost yet Molly couldn't give a damn about any of them; except for one. The only person she cared about more than almost anyone in the world. She had such fanciful dreams until the day a man from the air-force arrived at their home, delivering the news: Kit Cloudkicker had been killed in action.

Her dreams were shattered.

With debt as tall as the cliffs that surrounded Cape Suzette, with the man she loved; even if she never did tell him – was dead, and so was any hope of a future where she followed her dreams.

“A guy?” Molly snorted as she went to the waitress station to fetch another coffee for her table. “What's he look like?”

“A firecracker,” Came a voice that Molly instantly recognized.

She froze in spot, her blue eyes went wide, and cold sweat beaded on the back of her neck. Molly couldn't turn around, surely she had just been hearing things? It wasn't the first time she had jumped at ghosts; it took her months to even come close to coming to grips with Kit's death, months of thinking she spotted him in a crowd, or on a bus.

Molly closed her eyes, remembering the moment Kit left on the boat from the docks, he in his pressed uniform, off to fight for God and country. She begged him to stay, and wept in his arms. She should have told him then but she was afraid, afraid that saying those three words would be a curse that would keep him from coming back to her as so many others hadn't returned.

But she was only a kid then. He would not have accepted those words, even if she meant every syllable. Months passed and she knew it was true, knew how she felt, the joy that was sparked in her heart when he wrote home from the front. Her love for him only grew ignited as she started to grow into a woman.

Then he died.

Molly turned around, holding the coffee pot and a cup in her paws, eyes closed for as long as she could stand it – she dreaded opening them, knowing full well it would be just someone she went to school with, or maybe another bill collector coming to her place of work instead of Higher for Hire since her name was on a few of the loans her and her mother had to take out.

All she had to do was look, get it over with – go back to living her life as normal.

Molly Cunningham opened her eyes and saw Kit Cloudkicker standing in front of her, a smile on his handsome features as he said,

“Hey, Danger Woman.”

“Hey,” She swallowed a lump in her throat, the cup in her hand rattling in the saucer it was placed on, “Would you like a coffee?”

Molly Cunningham fainted.

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A Short Time Later
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Kit drove the Higher for Hire transport truck through downtown Cape Suzette, taking him and Molly back home. She hadn't said a word since they got in the truck, several blocks of silence that Kit tried to break with small talk.

“So,” He cleared his throat, shifting the truck into gear from a stop light. “The city sure had changed.”

“Jerk!” Molly suddenly shouted, slamming a fist into his right shoulder.

“Molly!” Kit yelled, nearly losing grip on the wheel as the truck turned into oncoming traffic. A blare from the horn of an oncoming vehicle sounded as Kit pulled the truck back into the right lane, only to be punched again by Molly's small fist.

“I thought you were dead!”

“Sorry to disappoint you?” Kit snarled in return, keeping the vehicle in the correct lane. “What's gotten into you?!”

“Gotten into me!?” Molly shouted, “ME!? I mourned you, Kit! We all did! For years! Now here you are, waltzing into town like nothing ever happened! No phone call, no telegram, no letter...”

“Well if you would just let me explain...”

“Explain!?” Molly huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “Flippin' flapjacks, Kit!”

“Maybe try some cuss words?”

“Okay then!” The female bear glared daggers at the young man, “Asshole!”

“I was in a Panda-la prison!” Kit exclaimed, “I barely made it out of there alive!”

“But you're not alive,” Molly slouched in the passenger seat sighing, “There was a funeral, mom still has the flag they gave us.”

“I am alive,” Kit peered at her. “And I'm home, Molly.”

“For how long?” Molly didn't look at him, instead, she focused her gaze out of the passenger window as the sun began to set on Cape Suzette.

“Forever,” Kit replied. “I'm not leaving again.”

Kit took his eyes off the road for a moment to look at Molly.

She had changed so much.

He wanted to reach out to her, hold her in his arms. Molly Cunningham, his one true, childhood friend. They shared everything, adventures; both imaginative and real, laughter when things were good, tears when not so good. They argued like siblings but always made up like best friends.

More than friends, she was family, thicker than blood. Molly was the only sister he ever had.

But, she was no longer the little kid carrying around a filthy doll and raving about her favorite radio show, Danger Woman. Molly's golden hair flowed down over her shoulders, and though she was in a waitress's uniform, her curves were on full display; fully grown in every way a man would ever desire – beautiful, elegant, determined. The streetlights that they passed illuminated her brilliant eyes, as blue as the ocean and as turbulent, he could see the time they spent away from one another had not only aged her physically but mentally as well.

“I'm sorry,” He said to her, focusing once more on the road ahead.

“I'm sorry too,” Molly said in return. “I'm just, it's a lot to take in. What happened to you, Kit? Prison?”

“It's a long story,” He replied.

“Well, you said you're not leaving,” Molly turned in his direction with a soft smile. “So you have all the time in the world to tell me about it.”

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Later that Night,
Higher for Hire
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Pot roast for dinner followed by homemade cake and Frosty Pep ice cream for dessert, a family meal where Kit, Baloo, Rebecca, and Molly sat around the table, Kit regaling them with stories from the war, mostly anecdotes with little detail of the horrors he had faced.

Kit just wanted a piece of normalcy.

“So the dumb son of a bitch,” Baloo was talking about Wildcat, the former mechanic at Higher for Hire. “He's laying in the ambulance, third-degree burns, all hopped on morphine and he looks me dead in the eyes and says, 'Well, where else was I going to keep those oily rags?' Can you even imagine?!”

“Dear, lord,” Kit tried not to laugh. “So he blew himself up?”

“And the storage shed,” Rebecca nodded as she returned with a tea in hand. “I had no choice but to let him go, not like we could keep paying him anyhow.”

“He does odd jobs around town now,” Baloo said as he reached for a third slice of cake.

“Baloo!” Rebecca scolded the older bear, slapping his hand. “The doctor said to cut down on the sweets!”

“Oh, what does he even know?” Baloo rolled his eyes. “You can take my sweets over my dead body.”

“More like over your cut-off feet when you get diabetes,” Rebecca huffed.

As the two bickered as many a married couple was wont to do, Kit turned his attention to Molly. She had been quiet most of the dinner, barely acknowledging the others around her. Kit knew it must have been a shock to her, hell, this whole day felt like a half-remembered dream to him as well. A whirlwind of emotions, laughs, and tears.

He wouldn't have changed anything.

However, he wished Molly would say something.

“I have to work in the morning,” Just not that.

Molly had stood up from the table, pushing in the chair.

“Oh, honey,” Rebecca frowned. “Kit just got home, why not call in tomorrow? I am sure Pops will understand.”

“Yeah, Molly,” Baloo said as he took a forkful of the cake he managed to pry from his wife. “I was gonna take Kit over the Louie's, you haven't been over there in months.”

“Sorry, Baloo,” Molly said as she turned to leave. “But unlike you, I don't have the time to lay about. We have bills to pay.”

“Molly Cunningham!” Rebecca frowned at her daughter. “What's got into you? Kit is literally back from the dead and home and all you can do is give attitude?”

“It's fine,” Kit protested, “It's been a long day, we'll catch up later, right Molly?”

Molly didn't reply, instead, the bear just left the room.

“Molly!” Rebecca called after her, giving chase to her daughter, leaving Baloo and Kit to themselves.

“She never got over you,” Baloo said after a few long moments of awkward silence.

“Got over me?” Kit raised an eyebrow.

“Same Little Britches, head in the clouds.” The older bear chuckled.

“Am I missing out on something, here?” Kit looked around confused.

“She loved you, boy.” Baloo sat down his now empty plate, leaning back and rubbing his belly. “I mean, we all do; but not like her.”

“We were kids.”

“Were being the word,” Baloo chuckled once more, plucking a toothpick from his shirt pocket. “That girl loves you, and I don't mean in a sisterly way.”

“She has a funny way of showing it,” Kit snorted.

“Women are a mystery, Kit,” Baloo picked at his teeth. “Hell, you were mighty surprised to find out Beckers and I tied the knot.”

“Understatement of the year there, Papa Bear.”

“Always at odds, always at each other's throats, but you know what? That's just how love works sometimes, it will come out of something you don't expect and bite you in the ass.”

“So that's what you and her get up to, huh?”

“If I told you about that, Little Britches,” Baloo smirked. “You might lose some respect for me.”

“Okay, okay,” Kit laughed. “I'll talk to her later, see if we can, you know, work through things. I get it, it's been an emotional time, but I think we have a bigger issue at hand.”

“Oh yeah, and what's that?”

“Who were the weasels I saw on the way down here, Baloo?”

“Ah, yes, Shere Khan's cronies.” Baloo flicked his toothpick onto his plate. “The captain of industry himself has made quite the profit off the war, you know; supplying the Alliance with weapons, tanks, planes – hell, rumor has it he was on the board of eggheads who helped develop the bombs dropped on Panda-la that ended the war.”

Kit knew exactly what Baloo was alluding to.

The world had indeed changed, war has a way of advancing things despite the inherent death it caused. Breakthroughs in not just military weaponry but science, medicine, a new quality of life, and a golden age of industrial revolution was upon them.

But with that was the opposite end of the spectrum, science had done what many thought was impossible – split the atom, bringing in a new frontier, the Atomic Age. As soon as the Alliance dropped two atomic bombs on Panda-la the war was over, and 200,000 people had died in a flash of blinding light made by men of science.

“So why were they here?” Kit asked Baloo.

“You saw those super freighters out on the docks, right?” Baloo crossed his legs at the ankles as he leaned back further in his chair. “All owned by Shere Khan industries, and so is most of the surrounding areas along the coast.”

“Except for Higher for Hire, I am guessing?”

“Top marks, Little Britches,” Baloo smiled. “Leave it to Becky and her shrewd business practices, she had us on a long-term lease, pretty cheap too – but that lease ran out two months ago. We're the last holdout of the air freight legend, boy.”

“So what are we looking at?”

“Fifty,” Baloo said.

“Fifty a month ain't bad,” Kit smiled, “My G.I. Bill can cover some of that.”

“Fifty grand,” Baloo corrected him. “By the end of the month.”

“Shit,” Kit frowned.

“So now and then he sends his cronies to offer a deal, pay us off, get us out of debt.”

“And I bet you told them where they could shove it, huh?”

“Sideways,” Baloo winked before taking on a more serious expression, his voice filled with sadness that Kit had never heard before. “This is my home, Kit. Our home. I'll be damned if I let that jackal take it from us; there's too many memories.”

“Memories don't pay the rent,” Came Rebecca's voice, she was standing at the entrance of the kitchen, having listened into the conversation. “We have started looking at places in the city, there are a few apartments that have gone up recently.”

“I don't want to live in any blasted apartment,” Baloo huffed. “Where am I supposed to park the Sea Duck?”

“In the junkyard where it belongs,” Rebecca rolled her eyes. “But let's not worry about that now, okay? Kit's home, this is supposed to be a celebration.”

“How's Molly?” Kit asked.

“She's,” Rebecca bit her bottom lip in frustration. “Coping. She'll be okay, just give her time. What about you, Kit?”

“I'm tired, Miss Cunnin...” He stopped himself and smiled, “Uhh, Mrs. von Bruinwald.”

“Rebecca,” She chuckled. “Gosh, this is so awkward.”

“You're telling me,” Baloo said. “Now we have to be extra quiet when we go to bed.”

“Baloo!” Rebecca smacked the chuckling, older bear upside the head.

“What?!” He shot back, “He ain't a kid anymore. He knows what married couples get up to.”

“And what is that exactly is that?” Rebecca hissed, “You falling asleep exactly 30 seconds after climbing into bed and snoring so loud it shakes the floorboards?”

“Keep that up,” Baloo snorted, “And I won't give you a...”

“And on that note,” Kit stood up, cutting Baloo off from saying something that would forever be burned into his brain, “I think I should get some kip. Is there a blanket I can use for the couch?”

“The couch?!” Rebecca blinked. “Oh, Kit, my adorable little man.”

“What?” Kit cocked his head to the side.

“Couch my furry ass, Little Britches,” Baloo laughed. “Your old room is just the way you left it, mostly because Beckster wouldn't let me turn it into a smoking lounge.”

=========================================
Much Later
=========================================

“Kit, are you decent?” Rebecca knocked at Kit's bedroom door, dressed in a blue, cotton nightgown, her hair down as she was ready for bed.

She just wanted to check on him, not just for his benefit but hers – she wanted to make sure he was real and not just some apparition that vanished behind closed doors. She knew the thought was crazy but seeing as how the young man had been declared dead for years now?

It only made sense.

“Yeah, come in,” His voice rang out causing Rebecca to let out a sigh of relief.

“Just seeing if you need anything,” She opened the door, eyes adjusting to the darkness.

His bed was empty.

“Down here,” Kit said as he sat up from his laying position on the floor next to his bed.

“Kit...?”

“Bed's too soft,” Kit rubbed the back of his head. “I spent almost three years laying on a stone floor in a prison, it just felt...”

“Oh, Kit,” Rebecca kneeled down before the young man, placing his paw on one of his bare shoulders. Kit was topless, a blanket covering him below the waist. “If you want you can go on the couch if that'll be easier on you.”

“It's fine, Rebecca.” He smiled at her. “That still sounds so weird.”

“You're not the one who had to learn how to write Bruinwald on invoices.”

“I don't even think Baloo knows how to spell it.”

They shared a laugh.

Rebecca squeezed his shoulder, and as her eyes further adjusted, she started to see the scars on Kitt's body, a patchwork of gnarled skin where fur should have been on his shoulder, reminders of that war the boy was thrust into.

“When you were in prison,” Rebecca looked into Kit's brown eyes. “Did they hurt you?”

“Yeah,” Kit said quietly, “A lot.”

“I'm sorry.”

“It's not your fault,” Kit smiled at her. “But I made it. No matter how bad things got, I kept pushing on.”

“I couldn't imagine,” Rebecca said. “I don't think I would have that kind of strength.”

“You gave me that strength,” Kit leaned over, grabbing the pants to his military uniform, rummaging through pockets. “You, Baloo, Molly, you're why I kept fighting, why I stayed alive.”

Kit handed her a tattered picture. A picture she remembered very vividly. It was all four of them, on the floating dock next to the Sea Duck.

“When I went down,” Kit explained. “Before they grabbed me, I made sure to take this with me. I looked at it every day. As soon as I woke up and right before I went to sleep; knowing you were out there, knowing you never would give up on me, so I swore never to give up either.”

“Oh, Kit,” Rebecca dropped the picture and crashed into the young man with a hug, holding him close as she cried. “I told them when they came and told us, I told them there was no way you were dead. That you were too damned stubborn.”

Kit could feel her tears on his shoulder, and he wrapped his arms around her in return.

“I'm sorry I put you through that,” He said, fighting back his own tears. “So goddamn sorry.”

“Don't be,” Rebecca shook, trying to catch a breath as she rubbed his back. “You're home now, my son is home.”

Son.

He never knew his parents. He was an orphan. A forgotten child until first Baloo, then Rebecca, and Molly came into his life. He had found his home, his family.

And as he held his mother close he openly cried tears of joy.

Chapter Text

Chapter IV – Clear Skies

=========================================
Cape Suzette,
Higher for Hire
=========================================

Kit missed the smell of the ocean drifting in through his bedroom morning as sunlight danced over his walls.

It was also the best sleep he had in years.

Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, Kit folded up the blankets on the floor and then stretched before breaking into a series of exercises, working through the pain of old war injuries as he did push-ups; and by the time he had hit fifty of them – sweat poured down his brow. Satisfied and now fully awake, the bear dressed in civilian clothing.

Brown trousers, a white undershirt along with a pin-striped long-sleeve, button-up. He looked at himself in a mirror on his dresser, smiling at himself; flicking his fingers through his hair.

“Mothers, lock up your daughters,” He chuckled before giving the mirror a wink and a gun.

Only one more matter to take care of, he had to take a morning piss.

Pulling on a pair of combat boots, the bear hopped on one foot for a moment, gained his balance, and left his room, whistling a tune to himself as he did so.

Finding the bathroom door, Kit opened it, stepped inside, and was greeted by Molly.

Naked, save for a towel around her slender shoulders; her fur still wet from a recent shower and steam filling the small room.

Kit blinked a few times.

Molly's eyes grew wide.

The door closed in Kit's wake.

“Get out!” Molly shrieked at the young man, grabbing the towel and quickly wrapping it around her body.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Kit cursed as he spun around. “Sorry!”

“Get out of here!” Molly grabbed a nearby bottle of shampoo, chucking it at Kit's head, narrowly missing.

“I'm trying!” Kit pushed on the door and fumbled with the handle. “It's not opening!”

“Didn't they teach you how to knock in the army?!”

“Air Force!” Kit corrected her as he twisted the doorknob so hard that it came off in his paw.

Kit brought the knob up and cocked his head to the side, examining the object.

“Huh.”

“Get the fuck out!” Molly yelled as another bottle crashed into the nearby wall.

“Will you calm down?!” Kit growled as he tried to put the knob back in place.

For his troubles, a bar of soap hit him between the shoulder blades.

“Oh to hell with it!” Kit snarled as he shoulder-checked the door with all of his weight, causing the wood to splinter and the door to come off its hinges, strike plate clattering across the floor as Kit's body was flung out into the hallway. “Ow.”

“You okay down there, champ?” Baloo asked, sipping on a coffee as he stood over the crumpled-up Kit. “Been meaning to get that door fixed.”

“Thanks for the warning,” Kit grumbled, picking himself up.

Molly stormed out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around her body and roughly pushing past Kit before going into her own room, slamming the door behind her.

“By the way,” Baloo took another sip of his coffee. “Pull, not push.”

“I knew that,” Kit ran his hands over his trousers, dusting himself off.

=========================================
A Short While Later
=========================================

“Are you sure it still flies?” Kit asked as he and Baloo stood on the dock outside of Higher for Hire, Kit looking Baloo's plane over.

The Sea Duck had seen better days.

The modified Conwing L-16's yellow and red paint was faded, covered in patches of rust, holes patched up roughly with filler that had not even been primed and black soot covered the twin, Superflight 100 engines.

“Of course, she'll fly!” Baloo laughed as he reached for the cockpit door. “As steady and true as the north star!”

The door shrieked in protest, metal against metal as Baloo pulled it open.

“Maybe we should take the ferry?” Kit frowned.

“Oh, will you just shut up and get in,” Baloo laughed. “Er, watch out for that hole there.”

“I will literally pay the ferry fare,” Kit said as he stepped over a hole in the floor.

Upon entering the plane, Kit was hit with a wave of nostalgia. Other than the years of wear and tear, not much had changed. Netting in the cargo hold, leather seats cracked, the small bathroom with a sign over the door that read “The Woods” and taped to the control panel, a picture of Kit, Baloo, Molly, and Rebecca, a copy of the one Kit had.

It smelled like a barn mixed with a garage, an all too familiar scent that filled Kit's nostrils, reminding him of simpler times, before war took over the world; when life was filled with adventure and excitement. Sure, the stakes were still high back then but that was a different time.

When Kit was still a kid and ruled the skies along with Baloo, fighting off air pirates, going to exotic lands, and meeting friends and foes alike.

And the Sea Duck was a part of their family.

“Been a bit, huh?” Baloo smiled as he rested a hand on Kit's shoulder.

“Yeah, I'll say,” Kit muttered as he ran a paw over one of the seats.

“But wait, I got something else,” Baloo chuckled as he went to the back of the plane, slamming a furry fist on an overhead compartment, causing the door to fall open with a thud. “Here, catch.”

A glint of metal, Kit reached out and snagged the tossed object with his right paw.

His old airfoil.

Kit flipped the metallic object over, and with a flick of the wrist it opened up.

“You kept this?” Kit raised an eyebrow.

“Well of course I did,” Baloo smirked as he climbed into the cockpit, settling down in the pilot's seat. “Still got the winch back there too if you feel like taking a glide.”

“Thanks but no thanks,” Kit said as he folded the airfoil. “I prefer being inside planes now.”

“Fair enough,” Baloo chuckled as he began flipping switches on the control panel of the Sea Duck. “So why don't you get up here and do your job, navigator?”

“Yes, sir.” Kit set the airfoil down and joined Baloo in the cockpit, sliding into the other seat. “I suppose you have trouble reading maps with your failing eyesight, old man.”

“Laugh it up, Little Britches,” Baloo rolled his eyes. “Now let's hit the skies!”

With much pomp and circumstance, Baloo rubbed his paws together, flicked a few more switches, and then hit the starter.

The Sea Duck groaned, there was a clunking sound somewhere from the back, a sputter from the engines, and then nothing.

“True as the North Star,” Kit snickered, “Steady too, can barely feel any turbulence at this speed.”

Baloo narrowed his eyes at Kit before balling his left paw into a fist and then unceremoniously slamming it on the instrument panel above his head.

The Superflight engines groaned, sputtered again, and then suddenly roared to life.

“Still got it,” Baloo winked at Kit.

=========================================
In the Air
=========================================

Despite outward; and a few inner appearances, the Sea Duck soared through the air, taking to the clouds above the ocean on a calm and sunny day. The flight was barely 45 minutes to get to Louie's but it gave Baloo and Kit plenty of time to chat, recounting previous adventures and daring exploits.

“Remember when we fooled Beckers into thinking Martians were coming?” Baloo chuckled.

“Remember?” Kit snorted, “I actually served with Colonel, sorry, Private Grogg on the Mickey Mouse.”

“I almost forgot he got demoted because of us,” Baloo let out a hearty laugh. “Wait, Mickey Mouse? They named a base after the actor?”

“Aircraft carrier,” Kit corrected the older bear. “Fortunately he didn't remember me.”

“So what did become of old Groggy?” Baloo asked.

“He actually got hit by a landing plane and died.”

“Really?”

“Yup,” Kit replied. “Literally knocked him out of his boots too, never found his body but his boots were on the flight deck.”

Baloo blinked at Kit, and then the two of them broke out in laughter.

“Couldn't have happened to a nicer guy,” Baloo howled.

“Where do you think I got these boots?” Kit laughed, kicking his feet up on the control panel.

“You know what they say about a guy with small feet,” Baloo looked at the boots and then at Kit with a smirk.

“I'll ask Rebecca,” Kit shot back.

“Har-dee-har-har, wiseass.” Baloo then shifted the pilot stick in Kit's direction. “I gotta hit The Woods.”

“W-wait,” Kit protested, moving his feet and clutching at the controls. “I shouldn't be...”

“Shouldn't what?” Baloo stood up, hunching over and climbing past Kit. “You've been flying the Duck before your balls dropped.”

“Baloo,” Kit's spine went rigid, sweat forming on the nape of his neck. “I haven't flown since...you know.”

“It'll be fine, a crowbar can pilot this thing,” Baloo said as he went to the lavatory, “Pushing cloth here, kid. I'll only be a minute. Just keep 'er steady.”

“Steady, right,” Kit mumbled as Baloo left the cockpit.

Kit took a deep breath and checked over the instrument panel, noting his altitude, speed, and direction. The sky was blue, the sun shining, barely a headwind – smooth sailing.

But Kit could feel the vibrations of the Sea Duck through the control stick, subtle hints to keep him level with the horizon, a shudder here, a clunk there. It wasn't unusual for an aircraft, especially one as advanced in age as the Sea Duck.

Yet Kit was sweating.

A bump from an air current and Kit gripped the controls harder, a throbbing started in the back of his head. He hadn't flown since he went down over Panda-la, in fact, it was almost three years before he even stepped aboard a plane again; and that was on his flight back to base after being rescued from a Panda-la prison by the Alliance.

His breath caught in his throat, did the pressure suddenly change? Another shudder from the controls and Kit looked out the window, trying to catch sight of the starboard engine. Was that smoke?

He was trembling, he had to readjust his grip on the controls as sweat made his paws slick. Then, a warning light flashed on the panel.

What was that for again?

Kit reached out, looking for the correct switch to flick....for whatever it was.

Why couldn't he remember?

He started to panic, his breath now coming in quick gasps, his vision blurring as he scanned the console in front of him.

Another shudder from the stick, this time far more violent as the Sea Duck lurched to port. Kit grasped the control stick with both paws, fighting the plane, checking the altimeter but the numbers all seemed to blur together, was it five hundred...or thousand?

Land.

Yes, land, that was probably the best option right now; set the Sea Duck down. Kit reached for the switch to the landing gear.

Wait, they were above water. He wouldn't need that, right? The Duck could land on water. Well, maybe, just in case...

“Kit!” Baloo's voice came from somewhere distant, possibly he was directing Kit on land?

No, he was right there, the large bear snatching the controls from Kit and righting the Sea Duck, keeping the plane from crashing nose-first into the ocean.

“Just breathe, kid,” Baloo said as he took control of the plane and leveled off. “Deep breaths, breathe, Kit.”

“I'm fine, I'm fine,” Kit gasped as he sprang out of his seat and walked on unsteady legs towards the back of the plane. “Just, need to drink something,”

“You almost put us in the drink,” Baloo grumbled. “Jesus, kid, you sure you're okay?”

“I said I'm fine,” Kit hissed as he dug through a nearby storage bin, finding a bottle of soda. “Just a bit of rust is all.”

“Bullshit,” Baloo looked over his shoulder at the younger bear.

Kit popped the top off the bottle with a bottle opener, quickly taking a long swig of the warm beverage. There was no fooling Baloo, the older bear had seen it all and Kit felt foolish for even trying.

“Please don't ask me to do that again,” Kit sighed. “I'm not ready yet.”

“I'm sorry, Kit,” Baloo said from the cockpit. “I wasn't thinking. Thought it would help ya know? Like falling off a bike.”

“Except from five-thousand feet, huh?”

“You'll get used to it again,” Baloo said as he flicked a few switches on the console. “But for now, I'll do the flying, you do the navigating. Deal?”

“Deal,” Kit replied, taking another sip of soda as his paws stopped shaking.

“That soda's five years old by the way.”

Kit spat out the mouthful before he could swallow,

“What the hell, Baloo?!” Kit frowned, placing the bottle back in the storage compartment.

“Don't worry, Little Britches,” Baloo chuckled. “Because we're about to have all the drinks we can handle, look.”

Kit stepped back into the cockpit, falling into his seat before leaning over to look out of the front window and what he saw below made him smile ear-to-ear.

Nestled against the trunk of a giant banyan tree on a small island below, surrounded by boats and other planes, sat the popular island rest stop and fuel station called Louie's Place where Kit spent much of his childhood with Baloo. Over the course of a few years, the establishment had become famous among pilots, travelers, and partygoers from Cape Suzette and nearby regions for its delicious fruit drinks, parties, and its energetic manager and host, Louie himself.

It was a home away from home. Birthday parties, scheming up new plots to fool Rebecca so Baloo could get time off, Kit's going away celebration, hell, Kit had lost his virginity that night to a server in the coat room.

Louie's was the last stop to anywhere of importance and the first step to many adventures Kit had been on with his family.

“I'll radio ahead and have Della get a couple of cold ones ready,” Baloo grabbed the CB.

“Wait,” Kit blinked, looking to Baloo. “Did you just say, Della?”

“Yeah,” Baloo looked at Kit, puzzled by his curious expression. “Louie passed last year, his place was bought by her.”

“What's her last name?”

“Della Duck,” Baloo replied, “Why, you know her? I mean, she did serve the same time as you, a pilot too.”

“Yeah, I know her,” Kit slumped in his seat. “Whatever happens next, just believe me when I tell you that the stories aren't exactly true.”

Chapter Text

Chapter V - Looking Back

=========================================
The Thembrian Front,
3 Years Earlier, Thanksgiving Day
=========================================

The thunderstorm raged on as Kit Cloudkicker and Della Duck flew their P-51 Mustangs over the dark and tumultuous ocean. The wind whipped at their planes, and the rain pounded against their windshields like a thousand tiny fists.

Kit could feel the tension in his shoulders as he battled to keep his plane steady in the raging storm. The lightning flashes were so bright they made him momentarily blind, and the deafening booms of thunder made him feel like his eardrums were going to burst.

He and Della had just completed a mission over enemy territory, and now they were racing back to the Alliance Mickey Mouse aircraft carrier. They had to land their planes safely on the small deck in the middle of the ocean in the midst of this storm.

The waves were monstrous, churning up the water and creating a wall of sound that drowned out the roar of the engines. Kit and Della's planes bucked and shook as they flew through the storm, their wings creaking ominously.

Kit could barely see Della's plane through the sheets of rain and spray that lashed at his windshield. He knew they had to stay close together to make it back to the carrier safely.

Suddenly, there was a blinding flash of lightning, followed by an ear-splitting crack of thunder. Kit saw Della's plane jolt and shudder in the sky ahead of him. He felt a pang of fear in his chest. Was she alright?

He radioed her, his voice shaky with anxiety. "Della, are you okay?"

"What, you worried about me, Skyprancer?" She responded, her voice strained. "That's sweet and everything but I told you before, not interested."

"Write it in your diary, Della," Kit shot back, rolling his eyes. "And will you stop calling me that?"

"You worry more about getting your ass down in one piece,"

"There you go," Kit chuckled, "Talking about my ass again. See you on deck, Ducky."

The levity was a mask and Kit knew it. Both their planes had taken fire during the mission deep into Thembria and the storm wasn't making matters any better. All it took was one bolt of lightning and they were done; the cost of flying tin cans in the open air. Kit felt the wind batter him from all sides, the stick fighting his every command like a petulant child. He could see the aircraft carrier in the distance, its lights shining like beacons through the darkness.

"Tower, this is Kit Cloudkicker, requesting landing."

After some static and a long pause, the radio operator on the aircraft carrier replied, "Welcome back, pilot, this is Tower. We read you loud and clear. You are cleared to land. Be advised, the deck is slippery due to the rain and we're being battered all over the place down here. Proceed with caution."

"Yeah, tell me about it," Kit grumbled.

Kit took a deep breath and gripped the controls tightly, preparing for the landing. The rain continued to pound at his plane, making it difficult to see, and the wind assaulted the metal so violently it creaked and groaned.

He had to keep his eyes focused on the carrier's landing strip, which looked tiny from this altitude. The carrier was moving with the waves, making it harder to judge his approach, not helped by flashes of lightning all around him.

Kit's heart raced as he approached the carrier. He had to land perfectly, or risk crashing and burning. He tried to ignore the juddering through his plane and as he got closer, Kit could see the crew waving signal lights, directing him to the right path. He adjusted his plane's speed and altitude, ready to touch down on the wet, slippery deck.

With a sudden jerk, Kit hit the landing strip, the plane bouncing and sliding as it skidded across the deck. He pushed the brakes, trying to slow the plane down, but the deck was too slick. He could hear the screeching of the tires as the plane continued to slide toward the end of the deck.

"Come on, baby, come on," Kit muttered under his breath as he wrestled with the controls.

Finally, the plane slowed down enough for Kit to bring it to a complete stop. He breathed a sigh of relief, his heart pounding in his chest. He had made it back alive, and his damaged plane had landed safely.

The crew rushed to secure the plane, guiding Kit out of the cockpit and helping him to the deck. As he stepped out of the plane, he was hit with a wave of exhaustion, pain, and relief all at once. He tore off his leather flight helmet and goggles, regretting the decision immediately as rain soaked his fur.

He stepped away from his plane and tried to peer through the darkness to find Della's plane, looking for her beacon lights.

She was coming in.

Kit watched with bated breath as Della's plane approached the carrier, the storm raging on around them. The wind buffeted her plane, and he could tell she was struggling to keep it steady. The landing gear lowered, and the plane rocked from side to side as Della fought to keep control.

"Come on, Della," Kit whispered, his paws clenched tightly together.

But then, disaster struck. A sudden gust of wind caught the plane, and Della lost control. Her P-51 was thrown violently to one side by the flurry. One of the wings slammed into the carrier's deck, ripping it off and sending metal debris flying in all directions. Kit shielded his eyes with his arm, gritting his teeth in frustration and despair.

The plane flipped upside down and crashed onto the deck, sparks flying everywhere as metal scraped against metal. Kit could hear the deafening sound of tearing metal and cracking wood as the plane plowed through a crewman who was trying to get out of the way. The impact sent the crewman flying like a ragdoll off the side of the ship, his screams muffled by the sound of the storm.

"Della!" As the plane skidded across the deck, it burst into flames, engulfing the wreckage in a massive inferno. Kit could see Della's body being tossed around inside the cockpit, he could feel the heat from the flames even from his vantage point, and the acrid smell of burning fuel and metal filled his nostrils.

No hesitation, Kit ran to a nearby emergency box and tore it open, grabbing a fire ax before he sprinted towards the wreckage on the deck. As he got closer, he could see that the plane was completely destroyed. The wings were ripped off, and the fuselage was bent and twisted out of shape. The cockpit was smashed in, with the metal bent and crumpled around Della's legs.

Kit took a deep breath and swung the fire ax with all his might, smashing through the side of the cockpit. He reached inside, grabbing Della's arms and pulling her towards him. But her leg was caught, trapped under a twisted metal beam.

"What the hell you doing, Skyprancer?" Della coughed, blood dribbling from her bill. "Get outta here, it's going to explode!"

"Not without you!" Kit frowned as he examined the inside of the cockpit, trying to figure out what had Della's left leg pinned.

Kit looked closer and saw that a sharp piece of metal had sliced through the cockpit's frame and wedged itself into Della's leg. It was jagged and twisted, blood oozing from the wound. The metal was too thick to cut through with the fire ax, and it was too heavy to lift on his own.

"It's gone right through," Kit said of her leg, trying to keep the panic from his voice.

Della shook her head weakly. "Leave me, Kit."

"To hell with that!" Kit snarled as he turned away to yell, "Someone get a goddamned torch on the deck now!"

Della grabbed Kit's flight suit and shook him. "There ain't no time!"

"I need a fucking torch!" Kit screamed again before he looked back down at Della.

The duck was a mess, blood marred her once-white feathers, and one of her eyes was now a deep red. "Kit, you need to go." She pleaded with him.

Kit ducked his head into the cockpit again, examining just how bad it all was.

There was no winning in this situation. He could smell the fuel, and feel the heat of the flames that licked the body of the plane, he had no other choice.

"Della," Kit looked the duck in her eyes. "I'm not leaving you, you got that?"

"You were always a stubborn shit," Della chuckled before going into a coughing fit, spraying Kit's flight suit with crimson.

"It's going to hurt," Kit said as he set down the ax for a moment and pulled Della toward him, pressing her face to his body as he dug through his pockets.

"I'm ready," She nodded, knowing exactly what he had planned. "Do it."

From his pocket, Kit brought out a handkerchief and started to tie off Della's left thigh. "I'll make sure they save you a turkey leg,"

"Really not, ngh, appropriate right now." Dealla grimaced as Kit tightened the makeshift tourniquet.

Kit set Della down on the deck and picked up the ax, "Ready?"

"No," Della closed her eyes. "But do it!"

Without another word, Kit swung the ax down on Della's leg.

=========================================
Present Day,
Louie's
=========================================

"Cheese and crackers," Baloo said as he blinked between Kit and Della. "I always wondered why you had that prosthetic leg."

"Yup," Della said as she leaned down, standing behind the bar to rap her fist on it. "All because of Skyprancer."

"Saved your life, didn't I?" Kit raised his brow just before taking a swig from a beer mug. "Never did thank me by the way."

"Oh, that's rich!" Della snorted in laughter before turning to Baloo, "When I woke up in the infirmary two weeks later I was already back in port and Smokey the Ax-Wielding Bear here was still fighting the war. But then! He goes and gets himself captured! So I am sorry if I didn't have a forwarding address to send you a thank you note and a box of chocolates to a Panda-la prison!"

"He is pretty selfish like that," Balloo said with a grin.

"Gee, Kit," Kit rolled his eyes. "Thanks for saving my life there, Kit. I would have been Peking duck if it wasn't for you, Kit. Why gee, Della, you're welcome!"

"All joking aside," Della smiled. "It's good to see you. We all thought you were KIA."

"Kind of wishing I was," Kit frowned as he raised his beer mug and inspected it, "Saves me from having to drink whatever you put in this."

"I brew it myself," Della swiped the mug from Kit's paw. "Mallard Malt!"

"It tastes like engine grease," Kit wrinkled his nose.

"Well now you know the secret ingredient," Della poured Kit a refill and slid it down the bar to him before turning back to Baloo. "Another fizzy pop?"

"No thanks," Baloo sighed. "On a tight budget."

"Still having trouble with Khan, huh?" Della busied herself behind the bar while she questioned Baloo. "I know a couple of guys that can have his legs busted if you like."

"Thanks for the offer, Della but no," Baloo chuckled. "Beckers made an honest man outta me, so gotta find a way to do everything legal like."

"Like that ever stopped us before," Kit muttered, sniffing his beer before shrugging his shoulders and taking a swig.

"How is the old lady anyhow?" Della asked Baloo.

"Cranky," The big bear replied. "She's looking at apartments in the city this week."

"And what about you, Kit? You got an old lady keeping you honest since coming back from the dead?"

The question made Kit sputter on his drink, getting it all over himself. "Me?! No, no, no, I just got back, I got other things on my mind than women."

"You're adorable, Skyprancer," Della chuckled, handing Kit a cloth to clean himself up. "Figured a guy like you would have all sorts of women crying over the loss of the fearless Kit Cloudkicker, ace pilot!"

"Just one," Baloo patted Kit on the back.

"Can we please not discuss my love life, more specifically my lack of one?"

"Aw, he's bashful," Della teased.

"He is getting a little red around the ears," Baloo added in.

"I should have left you in that wreck."

Della leaned over and pinched Kit's cheek, "I know you don't mean that, but as I told you years ago, you got no chance with me, buckaroo."

"And on that note," Baloo stood up from his seat. "Me and the boy should get back."

"But you just got here!" Della exclaimed. "C'mon, stay a while, drinks are on me."

"Sorry, Della," Baloo grabbed his red cap from the bar and plopped it on his head. "Me and Kit gotta come up with a way to produce fifty grand in a few days or I lose my plane, lose the business, and lose my mind by having to live in the city."

"Fat chance, Papa Bear," Kit said as he too stood up from his seat, setting the half-empty mug on the bar. "That's a lot of money to come up with and from what you've been telling me, no one's exactly looking for small-time air cargo any longer."

"Doesn't mean we should give up," Baloo sighed. "If there's a will, there's a way."

"You'll be leaving everything in your will if you piss Khan off anymore," Della noted.

"Don't worry about it, Baloo," Kit said as he patted Baloo on the back. "We'll figure it out, one way or the other."

It was then a voice from the end of the bar called out. "I know how a man can make that kind of coin."

Kit, Baloo, and Della all turned their heads to find the source of the voice. Down at the very end of the bar sat an old duck nursing a glass of whiskey. He had a worn, weathered look about him, with a thick gray beard that almost obscured his beak. He wore a threadbare suit, with a tie that had seen better days. A fedora sat askew on his head, and a cane leaned against the bar beside him. He looked like he had seen a lot in his time, and his eyes held a glint of mischief.

Baloo raised an eyebrow. "And who might you be, old timer?"

"Ignore old Cornelius, that fella's crazy," Della rolled her eyes.

"I ain't a fella and I ain't crazy!" The duck coughed, sputtering whiskey.

"Yeah, seems completely sane," Kit sighed. "But I'll humor you. What's an old codger like you know about getting that kinda scratch, pops?"

"First off," The duck turned to face the trio, narrowing his eyes at Kit. "Respect your elders. Second, have any of you heard about the Spear of Selene?"

Kit raised a brow, and looked to Baloo, who in turn shrugged his shoulders at Della, as Della blinked a few times,

"The Spear of Whosits?"

Chapter Text

Chapter VI - The Spear of Selene

=========================================
Louie's
=========================================

"The Spear of Selene ya daft cunt!" The old duck said to Della.

"Hey now, old timer," Baloo snarled at the stranger. "Watch your language around the lady!"

"And you watch yours," Della frowned at the big bear. "Don't get it into your head that I am any sort of lady."

"Ah, Della knows I'm just foolin' with her, don'tcha Della?" The old man grinned at her. "How about a refill?"

"How about payment, Cornelius?" Della grabbed a bottle of whiskey but refused to pour the duck a glass until he had money in hand.

"A story for a glass!" Cornelius countered.

"No money, no whisk--"

But before Della could berate the old man more, Kit cut in. "I'll pay for it."

"Kit!" Baloo frowned at the younger bear. "We're trying to save money, not throw it at some old lush."

"Oh, come on!" Kit reached into his pockets and fished out a five-dollar bill, slapping it on the bar. "I want to hear this story."

Reluctantly, Della grabbed the money and then poured Cornelius another glass of whiskey. "Deal's a deal, old man. Tell Skyprancer your story."

The old duck leaned in, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "Long ago, when the world was still young, there lived a great queen named Selene. She was a wise and just ruler, beloved by her people, and feared by her enemies. Selene was also a skilled warrior, and she carried a powerful spear that was said to be imbued with magic."

"Sounds like a heck of a queen," Baloo whistled in appreciation.

"Indeed she was," The duck continued after taking a sip of his whiskey. "This spear, known as the Spear of Selene, was said to have been given to the queen by the gods themselves. It was said to be indestructible and could pierce through any armor or shield. Selene wielded the spear in many battles, always emerging victorious."

Kit leaned forward, his eyes wide. "What happened to her? Did she lose the spear?"

The old duck shook his head. "No one knows for sure. But it's said that Selene disappeared one day. No one knew where she had gone or what had become of her. Her people searched for her far and wide, but she was nowhere to be found."

"Aw, this old coot doesn't know anything," Baloo rolled his eyes.

"I'm tellin' ya it's real!" The duck shook his glass in Baloo's direction.

"So what about the spear?" Kit pressed more questions onto the duck. "Was that ever found?"

"It was, but over time it was lost to the ages. Legend says it finally found a home on the island of Ithaquack."

"That's a made-up place," Della snorted at the duck.

"Wait a second," Baloo blinked. "Ithaquack? Yeah, I heard about that, in one of Molly's archaeology books!"

"She was studying archaeology?" Kit cocked a brow.

"Was," Baloo noted. "We couldn't quite afford the tuition fees."

"See? Told ya it was real." Cornelius held his glass toward Della, who sighed and filled it.

"So, say this whole story is real," Della poured him a shot. "What's something like that worth? The Spear I mean."

The old duck slugged back his drink and wiped his bill on his disheveled suit sleeve, "A fortune."

"Dollars, old fella," Baloo rubbed two fingers together. "How much is a fortune?"

"Priceless." Cornelius grinned.

"Priceless?!" Baloo let out a deep laugh, "Well that doesn't impress me, old timer! How's something going to be worth a fortune if it has no price?"

"Baloo, I hate to tell you this..." Kit sighed, raised a finger, and then stopped. He could tell by Baloo's glazed-over expression that correcting him would be a moot point. "Forget it. Priceless is good. At least fifty-thousand good."

"Assuming the lush is speaking the truth," Della said as she slapped Cornelius' hand away from the whiskey bottle.

"Of course I am telling you the truth!" The old duck hissed. "I even know where Ithaquack is!"

"Oh, hogwash!" Baloo snorted. "And how does a guy like you know where an ancient, hidden island is when all sorts of smart folks haven't seen it?"

Cornelius took another swig of whiskey and leaned forward, a conspiratorial gleam in his eye. "Ithaquack is a mythical land, hidden away from prying eyes, but I have reason to believe that I have discovered its location."

While Della and Baloo simply rolled their eyes, Kit leaned in closer, intrigued by Cornelius' words.

"I used to be a cargo pilot, much like you two" Cornelius continued, pointing between Kit and Baloo. "Course this was back when we mostly flew wooden junk heaps held together with twine and prayer."

"Sound familiar," Kit glanced at Baloo.

"So there I was, caught in a terrible storm. I lost control of my plane and ended up flying over an unfamiliar island."

He paused for a moment, his eyes distant as he relived the memory.

"The place was surrounded by a mist that quickly swallowed it up," Cornelius said. "But something about that island stuck with me. Something magical. When I returned to civilization, I spent years researching and studying maps, trying to figure out the island's location."

Cornelius rubbed his beard. "It wasn't easy. I had to track down old legends and myths, decipher cryptic messages, and piece together clues from different sources. But eventually, I was able to pinpoint the location of Ithaquack."

He leaned in closer, his eyes shining with excitement. "And I have reason to believe that the Spear of Selene is there, waiting to be discovered."

"And what makes you so sure of that?" Della raised an eyebrow.

Cornelius grinned. "Because I drew a map!"

Unceremoniously, Cornelius dug into his pockets and brought out a piece of weathered paper, unfolding it on the bar. Both Kit and Della peered at it; and indeed, there was a drawing of a map, with coordinates scribbled on it.

"Oh, come on!" Baloo groaned. "Kit? Della? You guys seriously can't be buying this baloney!"

"I mean," Kit traced over the outline of the island on the map with a fingertip. "Is it that unusual, Baloo? We have come across some strange stuff in our travels."

"You see that?" Della pointed at the map, "I am pretty sure we flew over close to that area once on a mission."

"No, you're right!" Kit exclaimed, following Della's fingertip with his own. "That would mean..."

"...it's near..." Della moved her finger east on the map.

"Thembria!" Kit announced.

"Are you two completely off your rockers!" Baloo snapped. "Thembria!? You mean the place that you two idiots almost died at?!"

"Technically I almost died at Panda-la," Kit corrected the big bear.

"Plus the war's over," Della nodded.

"Then answer me this!" Baloo turned to Cornelius. "If this Spear of Selene is real, and you know where it is, why didn't you go get it yourself!"

"Because!" Cornelius exclaimed, "I ain't a damned fool!"

The others looked at him expectantly, waiting for an explanation.

"While the Spear of Selene is priceless, it also carries a dangerous curse," Cornelius began, his voice lowered to a whisper. "Legend has it that anyone who possesses it will suffer a terrible fate. And that's not all. The island where the spear is said to be located is filled with traps, wild animals, and dangers of every type. It's not a place for the faint of heart."

Della's eyes widened in shock, and even Baloo seemed to be taking the old duck's words seriously.

"So you're saying that even if we were able to find the island and the spear, it wouldn't be worth it?" Kit asked, his voice tinged with disappointment.

Cornelius shook his head gravely. "It's a risk I'm not willing to take, I'm an old man, a tired old man. You think I would last a day on Ithaquack? Heh. But the curse. That's something I don't play around with -- but then again, that's all just a bunch of phooey, right?"

"Yeah," Kit looked at the map again. "A bunch of phooey."

"I ain't long for this world, young man," Cornelius stood, grabbing his cane and tipping his hat to the trio. "But I can tell you not only need a stroke of luck that can lead you to a fortune but you've got the spirit of adventure in you," Cornelius said, his eyes soft and a slight smile on his face. "It takes a special kind of person to even consider going after the Spear of Selene, let alone actually attempt it. And you, my boy, have that fire in your belly that makes you want to explore, to discover, to take risks."

=========================================
A Short Time Later
=========================================

"Absolutely not!" Baloo bellowed. "You're as crazy as that old man if you think I am going to let you two fly the Sea Duck to some island that probably doesn't exist!"

Despite what Rebecca would later probably do to Baloo, he and Kit remained at Louie's well until sunset, sitting out on the patio as the sun began to dip below the horizon. The sky was ablaze with hues of pink, orange, and purple, casting a warm glow over the island.

The air was thick with the scent of tropical flowers and the sound of waves crashing against the shore. Baloo sat with his arms crossed, still fuming about Kit asking to use the Sea Duck for a hair-brained adventure.

Kit and Della sat on either side of him, still looking over the map Cornelius had given them.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” Kit frowned at Baloo. “Have a bunch of shipments you need to take care of this week?”

“It's my damned plane!” Baloo snarled. “And who's gonna fly it? I know you sure as hell can't!”

“You know I used to be a fighter pilot in the war, right?” Della snorted. “Kit will be my navigator!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Kit raised his paws. “I didn't agree to that!”

“We'll take turns then!”

“Like crap you will!” Baloo folded his arms over his chest and leaned back. “Because you ain't takin' my plane!”

Della looked to Kit, “Maybe we should actually find a better plane.”

“What do you mean better?!”

“Yeah, flying across this ocean in that rust bucket?” Kit laughed. “Only thing we'll find is Davey Jones's locker.”

“Now you just wait a blasted minu—”

“Probably better off hiring a boat,” Della nodded at Kit. “Be a lot faster.”

“I know exactly what you two are trying to do and it won't work!” Baloo slammed his furry fist on the table they sat around. “You're trying to reverse psychopath me!”

“That's psychology, Papa Bear.” Kit chuckled.

“Well, it ain't going to work!” Baloo remained indignant. “And while I hate to admit it, the Duck is in need of repairs, and it's not exactly like we got the money to waste on fuel...”

“There's my G.I. Bill,” Kit said. “That should be enough for fuel.”

“And I do know a really good mechanic,” Della added. “Of course, she's a little bit...well, she's a bit eccentric.”

“Hey, Baloo? You said you knew someone who worked at the University that knows about all these myths and legends, right?” Kit questioned the older bear. “That woman explorer you and Louie had that thing for. What was that place you told me about?”

“Tinabula and her name's Katie, Katie Dodd.” Baloo replied. “She teaches over at Cape Suzette University, why?”

“Well, we kind of need an expert.” Kit wrote the name down in a notebook he and Della passed back and forth. “Cornelius did say there were traps and such. Maybe she can give us some books or something?”

“Books, smart thinking, Skyprancer,” Della grinned, patting Kit on the shoulder. “See? We got this figured out already!”

“You forgot one thing,” Baloo said dryly, causing both Della and Kit to look up from their note writing. “You ain't takin' the blasted Sea Duck!”

=========================================
The Next Day,
Higher for Hire
=========================================

“Well of course you can take the Sea Duck!” Rebecca said with a sing-song voice.

Right away, Baloo let out a mournful wail, “What do you mean they can take the Duck?! That's my baby!”

“You mean, our baby,” Rebecca grinned as she tossed Kit the keys to the plane. “Remember, we're married now, what's yours is mine and what's mine is mine.”

“I don't...” Baloo furrowed his brow at his wife, “That's not how this works! That's not how any of this works!”

“That's not what the bank says,” Rebecca pointed out. “Remember, my name is on everything here, including the Sea Duck.”

While Baloo and Rebecca argued across the table, on the other side sat Kit and Della, both looking at one another.

“You think we should...?” Della whispered to Kit as she pointed at the door.

“Yeah, I think so.” Kit nodded, getting ready to stand up and take his leave of the two before Rebecca turned to him.

“And you plant your keister right there, buster.” The female bear wagged a finger. “We haven't gone over our agreement yet.”

Kit hesitated for a moment before speaking up. "I don't remember any agreement?"

"That's because we haven't made it yet," Rebecca said as she stood up and headed for the kitchen counter. "I am making tea, you want any Della dear?"

"Yes, ma'am." Della smiled in reply.

Rebecca turned to Kit and Baloo, "And you two?"

"Beer." They both said in unison.

"It's 10 in the morning!" Rebecca frowned.

"But it's Saturday!" Baloo bellowed.

"It's actually," Della rolled up her sleeve, looking at her watch. "Tuesday?"

"Speaking of," Rebecca set the kettle on the stove before yelling, "Molly Cunningham! Your butt better be up and ready for work!"

"I'm up, I'm up," Molly called out from the living room before she entered the kitchen.

Molly wore a white blouse with puffed sleeves tucked into a high-waist navy skirt that fell just below the knee. The skirt was adorned with small white polka dots, and she had paired it with white ankle socks and black Mary Jane shoes. Her hair was styled in a short, curly bob with a white polka dot bandanna tied around it.

"Pick your jaw up off the floor," Della whispered to Kit before elbowing the man in the ribs.

"Oof, hey!" Kit protested before Molly sat down at the table.

“So what's all the commotion about?” Molly asked, “I heard Baloo complaining all the way on the other end of the house.”

“I wasn't complainin'!” Baloo folded his arms over his chest. “Just voicing some concern.”

“About?” Molly looked at the big bear.

“About Kit and Della taking the Sea Duck out for a few days,” Rebecca finally returned with cups, the tea kettle, sugar, and cream all on a platter; setting it down on the table.

“Are they finally taking it to the scrap yard?” Molly chuckled.

“Over my dead body!” Baloo huffed.

“You keep asking for beer in the morning that can quickly be arranged,” Rebecca scolded Baloo before smiling at her daughter. “No, Kit and Della got it in their heads that they're going to go off and get some mysterious treasure – providing they agree to my terms.”

“Which we are still waiting on,” Kit said.

“Well, when you and Della are finished...'treasure hunting',” Rebecca made air quotes with her fingers. “Or whatever you two are really up to.”

“I told ya she wasn't going to believe you, little britches,” Baloo snickered, only for Rebecca to give him an icy glare before continuing.

“There will be no more of this, well, adventuring and slacking off,” Rebecca poured herself a tea. “You're home now and it's time to start taking life seriously, find a career, start a family, and become a responsible adult.”

“But Ms. Cunningham!” Kit then quickly corrected himself, “Rebecca! We're not just going on a pleasure flight here! The Spear of Selene is real and we're going to find it!”

“If,” Della pointed between all the others at the table. “You want me to go so you can all sort this out, I can, you know...” She let out a whistle from her bill and thrust a thumb behind her shoulder. “Skedaddle.”

“Nonsense,” Rebecca smiled at the duck and poured Della some tea. “You're pretty much family. However, I would like to know what you and Kit are really up to.”

“He's telling the truth, ma'am,” Della nodded.

“Wait,” Molly suddenly cut in. “The Spear of Selene?”

“The one and only,” Kit replied.

“Bullshit,” Molly scoffed.

“Molly Cunningham!” Rebecca frowned at her daughter. “Language!”

“The Spear of Selene has been lost for centuries!” Molly slapped her palms on the table. “No one knows where it is!”

“We do!” Kit challenged her, placing his own paws on the table and leaning toward Molly. “And we're going to get it!”

“You?!” Molly then burst into laughter, “Ahahaha, you couldn't find water if you fell out of a boat! Hahaha!”

“That's a fake laugh!” Kit pointed at Molly.

“More real than your stupid idea about finding the Spear of Selene!” She shot back, leaning over the table further.

“Oh? And you're some kind of expert suddenly?” Kit snorted, also perching across the table more.

“I know more than you do!”

“What, you read it in one of your books?” Kit waggled his fingers, “Whoopee! I read stuff too ya know!”

“You mean look at the pretty pictures, right?” Molly hissed. “I have a pop-up book I think you would enjoy!”

“Good lord,” Della sighed, “Will you two just do us all a favor and kiss already? This whole tension thing really isn't going to get anything accomplished.”

Both bears stopped their bickering, turned to Della, blinked, and slowly backed up into their seats – cheeks flushed with red under their fur.

“Wait,” Rebecca peered at Della. “So you're telling the truth, there really is a priceless treasure called the Spear of Selene?”

“And we know exactly where it is,” Della grinned, taking out the map she got from the old duck and placing it on the table. “Well, more or less.”

Rebecca snatched up the map and looked it over, “So, if what you're saying is true, we could...”

“Save Higher for Hire,” Kit said.

“And give good old Della a cut,” The duck smirked.

“Tell me what you need,” Rebecca set the map down, suddenly very serious about the idea.

“You already gave 'em the Duck,” Baloo groaned.

“What's left of it,” Kit sighed. “But yes, that's all we need. Della and I are splitting the cost on everything else like fuel, supplies, and well, we need to hire a mechanic, Della's got that covered – and an expert on this ancient stuff.”

“Professor Dodd?” Molly questioned.

“Yeah,” Kit blinked. “How did you know?”

“I was going to study under her at the university before, you know,” Molly sighed.

“Then it's settled!” Rebecca clapped her paws together. “Della will go get your mechanic to get the Sea Duck ready and...”

“And I'll take Kit to meet Professor Dodd!” Molly cut in.

“The hell you are!” Kit snorted.

“Language,” Rebecca scolded him. “But Kit's right, you have to get your furry butt to work!”

“Actually,” Molly rose from her seat, “I have the day off,” Before Kit could protest any further, Molly raised a finger. “And since I am the only one who has actually been to Cape Suzette University, and knows Professor Dodd...”

“I know her too!” Baloo frowned.

“He does!” Kit nodded. “After all, he was trying to sleep with--”

Baloo launched himself over the table and clasped a furry paw over Kit's mouth. “Louie, that was all Louie, oh how I miss that old horn dog,” The big bear chuckled as he narrowed his eyes at Kit. “But I think it's probably best if Molly goes with you, and I stay here and help Beckers with the housework.”

“Ya know,” Della sipped at her tea, “I like being part of this family.”

“Fine, fine!” Kit pushed Baloo off him, “Molly will introduce me to Professor Dodd, Della will get the mechanic to get the Sea Duck up to snuff and hopefully we'll be out of here in a day or two.”

“You did see what condition the Sea Duck is in, right?” Molly rolled her eyes. “You'll be lucky to get it in full working order next year!”

“She ain't that bad!” Baloo frowned.

“Don't worry about it none, big fella,” Della stood and patted Baloo on the shoulder. “This mechanic is the best in all of Cape Suzette, heck, she made me my leg! She'll have the Ducky flying like a streamlined bullet in a day!”

“As long as it doesn't hit anything like a bullet,” Baloo sighed.

“Well?” Rebecca raised a brow, “What are you all waiting for? Go out there and get the Spear of Selene!”

“Right!” Baloo announced, getting up from his seat and reaching for his hat. “Lots to do, no time to waste!”

“Not you,” Rebecca grabbed Baloo by the ear. “I think I distinctly heard you say you were going to help with the housework.”

“Aw, but Becky...ow!” Baloo winced as Rebecca twisted his fuzzy ear. “Rebecca! Rebecca! Yeesh! I just want to help! C'mon!”

“You'll help by starting with the laundry.”

“You sure you don't want to trade?” Kit whispered to Della, his eyes flicking toward Molly as they collected themselves.

“And interrupt any alone time between you two?” Della nudged the bear. “And besides, this mechanic can be a little hard to...convince. It's best you let me talk to her and you two lovebirds,” She nodded toward Molly while poking Kit in the ribs. “Go find us a professor.”

“I really don't like you right now,” Kit muttered as he grabbed his green jacket. “At all.”

Della turned to Rebecca and smiled, "Thanks for the tea, it was lovely."

"Anytime, dear," Rebecca replied with a smile of her own. "You know you're always welcome here."

Molly grabbed her bag and walked up to Della and Kit. "Ready to go, guys?"

“I'll drive,” Kit said as they left the building and headed outside into the warm sun, Kit walked toward the Higher for Hire cargo truck. “Where we dropping you off, Della?”

“Downtown,” The duck replied, holding the passenger side door open for Molly. “Hackwrench Motors.”

“Hackwrench, Hackwrench...” Kit repeated as he stepped into the cab of the truck, putting the key into the ignition. “Why does that name ring a bell?”

“Geegaw,” Della replied.

“Gesundheit,” Kitt said, bringing the engine of the truck to life.

“You really are thick in the head aren't you?” Molly sighed. “Geegaw Hackwrench, you know, the inventor of the atomic bomb?”

“I didn't know Geegaw was a woman,” Kit blinked. “I thought he was some old, eccentric scientist.”

“He is very eccentric,” Della chuckled, “But I'm not going to see Geegaw, I am going to see his daughter – Gadget Hackwrench, and if you think Geegaw was loony tunes...”

Kit put the truck into reverse and backed away from Higher for Hire, “Why do I got a bad feeling about this?”

“You're not the only one,” Della muttered wistfully to herself, resting her head on the passenger side window with a sigh as they pulled onto the street and headed for downtown Cape Suzette.

Chapter Text

Chapter VII - Shopping for a Crew

=========================================
Cape Suzette,
Hackwrench Motors
=========================================

Stepping into Hackwrench Motors, Della was immediately embraced by the familiar sights, sounds, and scents that defined the place. The mechanic shop exuded a rustic charm, its interior filled with a captivating blend of vintage car parts, airplane engines, tools, and an unmistakable aura of mechanical expertise.

The workshop boasted ample space with lofty ceilings, and its concrete floor bore the marks of countless years of heavy use. The walls stood adorned with vintage car and plane posters, alongside faded photographs capturing moments of triumph and camaraderie among the team. Streaming sunlight poured through large windows, casting a warm and inviting glow over the bustling scene below.

The echoing symphony of clattering tools and humming engines reverberated throughout the workshop. Mechanics, donned in their grease-stained overalls, moved with purpose, engrossed in their respective tasks. The very air was imbued with the rich aromas of oil, gasoline, and the occasional waft of freshly brewed coffee from an adjacent workbench.

Navigating past rows of automobiles, each a testament to craftsmanship and potential, Della marveled at the range of conditions on display. From weathered classics to gleaming specimens in the final stages of restoration, every vehicle bore the hallmark of Hackwrench Motors' attention to detail and dedication.

As Della ventured further into the heart of the workshop, her gaze alighted upon Gadget Hackwrench. A true mechanical virtuoso, Gadget was deeply engrossed in her work, her lithe form hunched over a partially disassembled airplane engine. With deft and deliberate movements, her nimble hands navigated the intricate components with a precision that showcased her immense expertise.

Gadget's workspace was an organized chaos of tools, parts, and intricate diagrams. Shelves adorned with neatly labeled jars held an assortment of screws, bolts, and other essential components. Nearby, an old radio emitted nostalgic tunes from a bygone era, underscoring the ambiance of innovation and industry that defined the shop.

Clad in well-worn, grease-stained purple overalls adorned with patches that testified to her journey and accomplishments, Gadget hummed along to the music. Her rolled-up sleeves revealed arms sculpted by countless hours of meticulous labor beneath vehicle hoods. A practical ponytail held her copper-colored hair in place, framing her face, which wore oil smudges like badges of honor.

Gadget's brilliant blue eyes radiated curiosity and passion, mirroring her deep connection to all things mechanical. Her skilled, calloused hands seamlessly navigated intricate machinery and around her neck, a necklace adorned with gears and tiny mechanical trinkets symbolized her fervent love for all things inventive and mechanical.

Della found her as beautiful as the day they first met on the battlefields of Thembria.

"Well, hey there, good lookin'," Della said with a smirk.

Della's playful remark brought a faint blush to Gadget's cheeks, contrasting against the smudges of grease and dirt that adorned her face. However, as Gadget stood up to respond, her head unexpectedly collided with the engine she was working on, eliciting a soft thud.

"Golly!" Gadget exclaimed, rubbing her forehead with a sheepish smile.

Without missing a beat, Gadget quickly regained her composure, stood to her full 4'8" height, and leaped into Della's waiting arms, wrapping her legs around her waist and showering her with affectionate kisses all over her face.

As Gadget's lips peppered her cheeks, Della attempted to maintain a cool and composed facade, trying not to succumb to the overwhelming surge of emotions she felt. With a lighthearted chuckle, Della gently set Gadget back on her feet and extended her hand, palm facing upwards for a handshake.

Gadget blinked at the gesture, "What?"

"You know we have to keep up appearances," Della sighed at the mouse.

"Friends kiss friends."

"Wasn't that the line you used to seduce me?" Della rolled her eyes.

"Augh, fine," Gadget relented, taking Della's hand into her own. "So what brings you to the shop? Need a tune-up of the leg?" She looked down at Della's prosthetic and then waggled her eyebrows at the duck, "Or a full body tune-up?"

"You're incorrigible."

"Can you even spell incorrigible?" Gadget raised an eyebrow before releasing her grip on Della's hand, turning back to focus on the engine she was working on. "So, what do you need?"

"Are you mad?" Della blinked.

"No, I'm not mad," Gadget sighed as she picked up a socket wrench. "I just don't like having to hide how I feel about you from others."

"And you think I do?" Della paced around the shop, "You know damn well people won't understand."

Della's eyes wandered around the bustling workshop, searching for a distraction from the weighty conversation. It was then that she noticed an intriguing sight hanging from a hoist -- a suit of armor, gleaming with hints of polished metal and mechanical intricacies. The suit emanated an aura of untapped potential, whispering stories of ingenuity and adventure.

Her curiosity piqued, Della couldn't resist inquiring about the mysterious creation that Gadget had seemingly hidden away amidst her other projects.

"What's the deal with that suit of armor?" Della gestured toward the captivating contraption, her voice filled with fascination.

Gadget's gaze shifted toward the suit, a mixture of pride and excitement lighting up her eyes. She set down her socket wrench and approached the armor, running a hand along its polished surface.

"Oh, that?" Gadget beamed, her voice brimming with enthusiasm. "It's a little side project I've been working on." She then let out a sigh, "Once I find something that can power it."

"Hold up," Della blinked, "Power it? What in the Frankenstein hell are you making?"

"It's a secret," Gadget chuckled. "But you're changing the subject."

Della's expression turned slightly somber as she listened to Gadget's playful response. She couldn't help but feel the weight of the truth in Gadget's words -- that their relationship was something they had to keep hidden from the public eye.

"Changing the subject?" Della sighed, her voice tinged with a mix of frustration and resignation. "Well, the subject is pretty heavy, Gadget. You know as well as I do that people's perceptions of relationships like ours...they aren't always favorable."

Gadget's eyes softened, and she stepped closer to Della, her arms reaching out to embrace her partner. "Della, it doesn't matter what anyone else thinks. As long as I have you, my 'Ducky,' that's all that matters to me," Gadget whispered, her voice filled with love and sincerity.

Della couldn't help but chuckle at the nickname, a smile breaking through her earlier somberness. Gadget's unwavering support and affection warmed her heart, reminding her of the strength they found in each other.

"You always know how to make me laugh," Della said, her voice tinged with gratitude. She wrapped her arms around Gadget, giving the mouse a gentle kiss on the forehead, savoring the comfort of their embrace.

Gadget held Della tightly, her touch conveying a sense of security and acceptance. They stood there for a moment, finding solace in each other's arms, letting the world melt away.

After a gentle squeeze, Gadget released Della from the embrace, stepping back slightly while keeping her gaze fixed on her partner. A spark of curiosity lit up her eyes once more as she tilted her head and asked, "Now, seriously, what brings you to the shop today?"

"You remember Baloo and the air freight company Higher for Hire?" Della asked, "They have a plane in desperate need of repair."

Gadget's eyes sparkled with curiosity as she listened to Della's explanation. She loved a good challenge, and the prospect of fixing up a damaged plane ignited her passion for mechanics even further. She couldn't help but make a cheeky remark about Baloo.

"Baloo? You mean that perverted, fat bear?" Gadget repeated, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. "Oh, how could I forget? He certainly knows how to make an impression."

Della chuckled, nodding in agreement. "Indeed, he does. But it's not important, what is important is that I need that plane in working order; there's something I am going to do that's going to earn me a lot of money."

"You mean us a lot of money," The mouse grinned. "Hey, wait a sec. Isn't Baloo related to that guy you told me about who died in the war? The one you said you were not in love with?"

"I wasn't in love with him," Della rolled her eyes.

"That's because you found out how good pussy tastes."

"Gadget!" Della fumed.

"What?" Gadget put her hands on her hips, her thin tail whipping behind her. "Don't pretend you don't like it."

"You didn't have to say it," Della blushed under her feathers, looking around the shop and thankful there was too much background noise that the other mechanics Gadget had hired hadn't heard anything. "You army engineers have a mouth on you, I swear."

"Aw, she's bashful," Gadget snickered. "Okay, fine, so you want me to fix a plane and not talk about the dead guy that you weren't madly in love with, got it."

"Well, uhh," Della scratched the back of her head. "The thing is, the rumors of his death were slightly exaggerated..."

=========================================
A Short Time Later,
Cape Suzette University
=========================================

Kit and Molly stepped onto the picturesque campus of Cape Suzette University, an esteemed institution known for its rich academic tradition. The sun cast a warm glow upon the sprawling grounds, illuminating the vibrant colors of the surrounding flora. Towering palm trees swayed gently in the breeze, their rustling leaves providing a soothing soundtrack to their stroll.

The main pathway leading through the campus was lined with meticulously manicured lawns, showcasing a tapestry of lush greenery. Colorful flowers adorned the flowerbeds, adding splashes of red, yellow, and purple to the scene. The scent of blooming blossoms permeated the air, filling it with a delicate floral fragrance.

As Kit and Molly walked, they passed by several magnificent buildings that exuded a sense of academic prestige. The structures were a blend of architectural styles, reflecting the university's rich history. The main administration building, adorned with intricate stonework and tall pillars, stood at the heart of the campus, radiating an aura of scholarly importance.

To their left, a grand library rose majestically, its imposing facade adorned with intricate carvings and adorned with towering windows that allowed streams of natural light to illuminate the vast collection of books within. The sight of students engrossed in study, scattered throughout the library's interior, painted a picture of intellectual curiosity and dedication.

To the right, a stunning science building beckoned with its sleek, modern design. Its gleaming glass windows reflected the vibrant surroundings, mirroring the lively atmosphere of scientific exploration taking place within its walls. The occasional glimpse of students conducting experiments through the transparent walls hinted at the cutting-edge research happening behind closed doors.

As the two bears continued their journey, they made their way to the office of Katie Dodd, the esteemed professor of history and archaeology. The office was located in a charming building that blended classic and contemporary elements seamlessly. The brick facade, adorned with climbing ivy, added a touch of timeless elegance. Large windows, framed by delicate curtains, allowed natural light to flood the room, creating an inviting ambiance.

Kit and Molly reached for the doorknob to Professor Katie Dodd's office simultaneously, their hands unintentionally brushing against each other. The accidental touch sent a surge of frustration between them, momentarily halting their progress.

"What's your problem, Molly?" Kit snapped, jerking his hand away.

Molly's eyes narrowed, her face carrying a scowl. "You always have to be the center of attention, don't you? This is my thing, Kit. Professor Dodd doesn't even know who you are."

"And this is my score! My adventure!"

Molly clenched her fists, her voice tinged with anger. "Oh, so it's all about you, is it? The great Kit Cloudkicker, the one who thinks he's the hero of every story."

Kit's temper flared, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Right, because you always add something to the proceedings!"

Each of them stared down the other.

And they both reached for the doorknob again,

"Oh my god!" Molly slapped his paw. "Stop!"

"You stop!" Kit smacked her hand right back. "Seriously, what's gotten into you?"

Molly slapped his paw once more.

Kit returned with one of his own.

Then they both ended up at arm's length and flailing their hands at each other.

"You know what?!" Kit pulled his hands away and thrust them into the pockets of his pants, "You do it if it'll make you happy!"

"Fine, I will!" Molly reached for the doorknob.

"Fine!" Kit retorted, only to watch Molly fall through the doorway and flat on her face as someone opened up the door from the other side.

"Err, hello," Came a male voice.

There, stood a portly male cat with a mischievous glint in his eyes. His black fur was impeccably groomed, adding a touch of sophistication to his appearance. He sported a tweed suit, its earthy tones blending harmoniously with his fur. The jacket hugged his ample frame, while the trousers slightly grazed the floor.

His square glasses perched on his snout, giving him an intellectual air. They magnified his eyes, which sparkled with a mix of curiosity and amusement. The whiskers of the cat twitched with every word he spoke, adding to the animated nature of his expressions.

As he extended a hand to help Molly up, his wide grin revealed a set of slightly crooked teeth, adding to his quirky charm.

"Sorry about that," The young man repeated, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. "I hope the floor didn't get too acquainted with your face there. Welcome to Professor Dodd's office. I'm P.J. Pete, her humble assistant."

“Oh, she's fine,” Kit smirked. “Don't you know, she's Danger Woman! Nothing will stop her from what she wants!”

“Danger who?” P.J. blinked in confusion.

“Ignore the idiot,” Molly frowned, standing up and dusting herself off. “Where's Professor Dodd?”

“A conference in Aridia, giving a speech at the Museum of Ancient History,” P.J. Replied, adjusting his glasses. “She's the head speaker.”

“Great,” Kit sighed. “Do you know when she'll be back?”

"Hmm, let me check my calendar," P.J. gestured for Molly and Kit to follow him into Professor Dodd's office. They stepped into a space that radiated an air of intellectual curiosity and scholarly pursuits.

The office was adorned with bookshelves that lined the walls, filled to the brim with volumes on history, archaeology, and various other academic subjects. The shelves themselves were meticulously organized, with books arranged by topic and carefully labeled.

A large wooden desk dominated the center of the room, its surface covered with stacks of papers, journals, and an assortment of artifacts. Ancient relics and archaeological finds were displayed in glass cases, capturing the imagination and hinting at the professor's fieldwork adventures.

Sunlight filtered through the window, casting a warm glow on the room. The curtains, adorned with patterns of ancient civilizations, swayed gently in the breeze. The walls were adorned with maps, charts, and photographs of historical sites, giving the office a sense of exploration and discovery.

P.J. took a seat behind the cluttered desk, reaching for a planner. He flipped through its pages, his finger running across the dates as he searched for information. Finally, he glanced up at Molly and Kit, his square glasses glinting.

"Next month." He said.

“Oh for the love of...” Kit grumbled. “Wonderful, just wonderful, there goes that idea.”

“Quick aside,” P.J. Blinked at Kit and Molly, “But who exactly are you two, and what do you need with the professor?”

“Molly Cunningham,” Molly stepped in front of Kit, “And associate.”

“Kit Cloudkicker,” The other bear grumbled, shoving himself between Molly and P.J., “We need her for her expertise on the Spear of Selene.”

“The Spear of Selene,” P.J. repeated, thinking to himself. “That's an interesting myth.”

“It's not a myth,” Kit corrected him. “We know where it is!”

“HA!” P.J. Let out a loud guffaw. “You two? I highly doubt it.”

“Come on, Molly,” Kit rolled his eyes at the man, “This is a waste of time. This guy doesn't know anything."

“Oh, is that so?” P.J. chuckled at Kit's assertion and glanced skeptically at Molly. He swiftly moved around the cluttered office, shuffling through maps, books, and papers scattered across the desk and shelves.

"Listen, I've been studying myths and legends for years under Professor Dodd," P.J. began, his voice filled with a mix of excitement and skepticism. "One could say I am her top student.”

“One could say,” Molly snorted, sarcasm thick in her voice.

“The Spear of Selene and the Island of Ithaquack...” P.J. ignored her. “They've captivated imaginations for centuries. Countless explorers have sought them, but no one has ever found concrete evidence of their existence."

He pulled out a dusty tome and flipped through its weathered pages, pointing to faded illustrations and cryptic symbols. "You see, the legends speak of treacherous trials and elaborate traps that guard the secrets of the Spear and the island. If, hypothetically speaking, someone were to somehow conjure the location of Ithaquack, they would face perils beyond imagination."

P.J. launched into an animated diatribe, his eyes sparkling with excitement as he described the potential challenges. "First, there's the Chasm of Shadows, a gaping ravine shrouded in perpetual darkness. Crossing it would require navigating a series of crumbling bridges, some rigged to collapse at the slightest misstep."

He paced back and forth, gesturing animatedly as he continued, "Then there's the Forest of Whispers, an enchanted woodland filled with illusions and bewitching voices that lead wanderers astray. The only way to find the true path is by following the guidance of your heart."

P.J.'s excitement grew, his words flowing faster. "And let's not forget the Temple of Trials, a labyrinthine structure guarded by ancient mechanisms and riddles that test one's intellect and agility. Each wrong turn could trigger traps ranging from swinging blades to cascading walls of fire."

He paused, catching his breath and adjusting his glasses. "These are just a few of the challenges adventurers might face. The legends are shrouded in mystery and often contradictory. It's a perilous journey, to say the least."

P.J. leaned against the cluttered desk, a mixture of fascination and caution in his expression. "So, if you truly seek the Spear of Selene and the Island of Ithaquack, you must be prepared for the unknown, for traps both mundane and magical. It's a quest that requires unwavering determination, resourcefulness, and a dash of sheer luck."

Kit and Molly exchanged glances, smiling at one another.

“P.J., I could kiss you,” Kit grinned at the cat.

“I would...rather you didn't,” P.J. slapped the book closed with one hand.

“You're hired,” Molly took P.J. by the arm, starting to lead the man out of the office as Kit went about collecting the book as well as some random papers to shove into an open briefcase on the desk.

“Wait, wait,” The cat protested, pulling his arm from Molly. “What do you mean hired? I am not going anywhere! I have papers to grade for Professor Dodd!”

“Trust me, big man,” Kit shoved P.J. from behind toward the office door, “Professor Dodd will approve of the adventure you're about to partake in.”

“Ad...venture?” P.J. blinked, “I am really not the adventuring type.”

“Trust us,” Molly grabbed the packed briefcase from Kit and thrust it against P.J.'s chest. “It's going to be fun.”

Chapter Text

Chapter VIII - All Aboard

=========================================
Two Days Later,
Higher for Hire
=========================================

Baloo didn't much care what the mouse mechanic that Della had brought over had done to his plane.

Gadget paced excitedly around the Sea Duck, a wide grin plastered across her face as she gestured towards various parts of the craft. Her voice brimmed with enthusiasm as she explained the meticulous modifications she had made to the aircraft.

"See, I've souped up the engines using a turbocharged system and added two more. It'll give you an extra boost of power when you need it most, especially during those steep takeoffs and tight maneuvers." Gadget pointed towards the additional redesigned engine compartments, showcasing the intricate network of pipes and gears that made up the new propulsion system.

Baloo let out an exasperated groan, crossing his arms over his chest. "My plane was fine just the way it was! It didn't need no blasted modifications or extra engines!"

Undeterred, Gadget continued her explanation, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "And check out these new fuel injectors. They're designed to optimize fuel consumption, giving you more mileage and efficiency. You'll be able to cover longer distances without worrying about running out of fuel."

Baloo rolled his eyes and let out a dramatic sigh. "Fuel injectors? Really? I just wanted a dependable plane, not a flying science experiment."

Nearby stood Della and Rebecca. Della chuckled as she watched Baloo fuss, the duck turning to Rebecca, "I swear, Baloo is so old fashioned he probably thinks television is witchcraft."

"I heard that!" Baloo bellowed, "And it is! Nothing wrong with listening to a good radio program!"

Gadget went on, her gestures becoming more animated. "Oh, and I've upgraded the navigation system too. With the latest gyroscopic stabilizers and improved avionics, the Sea Duck will handle like a dream. You'll be able to navigate through storms and turbulent weather with ease."

Baloo threw his hands up in the air, his frustration evident. "Storms? Who said anything about flying through storms? Beckers," He turned to face Rebecca, who could barely contain her laughter. "They're ruinin' my goddamned plane!"

"Need I remind you," Rebecca folded her arms over her chest. "My plane."

"Half yours!" Baloo retorted.

"Yes, the half that pays the bills." Rebecca snorted in return. "And you did a wonderful job of fixing her up, Gadget!"

Gadget wiped her hands off on her grease-stained overalls, a satisfied smile on her face as she looked over her handiwork. "Golly, it wasn't a thing, really. The Sea Duck just needed a little extra love and care to bring out its full potential."

Baloo scoffed, folding his arms defiantly. "Love and care? I give the Sea Duck plenty of love and care."

Rebecca couldn't hold back her laughter any longer, letting out a snort as she shook her head. "Well, maybe, you should have married the plane then."

"Problems in the bedroom?" Della leaned over and whispered into Rebecca's ear.

"Let's just say," Rebecca smirked as she replied, "He's been having a few issues keeping it--"

Before she could finish her sentence, Baloo shot Rebecca a glare before turning back to Gadget. "Seriously, kid, all these gadgets and gizmos, they're gonna make my head spin. I just wanna fly, not be pushin' buttons and flippin' switches like some sorta space cadet."

"Well, it's a good thing you aren't flying it then, old man," Della said.

"Speaking of which, when do you all plan on heading out?" Rebecca asked.

Della shrugged casually. "Soon. Just need to fuel up and wait on the nerd Kit and Molly found."

As if on cue, a commotion drew their attention to the Higher for Hire building. P.J. Pete came stumbling down the stairs, precariously balancing half a dozen large bags of luggage under his arms. He appeared disheveled and slightly out of breath, his square glasses askew and a sheepish expression on his face.

P.J. managed a half-hearted wave before his legs gave way, causing him to topple over in front of everyone, the bags of luggage spilling around him. He let out a breathless groan as he lay on the ground, a mix of embarrassment and exhaustion evident in his features.

Baloo couldn't help but chuckle as he approached P.J., offering a hand to help him up. "Well, well, what do we have here? Looks like you brought the whole kitchen sink, huh?"

P.J. managed a weak grin as he accepted Baloo's assistance, his face turning a shade redder. "Uh, yeah, you could say that. I am just being prepared for any research scenario."

Baloo's laughter rumbled through the air as he helped P.J. to his feet. "Prepared is an understatement, big guy. You sure you didn't pack the whole library in those bags?"

Della chimed in with a playful grin. "I hope you at least brought some clean pairs of panties. You know, just in case things get a little too adventurous."

P.J.'s eyes widened, and his face turned even redder as he stammered, "Uh, well, I, um..."

Before he could finish his sentence, Gadget interjected with a mischievous smirk. "Oh, come on, Della. I'm sure the bookworm here knows all about different cultures and customs. But I'd bet my life savings that he doesn't know his way around a woman."

"And you do?" P.J. shot back, pushing his glasses up his nose once more, a blush continuing to spread across his cheeks.

Gadget's mischievous grin widened as she leaned in towards P.J. "Oh, you have no idea. I've studied the most intimate details of the inner workings of a wom--"

Della suddenly clamped her hand over Gadget's mouth, as the mouse mumbled something unintelligible from behind Della's hand

"Okay, that's enough, Gadget," Della said, her tone sounding nervous. She then turned her attention to the group, her eyes looking about. "So, has anyone seen Kit?"

=========================================
Inside Higher for Hire
=========================================

Kit sat alone in his dimly lit bedroom, the weight of the past heavy on his mind as he prepared for the journey ahead. The soft glow of a table lamp cast flickering shadows across the room, lending an air of solemnity to the atmosphere. His hands moved with a mix of precision and caution as he carefully inspected his old 1911 pistol resting in his lap.

The pistol was a reminder of his time in the war, a constant specter of the horrors he had faced and the resilience he had shown. Its cold metal surface seemed to hold the echoes of distant battles and moments of despair. Kit's fingers traced the military stamping and worn edges, his touch gentle yet firm, as if seeking solace in the familiarity of the weapon.

With a heavy sigh, Kit's thoughts drifted back to the days of captivity. He recalled the long hours of confinement, the uncertainty, and the fear that had gnawed at his spirit. The memories were like a haunting melody, playing in the recesses of his mind as he meticulously checked the pistol's safety.

His fingers moved with practiced precision as he released the safety, the faint click echoing in the silence. Kit's gaze remained fixed on the pistol, his expression a mix of concentration and introspection. He remembered the moments when hope seemed distant, when the weight of his circumstances threatened to crush his resolve.

As he continued his careful inspection, Kit's mind conjured images of his fellow captives. The camaraderie they had forged in the face of adversity, the small acts of kindness that had sustained their spirits. He thought of the nights spent huddled together, sharing stories of better times, finding solace in each other's company.

Kit's fingers deftly checked the magazine, his touch gentle yet purposeful as he verified that it was fully loaded with rounds. His heart pounded softly in his chest, a mixture of memories and anxiety swirling within him. With a deep breath, he released the slide and reassembled the pistol, the familiar click resonating in the quiet room. Carefully, he slid the weapon into a well-worn leather holster, his movements deliberate and calculated.

As he finished securing the pistol, his attention was drawn to the doorway where Molly stood, her presence a welcomed interruption to his thoughts.

"Forget how to knock?" Kit said with a small frown, though the weight of his memories still lingered in his eyes.

Molly's gaze fell to the holster Kit placed on his bed next to his the bag he was packing, her expression a mix of concern and curiosity. "You really think you're gonna need that thing, Kit?"

Kit met her eyes, his gaze unwavering. "I hope not, but you know the old saying, Molly. It's better to have it and not need it than need it and not have it."

Molly sighed softly, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of the doorframe. "I suppose you're right."

They shared a moment of quiet understanding, the unspoken weight of the situation hanging in the air. Molly took a step closer, her gaze searching Kit's face.

"Did you have to...you know," her voice trailed off, the weight of the unspoken question filling the room.

Kit met her gaze, his expression somber as he understood the depth of her inquiry. "Yeah, I did," he admitted quietly. "Killing is part of war."

Molly's eyes held a mixture of sadness and empathy as she listened to his response. "But it was war," she said softly, as if trying to rationalize the unimaginable.

Kit nodded, his gaze dropping slightly as memories flickered before him. "I did what I was told, Molly. They were orders."

Molly nodded in understanding, her hand reaching out to gently rest on his arm. "Does it...does it bother you?"

Kit's eyes met hers, his gaze holding a complexity of emotions. "Every day," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper.

Molly offered Kit a reassuring smile, her touch on his arm gentle and comforting. "Well, maybe this trip will be good for both of us. A chance to leave some of those ghosts behind."

Kit's brows furrowed as he looked at her. "What are you talking about, Molly?"

Molly took a step back, her expression a mix of surprise and realization. "Oh, didn't I mention? I'm coming with you."

Kit's eyes widened, disbelief coloring his features. "You're what?"

"What part of 'I'm coming with you' don't you understand?" Molly reiterated, her voice determined.

Kit's frustration simmered beneath the surface as he shook his head. "Molly, this isn't a game. This isn't some pleasure cruise we're going on. It's dangerous, and I can't have you putting yourself at risk."

Molly's eyes flashed with irritation, her stance becoming defensive. "And who made you the boss, Kit? I'm not a child anymore, I can take care of myself."

Kit's voice rose as he tried to reason with her. "I know you can, Molly, but this is different. It's not just about being capable. It's about the dangers we'll face, the traps, the unknowns..."

Molly crossed her arms over her chest, her resolve unwavering. "And I can face those dangers just as well as you can."

Kit's frustration reached its peak, his voice tinged with exasperation. "This isn't a contest of who's tougher, Molly. It's about being responsible and making sure we all make it back in one piece."

Molly's resolve remained steadfast, her tone unwavering. "I know that, Kit. But I'm not going to back down just because you're worried about me."

The tension between them escalated as their voices rose, the room crackling with their argument. Kit's frustration grew, his voice carrying a mix of anger and desperation. "You don't get it, Molly! We're not just going on a joyride here. We'll be facing real dangers, risking our lives. We're going near Thembria, one of the most dangerous places in the world!"

Molly's eyes blazed with determination. "And I'm the one who found P.J. in the first place, remember? I deserve to be a part of this!"

Kit's patience wore thin, his voice rising even further. "You deserve to be safe, Molly! I can't have you on this trip if you're not willing to put your safety first."

Molly's voice matched his intensity, her fists clenched at her sides. "And I can't just stand by and let you face those dangers alone. I'm not a child anymore, Kit."

Kit's frustration boiled over, his voice cracking with emotion. "You're right, Molly, you're not a child. But you'll never know what it's like to take a life, to live with that weight on your conscience!"

Molly's expression hardened her eyes meeting Kit's with anger. "And you think you're the only one who's faced horrors, Kit? I may not have been in a war, but I've seen my share of darkness. This is about my future too, and my mom!"

"And you're being a fucking brat!" Kitt yelled, instantly regretting his words. Kit's face was a mix of frustration, regret, and realization as he looked at Molly, realizing the weight of his words. He opened his mouth to speak, to apologize.

But before Kit could find the right words, Molly's anger flared even brighter. With a swift, abrupt motion, her hand shot out and connected with a resounding slap against Kit's cheek. The sharp sound echoed through the room, a stark punctuation to their heated argument.

"You son of a bitch," She spat.

Kit's head snapped to the side from the force of the slap, his cheek stinging as his eyes widened in shock. The room fell into a charged silence as he turned his gaze back to Molly, his expression a mix of surprise, hurt, and remorse.

Molly's chest heaved with heavy breaths, her anger still palpable in the air. Without another word, she spun on her heel and stormed out of the room, the door slamming shut behind her with a finality that echoed the rupture between them.

Kit stood there, his hand rising to gingerly touch his stinging cheek. His thoughts churned as he replayed their argument in his mind, realizing the weight of his words and the pain they had caused. The room felt heavy with tension, his heart aching with regret as he grappled with the consequences of his actions.

In the aftermath of their heated exchange, Kit was left standing alone in the room, his emotions a tangled mess of anger, guilt, and longing. "Fuck," he cursed under his breath, sitting down on his bed and drooping his head.

=========================================
A Few Hours Later
=========================================

The late afternoon sun cast a warm, golden glow over the surroundings, painting the sky with hues of orange and pink as it began its descent toward the horizon. The air was filled with a gentle breeze that rustled through the trees, carrying with it the faint scent of ocean salt and blooming flowers. The atmosphere was alive with a sense of anticipation and excitement, the promise of a new adventure hanging in the air.

Gadget moved with purpose around the Sea Duck, her overalls speckled with grease and her tools clinking in her belt as she fueled up the plane. Her vibrant orange hair caught the sunlight, creating a halo of fiery brilliance around her head.

Meanwhile, Baloo and Kit worked in tandem, loading crates and supplies onto the plane's cargo hold. Their camaraderie was evident in their easy banter and occasional bursts of laughter as they navigated the task at hand. Baloo's larger-than-life presence was juxtaposed by Kit's youthful energy, and together they formed a dynamic duo, their actions synchronized as they efficiently loaded the Sea Duck.

"Ya know, kid," Baloo began, his voice carrying a hint of wisdom and amusement as they continued on a conversation about Molly, "Women are like a whole 'nother species. Even after all these years, I ain't got 'em figured out."

Kit grinned, glancing over at Baloo. "Yeah, but you've had your share of experiences, haven't you?"

Baloo let out a hearty laugh, his eyes twinkling with a mixture of nostalgia and bemusement. "Oh, you bet. Lemme tell ya, I've seen my fair share of heartbreaks and head-scratchin' moments. They can be all sweet and smiles one minute, and the next, they're off doin' who-knows-what, most likely plotting your murder."

Kit raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Sounds like you've got some unresolved issues, old bear."

Baloo playfully swatted Kit's shoulder, his grin widening. "Nah, just sharin' some wisdom, kid. Don't get too worked up 'bout Molly. Women, they're like storm clouds -- you never know when they're gonna change direction."

Kit chuckled, shaking his head. "Well, you might be right about the storm clouds part. But Molly's got a fire in her, Baloo. She's not just gonna change direction 'cause the wind blows."

Baloo shrugged, his expression one of easygoing nonchalance. "Eh, we'll see. Just remember, kid, not every problem needs fixin'. Sometimes, it's better to just let 'em figure it out on their own."

Inside the Sea Duck's pilot cabin, Della was engrossed in her preflight routines, her focused demeanor a stark contrast to the playful banter happening outside. Her gloved fingers moved with practiced precision over the various instruments and controls, ensuring that everything was in perfect working order for their upcoming journey. She double-checked gauges, adjusted knobs, and scanned dials.

Meanwhile, P.J. stumbled around the cabin, his wide eyes darting from one corner to another. His unease was palpable as he fumbled with a seatbelt and peered out the window, his voice carrying a nervous tremor as he spoke. "Uh, Della, are you sure this thing is, uh, safe? I mean, we're gonna be up in the air and all...right?"

Della shot P.J. a reassuring smile without looking up from her work. "Don't you worry, nerd. The Sea Duck's been through a lot worse than a little flight."

P.J. gulped audibly, his voice betraying a mix of excitement and anxiety. "Yeah, but...are you sure it's, like, airworthy? I mean, I'm not exactly an aviation expert, but--"

Della cut him off with a chuckle. "Trust me, Gadget's done some impressive modifications. We're in good hands."

P.J. hesitated for a moment before nodding tentatively. "Okay, if you say so. I'm just not used to this whole flying thing, you know? I am not too keen on heights."

Della waved a dismissive hand. "Phooey! Once you're up there, you'll forget all about it. Flying's the safest way to travel, trust me."

P.J. glanced down at his safety belt, a puzzled expression crossing his face as he realized both ends were identical. "Yeah, well, it's not the flying itself that bothers me. It's more about the, uh, potential landing."

Outside, Gadget stood by the Sea Duck, a satisfied grin on her face as she admired her handiwork. The plane glistened in the sunlight, its fuel tanks fully topped off and its cargo hold loaded with supplies. Baloo and Kit joined her, their camaraderie apparent as they exchanged banter and shared a few laughs.

Rebecca descended the stairs leading to the dock and approached the trio, her expression slightly concerned. "Is Molly coming to see you off?"

Kit shook his head. "I haven't seen her. Thought she might be with you."

Rebecca shrugged. "Haven't seen her either. Maybe she's still upset about earlier."

Gadget chimed in, her voice tinged with sympathy. "I'm sure she'll come around, Kit. She just needs some time."

Della emerged from the Sea Duck, her voice filled with confidence. "All systems are good to go, folks. We're ready to set off whenever you are."

Just as the group was about to exchange words of safe travels, Kit's gaze shifted beyond them, his expression turning from anticipation to alarm. His eyes widened as he spotted a group of figures coming down the pathway leading to Higher for Hire.

Rebecca followed Kit's gaze and her face grew tense. "What is it, Kit?"

Kit's voice was urgent as he whispered, "Shere Khan's goons."

Right on cue, a trio of shifty-looking weasels emerged into view, the very same individuals Kit had encountered just days ago. Dressed in impeccably tailored suits, their sinister intentions were practically etched onto their faces as they strode confidently down the pathway.

Baloo's fists clenched at his sides, his voice dripping with annoyance. "Aw, great! Just what we needed. Can't a bear and his buddies catch a break?"

The lead weasel, with a sneer on his face, stepped forward and sized up Baloo with a sly grin. "Well, well, if it isn't Baloo the pilot. Going somewhere, big fella?"

Baloo's brows furrowed as he adopted a nonchalant posture. "Oh, you know, just takin' the ol' plane out for a little spin. Gotta stretch her wings, you know how it is."

The weasel raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Is that so? A little flight, huh?"

Kit's eyes narrowed as he exchanged a knowing glance with Baloo, sensing the weasel's suspicion. He subtly shifted his weight, ready to spring into action if needed.

Baloo's eyes flickered with annoyance as he maintained his casual facade. "Yeah, just a li'l trip to clear the cobwebs, you know."

The lead weasel's grin widened, revealing a set of sharp teeth. "Interesting timing, considering Mr. Khan is gettin' real impatient. He wants what's his, and he wants it now."

Rebecca stepped forward, her resolve unwavering even in the face of the weasels' threats. "We won't be bullied by the likes of you. We'll handle our business how we see fit."

The lead weasel's eyes glinted with a dangerous edge as he leaned in closer, his voice dripping with menace. "You don't understand, lady. Mr. Khan is a busy man, and he's tired of waiting. If you don't sign those papers now, we might have to resort to...tougher negotiations."

At that moment, the two other weasels revealed their weapons – one brandishing a switchblade, the other with a revolver he had kept hidden behind his back. The lead weasel's grin turned into a scowl as he finally stepped back, "So what's it gonna be sweet cheeks?"

Watching the tense stand-off by the Sea Duck, Della knew they needed a way to divert the weasels' attention and create chaos without endangering anyone. Her gaze flickered to the nearby empty fuel drums, and an idea quickly formed in her mind.

Swiftly and silently, Della reached into her pocket and retrieved her Zippo lighter. She then removed her white pilot scarf and ignited one end with the lighter. With careful precision, she swung the burning scarf and tossed it toward the fuel drums.

As the scarf landed and flames began to dance, Della's voice rose in urgency, cutting through the tension-filled air. "Fire! Fire! Everyone, move away from the fuel drums! We need to get to safety!"

The weasels, momentarily caught off guard by the unexpected turn of events, instinctively looked toward the flames. Their focus shifted from their threats to the potential danger posed by the spreading fire.

Seizing the opportune moment, Baloo lunged forward with a swift and decisive movement. His massive paw shot out, connecting squarely with the jaw of the weasel holding the gun. The impact of the blow sent shockwaves through the weasel's body, his eyes widening in shock as the forceful punch caught him completely off guard. The pistol in his hand slipped from his grip and clattered to the ground as he staggered back, momentarily dazed.

Simultaneously, Kit sprang into action, his agile form moving with lightning speed. He closed the distance between himself and the weasel with the switchblade, his movements fluid and precise. Before the weasel could react, Kit's swift strike connected with his wrist, causing the switchblade to clatter to the ground. A forceful shove from Kit's other hand sent the weasel off balance and stumbling toward the edge of the dock.

In an instant, the weasel lost his footing and toppled over the edge, his arms windmilling as he plummeted into the water below with a loud splash. Disoriented and soaked, he resurfaced with a sputter, his frantic paddling betraying his panic.

With the chaos of the dock swirling around them, the remaining weasel saw an opportunity to strike and lunged at Kit from behind, his desperation fueling a final attempt to turn the tide. His attack was swift and aggressive, his fingers clawing at Kit's shoulders in an attempt to subdue him.

Just as the weasel's grip tightened, a determined figure stepped into the fray. Rebecca's keen instincts had her springing into action once again, her gaze laser-focused on the threat that loomed over Kit. Without hesitation, she reached for a stray wrench that had been left on the dock, her muscles tensing as she swung the improvised weapon with precision.

The wrench connected with a resounding thud, striking the weasel's head with a powerful impact. Pain and disorientation rippled through his body, causing his grip on Kit to loosen and his attack to falter. The weasel stumbled back, his vision swimming as he fought to regain his bearings as Kit spun around with his fist raised.

Kit's swift spin came to an abrupt halt as he was met with the sight of Rebecca wielding the wrench, a triumphant grin lighting up her face. "You?" he began, his voice filled with a mix of surprise and admiration.

Rebecca's grin widened as she nodded. "You bet I did. Now move it, Kit!"

"Got it!" Kit exclaimed, his gaze briefly shifting to Baloo. "You guys got this under control?"

Baloo's answering grin was equally confident, his massive frame delivering another powerful punch that landed squarely on the weasel he was fighting. "Piece of cake, kid. Now go!"

With swift determination, Kit, Gadget, and Della made their way onto the Sea Duck, P.J. was already inside, his eyes wide with anxiety. "What's happening? Is this normal?"

Kit flashed a reassuring smile at P.J. as he buckled himself in. "Just a small hiccup, buddy. Nothing to worry about."

The calm atmosphere was abruptly shattered by the piercing sound of a gunshot. P.J.'s eyes nearly bulged out of his head as he turned to Kit in disbelief. "You call that a hiccup?!"

"Yes!" Kit declared with a smirk as he quickly hopped into the co-pilot seat, fastening his seatbelt. Della, already seated in the pilot's chair, exchanged a determined glance with Kit. He peered out of the cockpit window to see the weasel in the water firing shots at them with a revolver. "We just get this crate fixed up and they're already putting holes in it."

Della's fingers danced across the controls as she responded confidently, "Don't worry, Skyprancer. I've got this."

With swift precision, Della started the engines and gradually increased the power, the propellers roaring to life with a powerful surge of energy. The Sea Duck's engines blasted a strong gust of wind, the force of the propellers acting like a powerful jet of air.

The weasel in the water, caught off guard by the sudden blast of wind, was sent airborne, his arms flailing as he soared through the air. The forceful propulsion propelled him farther and farther away from the Sea Duck until he eventually crashed into the side of Higher for Hire.

Della couldn't help but grin as she eased off the throttle. "Ah, the old propeller prank. Used to do this in flight academy for a bit of fun."

Kit chuckled, shaking his head. "I'm glad I wasn't in the same class."

As Della expertly guided the Sea Duck along the water, taxiing for takeoff, Kit stole one last glance out of the cockpit window. He spotted the weasels scrambling to their feet, clearly flustered and drenched from their unexpected encounter with the propeller's gust. Their hasty retreat took them scurrying away from the dock, their frustrated gestures and angry voices fading into the distance.

Rebecca stood on the dock, a wry smile tugging at the corner of her lips. She gave a playful wave as the aircraft started its takeoff roll, her expression a mix of amusement and relief. With a final nod of acknowledgment, Kit settled into his seat, his heart pounding with a mixture of adrenaline and anticipation. As the Sea Duck's engines roared to life, the plane surged forward, the water spray in its wake glinting like diamonds in the sun. With each passing moment, the dock grew smaller, the open sky beckoning them toward their destination.

Chapter Text

Chapter IX - Free Bird

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In the Air,
Near the Cliffs of Cape Suzette
=========================================

Under the canvas of clear blue skies, the Sea Duck glided gracefully above the glistening waters of the bay surrounding Cape Suzette. The tranquil expanse below shimmered in shades of sapphire and emerald, each gentle ripple capturing the brilliance of the sun's rays. Majestic cliffs encircled the city, their rugged formations standing as steadfast sentinels against the endless horizon. The sea breeze carried with it a tang of salt, a testament to the vastness of the open ocean beyond.

Inside the cockpit, Della's hands expertly maneuvered the controls, her gaze alternating between the vast seascape and the navigation instruments. Kit sat beside her in the co-pilot seat, his vibrant eyes scanning the distance, alert for any signs of trouble.

As the Sea Duck approached the cliffs, the sense of freedom that came with soaring through the skies was momentarily shadowed by the reminder of the challenges they had narrowly escaped. However, the peaceful beauty of the world below helped to ease the tension that had settled over the cockpit.

Suddenly, the radio buzzed to life, cutting through the serene atmosphere. The authoritative voice of the Cape Suzette Air Authority resonated through the cabin, demanding their immediate attention.

"Attention, unidentified aircraft. This is the Cape Suzette Air Authority. You are ordered to immediately land at the nearest port under the authority of Shere Khan. Failure to comply will result in further actions as you have been flagged as a stolen aircraft."

Della's grip on the controls tightened as the weight of the situation pressed down upon them. Kit's expression grew more serious as he listened to the radio transmission. He leaned in closer to the microphone, his voice steady but firm. "This is the Sea Duck. We're not a stolen aircraft. We have proper clearance. Repeat, we're not stolen."

The radio remained silent for a moment, the tension in the cockpit almost palpable. Finally, a skeptical voice responded on the other end, demanding proof of their legitimacy, "Clearance code and destination?"

"These goddamned idiots," Della's eyes flickered to the navigation console, her fingers dancing over the controls as she provided the required information. "Clearance code is Delta-Bravo-Seven, flight plan filed under Higher for Hire. We're on legitimate business!"

The radio crackled once more, the Air Authority's voice slightly more convinced this time. "Clearance code confirmed, Higher for Hire flight plan acknowledged. You are clear to continue your flight. Apologies for any inconvenience."

Della's shoulders relaxed as she let out a sigh of relief. She exchanged a relieved smile with Kit, who nodded appreciatively. "Well, that was almost a short trip." He muttered.

"Don't let it bunch your panties, Skyprancer," Della smirked, her focus returning fully to the task of piloting the Sea Duck. "We're cleared with the Air Authority."

In the back of the plane, Gadget and P.J. exchanged relieved glances, their expressions lightening. Gadget settled back into her seat, her tension easing with the reassurance that they were no longer in immediate danger.

P.J. chuckled, still feeling a bit jittery. "That was a bit too close for comfort."

Just as P.J. finished sighing in relief, the tranquility of the moment was shattered by the deafening eruption of gunfire. The metallic ping of bullets striking the side of the Sea Duck resounded through the cabin, causing Gadget and P.J. to instinctively duck for cover. The once-peaceful atmosphere was now a flurry of panic and chaos.

The cockpit alarms blared to life, their shrill tones mingling with the sound of the gunshots. Della's hands moved with swift determination as she fought to stabilize the aircraft while simultaneously assessing the extent of the damage. Kit's gaze snapped to the source of the attack, his eyes narrowing as he tried to catch a glimpse of their assailants.

P.J.'s eyes widened in terror as he stared at the holes peppering the plane's exterior. His voice trembled with panic as he exclaimed, "They're shooting at us?!"

Amidst the chaos, a hidden compartment under the floor of the cabin suddenly opened, revealing Molly's head poking up. Her expression was a mix of surprise and confusion as she took in the scene before her. "Who's shooting at us?" she asked, her tone filled with astonishment.

Kit's eyes widened in disbelief as he turned to see Molly's unexpected appearance. "What the hell are you doing here?!" he exclaimed, his voice a mix of frustration and concern.

Molly's response was matter-of-fact, her gaze unwavering as she met Kit's incredulous stare. "I told you, didn't I? I'm coming with you, whether you like it or not."

Kit's jaw dropped, a mixture of exasperation and surprise evident on his face. As bullets continued to rain against the Sea Duck's exterior, he couldn't help but shake his head. "Now's really not the time for this, Molly!"

"Couple of planes on our six!" Della's voice cut through the chaos, her expression focused. "Everyone, hold on tight. I'm going to try some evasive maneuvers."

P.J. opened his mouth to ask, "What do you mean evasive--" but his words were abruptly cut off as Della skillfully put the Sea Duck into a spinning climb, attempting to evade the incoming gunfire. P.J., who hadn't correctly fastened his seatbelt, was sent tumbling wildly around the cabin, his panicked yells adding to the cacophony of the tumultuous flight.

As P.J. careened through the cabin, his wild flailing resembling a frantic dance, Gadget instinctively reached out and managed to grab onto the back of his jacket. "Hold on, fat boy!" she shouted over the noise, her grip firm as she attempted to keep him somewhat steady.

Kit's gaze remained locked on the window, where the Morane-Saulnier M.S.406 fighters were steadily closing in. He couldn't help but scoff at the sight. "Well, they could have at least sent some faster planes after us."

Della's hands moved deftly across the controls, her expression focused as she continued to maneuver the Sea Duck through the tumultuous dive. "Can't outrun bullets in this scrap heap, Skyprancer."

Gadget managed to get P.J. buckled into his seat amidst the chaos, her hands moving swiftly. Once he was secured, P.J. let out a breathless question, "Why aren't we shooting back?"

Kit's frustration was palpable in his voice as he shouted over the noise of the engine and the incoming fire, "Because this crate doesn't have any guns, moron! It's a cargo plane, not a fighter!"

As the fighters closed in, the cloud bank loomed ahead, its dense cover providing a momentary shroud of protection. Della steered the Sea Duck into the clouds, hoping to shake off their pursuers and find a temporary sanctuary.

Just then, Molly's voice cut through the chaos. "I have a gun!" She crawled out of the hidden compartment on the floor, holding up an old Webley revolver.

Kit's eyes widened in disbelief as he snatched the gun from her hand. "Where did you even get this?!"

Molly's laughter danced in the midst of the turbulence. "Baloo's had it for years. You know how he collects all sorts of stuff."

Rolling his eyes, Kit muttered under his breath, "Unbelievable," as he checked the gun's chamber and gripped it tightly.

The Sea Duck shuddered under the impact of more bullets, causing vibrations to rattle through the cabin. Suddenly, a plume of dark smoke billowed from one of the engines, the acrid scent of burning fuel permeating the air.

Della's voice cut through the chaos, her tone urgent. "We've got a fire on three! Someone better think of something fast, or the only place we'll be going is the bottom of the bay!"

As the barrage of bullets continued to hit the Sea Duck, Kit's eyes darted around the interior of the plane. His gaze landed on his old airfoil, and a daring idea began to form in his mind. Possibly a brilliant idea. More likely a stupid idea. He turned to Della, his urgency cutting through the chaos. "Della, slow down!"

The response from everyone on board was a mix of surprise and alarm, their voices overlapping in a chorus of disbelief, "Slow down?!"

Della, her brows furrowed in concern, looked over her shoulder at Kit as she continued to navigate the tumultuous situation. Seeing him clutching the airfoil in one hand and the revolver in the other, she let out an exasperated sigh. "Please tell me you're not going to do what I know you think you are going to do."

As tension filled the cabin, P.J. leaned over to Gadget, his eyes wide with curiosity and fear. "What's he going to do?"

Gadget stared back at him, her expression equally puzzled, and she shrugged. "Serve us our in-flight meal on that fancy platter of his?"

Kit's ears caught their conversation, and he couldn't help but smirk despite the circumstances. "I'll show you what I'm going to do." He turned his attention to Della, his voice commanding. "Open the rear cargo bay doors!"

With a mixture of annoyance and exasperation, Della muttered to herself, "I am getting too old for this shit," before complying with Kit's request and opening the cargo doors at the back of the plane. Molly, who had hopped into the co-pilot seat, swiftly secured herself in as Kit prepared for whatever he had planned.

Kit then pointed a finger at Molly, his frown darkening. "And we'll talk about...whatever this is, when I get back!"

Molly grinned back at Kit and gave him a playful salute. "Sir, yes sir!"

The cargo bay doors creaked open, and the rush of wind surged into the cabin, creating a chaotic symphony of sound. Loose objects danced and tumbled in the turbulence, filling the plane with a whirlwind of movement.

Kit forged his way through the swirling debris, each step a calculated maneuver as he moved toward the rear of the plane. The wind whipped at his clothes, and he quickly stuffed the revolver into his waistband, opposite his holstered 1911, his heart racing with adrenaline and purpose. Finally reaching the cargo door, he paused for a moment to survey the scene before him.

On his left lay the old, rusted winch that Baloo had installed years ago. Memories of younger days flooded Kit's mind -- Baloo's easygoing laughter as he piloted the Sea Duck, Kit's carefree adventures surfing the clouds on his airfoil. Those days were long before the war, before debts, and before the looming possibility of losing Higher for Hire, the Sea Duck, and the home he cherished.

"I have got to be out of my fucking mind," Kit muttered to himself.

With a deep breath and unwavering determination, Kit kicked the winch release in one smooth motion. In an instant, he was diving out of the back of the plane, the rush of wind and the vastness of the sky both exhilarating and terrifying. Panic momentarily gripped him as he took in the boundless blue above and the endless expanse of water below. But the rush of adrenaline kicked in, and the sensation was akin to falling off a bike; as Baloo had told him -- something familiar and strangely comforting.

As gravity pulled him downward, Kit's instincts took over. With practiced ease, he unfurled his airfoil and positioned it beneath his feet. The metal of the airfoil caught the wind, and he felt himself slowing down as he glided through the air. The rope attached to the winch snapped tautly, and the sudden force yanked him upwards, almost threatening to pull his arms out of their sockets.

With a deft twist of his wrist, Kit adjusted his trajectory, his heart pounding as he maneuvered himself through the open sky. He felt the rush of the wind against his face, the adrenaline coursing through his veins. At this moment, he was living up to his namesake -- surfing the skies like he was a kid again.

Back in the Sea Duck, P.J. peered out of a window, his eyes widening in disbelief. "Is he out of his fucking mind?!"

In the cockpit, Della looked over her shoulder, her gaze fixed on the sight behind them. She caught a glimpse of Kit soaring majestically, the wind whipping through his fur. Despite the chaos of the situation, a wry grin tugged at the corners of her lips. "Go get 'em, Skyprancer."

Meanwhile, Molly, seated beside Della, was completely entranced by the sight of Kit in the midst of his daring aerial display. She couldn't help but mutter under her breath, "Damn, why does he have to be so hot?"

"Try and control yourself, kiddo," Della advised, "We're not out of this yet."

Outside the plane, Kit's senses were heightened to a razor-sharp focus as he spotted one of the enemy planes drawing ominously closer to the Sea Duck. A surge of adrenaline coursed through his veins, and with the finesse of a seasoned sky surfer, he skillfully manipulated the airfoil under his feet. His body responded with grace, propelling him over and then executing a gravity-defying flip, positioning him upside down directly above the approaching adversary.

Engaging in this exhilarating dance with gravity, Kit locked eyes with the furry mouse at the controls of the Morane-Saulnier M.S.406. A grin tugged at the corner of Kit's lips, and as swift as a striking snake, he retrieved the revolver nestled in his waistband, his fingers wrapping around the grip.

Kit took aim with unwavering focus, squeezing the trigger with practiced accuracy. The gunshots reverberated through the air, each report punctuating the intensity of the moment. The cockpit window of the enemy plane exploded into a spiderweb of fractures, and the deadly projectiles found their mark with lethal precision. The impact of the bullets destroyed the delicate instrumentation within the cockpit, rendering the controls useless in an instant.

As the reality of his impending doom dawned upon the enemy pilot, his features twisted in a maelstrom of shock and horror. The aircraft descended into a helpless spiral.

Back in the Sea Duck, the already tense situation escalated into a full-on crisis as the number three engine erupted into a fierce blaze, casting an eerie orange glow across the cabin. The cockpit was alive with a cacophony of alarms, their shrill wails echoing the urgency of the moment as Della fought with the controls of the plane.

P.J.'s eyes were wide with fear, his voice trembling as he pleaded for an explanation, "What's going on?"

Della's voice was surprisingly calm amidst the chaos as she assured, "Just experiencing a bit of technical difficulty, P.J."

Gadget, her composure oddly steady as well, despite the unfolding chaos, raised an inquiring eyebrow, "You do know we are on fire, right Ducky?"

Della's response was a resounding shout, "YES!" Without hesitation, she abruptly put the Sea Duck into a dramatic nose dive.

Outside the plane, the sudden jolt of the nosedive yanked Kit, causing him to lose his grip on the revolver. He watched as the gun slipped from his fingers and plummeted downward, disappearing into the abyss. Holding onto the rope with both hands, he gritted his teeth against the turbulent rush of wind and smoke belching from the Sea Duck's engine.

As the jostling finally subsided and Kit secured his grip once more, he looked back just in time to see the second enemy aircraft descending upon him with guns blazing. Undeterred, Kit reached for his holstered 1911 and drew it. He squeezed the trigger in response, but frustration flooded his voice as the gun jammed after just one shot. "Oh, come on!"

A glimmer of hope flickered within Kit as the relentless hail of bullets from the fighter plane behind him finally ceased. It appeared that the enemy aircraft had run out of ammunition, offering a momentary respite. Kit's heart raced as he dared to believe that he had managed to evade the immediate danger.

But the respite was short-lived. His heart plummeted as he realized that the enemy plane was accelerating, closing the distance between them with alarming speed. Panic gripped Kit's chest as the terrifying realization dawned upon him -- the pilot had a sinister plan to use the propeller as a deadly weapon to turn Kit into ground bear meat.

Kit's desperation grew as the fighter plane closed in, its menacing propeller looming ever closer. With his heart pounding in his ears, he knew he had to act fast. In a last-ditch effort born of frustration and fear, Kit hurled his jammed pistol toward the approaching plane. To his shock and amazement, the gun managed to clear the spinning propeller blades and disappeared into the engine of the fighter.

A moment later, a deafening explosion shattered the air, and Kit's jaw dropped in disbelief. The enemy aircraft, now engulfed in flames, veered away erratically before plummeting toward the waters below.

A dumbfounded expression crossed Kit's face as he muttered, "Huh. Neat."

Inside the Sea Duck, Della's grip on the controls was tight, her gloved hands guiding the plane in its dive. The stick shuddered in her grasp as she whispered to herself, "C'mon old girl, just hold together."

Molly, seated beside her, peered out of the cockpit window, her eyes widening as she realized they were hurtling toward the water at an alarming speed. She gulped and nervously spoke up, "Uh, might want to slow it down, Della."

Ignoring Molly's words, Della's determination was unwavering as she willed the Sea Duck to push just a bit further, navigating the fine line between control and chaos. Her grip on the controls remained steadfast as she muttered to herself, "Just a bit more..."

In the midst of the tense moment, P.J.'s panicked voice rang out from the back of the plane, his fear-driven proclamation echoing through the cabin. "I don't want to die a virgin!"

Della's response was swift and sharp, her focus unwavering as she yelled back, "Everybody shut up and let me concentrate!"

"How am I not surprised you're still a virgin," Gadget muttered to P.J., her eyes rolling with a bored nonchalance as she let out a casual yawn.

"Hope you're up for this, Skyprancer," Della whispered to herself, her voice a determined murmur, before decisively yanking back the flight stick.

As Della's expert handling of the controls took effect, the Sea Duck's descent was arrested just in the nick of time. The plane pulled upward, the nose angling towards level flight only feet above the water's surface. The propellers churned the bay's spray, casting a refreshing mist that doused the engine fire, quenching the flames with an almost theatrical flair.

Outside, a triumphant whoop escaped Kit's lips as he watched the Sea Duck perform its breathtaking maneuver, his airfoil now skimming across the surface of the bay, "That's how we do it!"

But just as Kit celebrated their heart-pounding victory, the flaps of the Sea Duck raised. The sudden change in the aircraft's aerodynamics caused a shift in the tension of the rope connecting Kit to the plane. With the flaps raised, the Sea Duck's airspeed reduced, and the pull on the rope weakened. True to the law of inertia, Kit's state of motion remained unchanged, the line going slack as he was tossed off balance by the unexpected shift and he kept moving forward.

Della's focused expression remained steady as she glanced over her shoulder, her plan to retrieve Kit unfolding just as intended. Determination etched across her features, she gently eased back on the controls, causing the Sea Duck to slow down just enough. With a sudden burst of movement, Kit tumbled through the air, his form bouncing off the water like a skipped stone. And then, in a heart-stopping instant, he soared through the open cargo doors, crashing onto the floor.

The impact jolted Kit, and he was tossed about like a ragdoll. His airfoil, folded in half from the collision, lay beside him. Groaning, he slowly regained his bearings, his vision clearing as he realized he had tumbled all the way up to the cockpit. Despite the disorientation, he managed to flash Della a lopsided grin. "So good of you to save me a seat."

Della's wry grin met his as she quipped, "Call it payback for my leg."

The situation had finally stabilized, the Sea Duck flying smoothly once more. Molly's worried expression was a blur as she rushed to Kit's side, asking urgently, "Are you okay?"

Kit gave her a reassuring nod. "Yeah, I'm fine." He turned his gaze back to the cabin of the Sea Duck, where his companions were recovering from the tumultuous events. "How's everyone else?"

Gadget was fast asleep, curled up in her seat, completely oblivious to the chaos that had unfolded. P.J., however, groaned in response to Kit's question.

"I think I shit my pants."

Chapter Text

Chapter X - Layover

=========================================
Night,
Somewhere Over the Ocean
=========================================

The Sea Duck soared through the vast expanse of the open ocean under the cloak of night. The moon hung low in the sky, casting a silvery sheen upon the tranquil waters below. Stars, like distant diamonds, punctuated the dark canvas above, their brilliance softened by the gentle sway of wispy clouds that seemed to dance with the rhythm of the waves.

The atmosphere on board was a mixture of exhaustion and relief. Della's steady hands held the flight controls with practiced ease, guiding the aircraft through the night sky. The hum of the engines provided a comforting backdrop to the serenity of the ocean below. The Sea Duck's patched-up wounds were evident, but Gadget's skillful repairs had restored a sense of trust in the plane's durability.

In the main cabin, the crew members took a well-deserved break. The interior was dimly lit, the soft glow of overhead lights casting a warm ambiance. The faint smell of salty sea air mixed with the lingering aroma of cold-cut sandwiches and the pop that had been enjoyed for dinner; the remnants of the meal were scattered on the folding tray tables.

Kit sat with his legs propped up on a seat, staring out of the window at the moonlit waves. The gentle rocking of the plane had a soothing effect, his mind wandering as he lost himself in the vastness of the night. Molly, nearby, was engrossed in a conversation with P.J., their laughter, and banter filling the cabin with a sense of camaraderie. Gadget, with a satisfied grin, was poring over a technical manual, her mind ever curious and hungry for knowledge.

Amidst the lulls of conversation, the distant sound of the engines created a symphony of reassurance. Della's focus remained unyielding as she continued to navigate the Sea Duck through the darkness, her eyes occasionally glancing over the intricate array of instruments and controls in the cockpit.

Outside, the moon's reflection painted a shimmering pathway on the ocean's surface, as if inviting the Sea Duck to embark on a mystical journey. The night breeze whispered secrets to the stars, while the waves lapped against the plane's hull, a gentle reminder of the boundless world beneath.

"I gotta hit the head," Della stated matter-of-factly, rising from her seat and making her way toward the nearby bathroom.

Raising an eyebrow, P.J. adjusted his glasses on his nose and glanced around, his curiosity piqued. "Who's piloting the plane, then?"

Before Della disappeared into the bathroom, she flashed a mischievous smile at P.J. "Co-pilot," she replied cryptically.

P.J.'s gaze shifted toward the cockpit, and his eyes widened in a mix of surprise and shock. There, he saw that Della had jammed a crowbar into the controls, ensuring that the Sea Duck maintained a steady and straight flight path.

"You're all insane," P.J. sighed.

Kit, sitting nearby, nonchalantly lit up a cigarette and took a leisurely drag. "C'mon, tons of fun, don't worry so much."

P.J. turned his attention to Molly, concern still etched on his face. "Should he be smoking in here?"

With a weary sigh, Molly rose from her seat, her determination apparent as she strode over to Kit. In one swift motion, she plucked the cigarette from his lips, extinguishing it under her shoe. Kit's protest was immediate, "Hey! What the hell!"

"It's a disgusting habit," Molly huffed.

The bathroom door then swung open, revealing Della. A cigar was clenched between her bill, and she puffed away. "What's a disgusting habit?" she asked innocently.

Molly rolled her eyes at the sight of Della's cigar and retorted, "You're no better."

Kit reached into his green jacket, retrieving another Lucky Strike cigarette along with a Zippo lighter. He lit the cigarette and took a deep drag before leaning back in his seat He looked contemplative before launching into an explanation.

"You know, during the war, smoking was almost like a comfort. It was a way to cope with the stress, the fear, and the uncertainty that surrounded us every day. People found solace in the routine of lighting up, sharing stories, and camaraderie over a pack of smokes. It was a bond that helped us endure those tough times together."

He exhaled a plume of smoke, watching it disperse in the cabin's air. "I'm not saying it's the healthiest choice, but back then, it was a small comfort that kept us going."

Della chimed in with a nostalgic smile, her cigar glowing warmly in the dim light. "And lighting up after a successful mission? That was tradition. A way to celebrate making it through another day."

P.J. couldn't help but let out a chuckle at their conversation. "Our 'mission' has only just started," he remarked playfully.

Della's response was quick and lighthearted, "Yeah, well, I just like it."

Kit acknowledged Della with a smile, putting out his hand for a low-five. "You got that right."

Della returned Kit's low-five with a hearty slap of his paw, and they both shared a laugh. Molly let out a huff, turning up her nose slightly as she chimed in, "Well, you don't see Gadget smoking."

Gadget looked up from her book, finally joining in the conversation. Her voice was calm, but there was a distant edge to it that caught everyone's attention. "You know," she began, "I've seen the aftermath of what can happen when things go wrong, when you let your guard down."

As her friends turned their attention to her, Gadget's gaze seemed to drift into the past, her voice taking on a somber tone. "I was an engineer during the war, frontline, repairing tanks. There was this crew of a Sherman tank, Tommy cookers the Thembrians used to call them; on account of exploding and cooking people inside. So this crew, they had just completed a successful mission, and like us, they decided to have a smoke break to celebrate. They were laughing, joking, feeling invincible."

A heavy silence settled over the cabin as Gadget's words hung in the air. She continued, her voice laden with the weight of memory. "But then, out of nowhere, the Thembrians rolled up on them. There was no time to react. The screams, the chaos...it was a bloodbath."

The crew listened in rapt attention, the darkness of Gadget's tale casting a shadow over their earlier lighthearted conversation. Gadget's eyes seemed to glaze over, lost in the haunting memory of that moment. "I saw the aftermath, the twisted metal, the bodies...I hosed brain matter out of the Sherman." Her voice trailed off, her hands gripping the edges of her book as if seeking solace.

"Fucking hell," P.J. said with a quiet gasp.

Molly's expression was one of empathy, her earlier disdain for smoking now forgotten. Kit's cigarette had burned down to the filter, and he extinguished it under his boot, his own demeanor shifted by Gadget's haunting recollection. "Maybe it's best if we all get some kip," he suggested, his voice a touch more somber now. He turned his gaze to Della, concern in his eyes. "You good to keep flying?"

Della shifted the cigar from one side of her bill to the other with a wry grin. "Got enough fizzy pops to keep an elephant awake. You all get some rest." Her tone was confident, reassuring her friends that she could handle the flying duties.

P.J. let out a nervous chuckle, glancing around the cabin. "Yeah, well, I'm not sure I'll be able to sleep after hearing that story," he admitted, his tone a mixture of unease and dark humor.

=========================================
Hours Later
=========================================

In the realm of dreams, Kit Cloudkicker found himself transported to a haunting landscape of memories. He stood on the fringes of a dense jungle, the air heavy with an oppressive humidity that seemed to cling to his fur. The surroundings were shrouded in an eerie mist, obscuring the true extent of the horrors that lay ahead.

As he ventured deeper into the jungle, the scenery morphed into an unsettling tableau of misery. Dilapidated bamboo huts stood like grim sentinels, their roofs sagging under the weight of time and despair. Kit's heart raced as he recognized the layout of the camp he had once been held captive in during the darkest days of his life.

The oppressive atmosphere was only matched by the gaunt figures that shuffled around him. Other prisoners, their faces etched with a mixture of exhaustion and resignation, moved like specters through the camp's grim pathways. Their hollow eyes seemed to stare through Kit, as if they had lost the spark of life itself.

Amid the scenes of suffering, Kit's nightmare plunged deeper into the horrors of his captivity. He witnessed cruel captors, dressed in tattered uniforms and bearing the insignia of their captor, the brutal Panda-la regime. Their voices barked orders, their faces contorted with cruelty as they meted out punishments and torments upon the captives.

Kit's mind replayed the grueling forced labor, the inhumane conditions, and the constant specter of hunger that gnawed at him day and night. The haunting cries of fellow prisoners echoed in his ears, a chilling symphony of agony that seemed to reverberate through his very soul.

As the dream unfolded, Kit's nightmare focused on one particular moment of horror that had been etched into his memory. He found himself reliving the stark brutality of an execution, the air thick with tension as fellow prisoners were made to watch in grim silence. The cold realization that their lives could be snuffed out in an instant hung like a noose around their necks.

Kit's gaze locked onto the eyes of a fellow prisoner, a young rabbit the other prisoners affectionately called E.B.; whose spirit had been broken by the cruelty of their captors. In those haunted eyes, Kit saw a reflection of his own fear, his own desperation, and the relentless battle for survival that had consumed him during those grim days.

E.B. had been executed with a single bullet to the back of the head; their captors didn't even bother disposing of his body.

The dream's atmosphere grew more suffocating, the sights and sounds of the camp's horrors intensifying with each passing moment. The weight of despair bore down on Kit's chest, threatening to crush him under the burden of his memories.

And then, as abruptly as it had begun, the nightmare released its grip on Kit's consciousness. He jolted awake in a cold sweat, his heart racing and his breath ragged as he lay on the floor. The confines of the Sea Duck's cabin surrounded him, the familiar hum of the engines a stark contrast to the horrors he had just relived. Kit wiped a trembling paw across his forehead, his mind still reeling from the vivid nightmare that had reminded him of the depths of suffering he had once endured.

From the cockpit, the distant sounds of Gadget and Della's conversation reached his ears, a comforting reminder that he was not alone. P.J.'s soft snores echoed through the cabin, evidence of his slumber in a nearby seat. But it was Molly's presence that Kit's gaze ultimately fell upon.

Curled up in a seat, her features illuminated by the soft glow of the cabin's ambient lights, Molly's eyes were fixed on Kit with a mixture of concern and care. Her worry was etched upon her face, mirroring the emotions Kit felt still lingering within himself. A wool blanket was draped around her, cocooning her form as she stared at him, her usual playfulness replaced with genuine apprehension.

Her soft voice called out to him, "Are you okay?"

Kit managed a weak, grateful smile, his voice barely above a whisper as he finally spoke, "Just a bad dream, Molly. I'm okay." He offered a reassuring nod, despite the lingering unease that clung to him like a shadow.

Without hesitation, Molly uncurled herself from the seat and settled beside Kit on the floor. The warmth of her presence was a comforting contrast to the remnants of the nightmare's chill. Concern etched her features as she turned to him, her blue eyes locking onto his as she asked gently, "Want to talk about it?"

Kit's gaze remained fixed on the floor, his paws absentmindedly fiddling with a loose thread on his pants. He hesitated, the memories of the nightmare still vivid and raw. But the sincerity in Molly's eyes and the genuine care in her voice were difficult to ignore. He let out a sigh, his fingers ceasing their restless movement, and finally met her gaze.

"It was about...my time in a Panda-la P.O.W. camp," he admitted, his voice carrying a weight that matched the gravity of the memories. He paused, trying to find the words to describe the horrors he had experienced, the ones that had haunted his subconscious once again. "I was reliving moments I thought I'd buried deep. The fear, the pain, the...suffering. It felt so real. It was real."

Molly's expression softened further, her hand gently resting on Kit's paw as a silent gesture of support. She understood that some wounds ran deep, leaving scars that could never fully heal. "I'm sorry you had to go through that," she said softly, her empathy genuine.

Kit's gaze met Molly's, and he found comfort in her touch, her presence soothing the ache that the nightmare had left behind. Her warmth enveloped him, creating a cocoon of safety within the dimly lit cabin. He could already feel the memories of the dream slipping from his mind, replaced by a sense of peace that came from knowing he wasn't facing his demons alone.

"It's in the past," he began, his voice steady and resolute. "No matter what happened then, I served my country with pride. I served to ensure freedom for everyone, including my family...and you." The weight of his words hung in the air, carrying the depth of his conviction and the unbreakable bond that had formed between them.

Molly's eyes held a mixture of gratitude and understanding, her fingers giving his paw a gentle squeeze, "Kit..."

"I'm sorry for earlier," Kit sighed, his gaze dropping to where Molly's hand held his. "I just didn't want you to be hurt."

Molly's reply was a soft whisper, "I won't, Kit. Not as long as you're here." Her eyes locked onto his, a spark of understanding and connection igniting between them. She leaned closer, a mixture of emotions swirling within her, the unspoken words between them ready to manifest in a moment that felt both inevitable and electric.

Their proximity grew, and just as their lips were about to meet in a long-awaited kiss, a jarring and insistent alarm shattered the fragile tranquility of the cabin. The blaring sound cut through the air, like a splash of cold water, jolting them back to the reality of their situation. Startled and disoriented, Kit and Molly turned their heads toward the cockpit, their expressions quickly shifting from tender closeness to one of concern and confusion.

The abrupt intrusion of the alarm triggered an equally sudden reaction from P.J., who shot straight up from his sleep, his eyes wide with panic. He let out a scream, his voice echoing through the cabin, "Oh God, are we crashing?! We're crashing, aren't we?!"

Rolling his eyes at P.J.'s dramatic reaction, Kit stood up and reassured him, "No, P.J., we're not crashing."

However, before the tension could fully dissipate, Della's voice called out urgently from the cockpit, "Uh, guys? Things just got interesting."

With a wary expression, Kit made his way to the cockpit and leaned in, asking in a slightly annoyed tone, "Define interesting."

Della glanced at Kit, her expression dry, "Oh God, oh God, we're all going to die?"

As if to punctuate her words, an ominous rumbling filled the air, and one of the engines suddenly sputtered and stopped, the sound of its propulsion vanishing into an eerie silence. "Well, that's not good," Kit frowned as he sprinted back to the cabin, looking out of the window to confirm his suspicions – one of the engines on the right side had indeed ceased functioning.

The tension escalated further when, a moment later, another engine on the left side faltered and ceased its operation. Kit rushed back to the cockpit, a mix of concern and confusion etched on his features. "Della, what's going on?" he demanded, his voice tinged with urgency.

Della's expression mirrored his concern as she shook her head, her grip on the controls tight. "I have no idea. We should still have plenty of fuel." She reached over to tap on the fuel gauge, her brow furrowing in bewilderment. Suddenly, the gauge dropped to empty, and her eyes widened in alarm.

Kit's frown deepened as he observed the situation, commenting in an understated tone, "That's not good at all."

Just as the tension mounted, P.J.'s head poked into the cockpit, his eyes wide with worry as he asked, "What's going on?"

Kit, acting swiftly, shoved P.J. back gently but firmly. "You might want to buckle up and put your seatback tray in the upper position," he advised with a touch of grim humor. P.J.'s eyes grew even wider, his panic palpable as he stumbled back into the cabin to frantically follow Kit's advice.

Meanwhile, Kit turned to Gadget, who was seated in the co-pilot seat, and said urgently, "Gadget, move. I need to take over."

Gadget swiftly relinquished her seat, giving Kit room to slide in as he grabbed a nearby map book. "They must've hit the fuel tank back in Cape Suzette," he muttered, his brow furrowed in realization.

"Been pissing fuel this entire time," Della stated, her voice tinged with frustration. "We're down to two engines."

As the situation unfolded, the tense atmosphere was punctuated by another engine faltering, its hum turning into a strained growl before it too succumbed to failure. Della's voice held a note of grim acceptance, "Make that one."

With only one engine left, Della's focus shifted entirely to her control inputs, her hands steady on the yoke and her eyes fixed on the impending challenge of landing their crippled plane on the water. Amidst the mounting tension, Kit's urgency drove him to flip through the map book, his eyes scanning the pages to determine their proximity to any land. Della's voice broke through, cutting through the turmoil, "Talk to me, Skyprancer."

Kit glanced at the instruments, then back at the map, his brows furrowing as he calculated their options. Finally, he muttered, "Maybe...Macadamia."

Della's patience waned, her grip on the controls growing tighter. "The nut?" she demanded, her voice taut with irritation.

"No, not the nut, you nut! The country!" Kit retorted, a hint of exasperation in his voice. He pointed emphatically at the map book. "Here! We need to head east on this heading."

Back in the cabin, P.J. clutched his seat with white-knuckled hands, his panic palpable. "We're gonna die, we're gonna die, we're gonna die..." he repeated in a frantic mantra. Molly quickly buckled herself in, while Gadget strolled over with her trademark nonchalant demeanor, as if the dire situation was just another moment in her day.

She casually plopped into the seat next to P.J., offering her reassurance, "We're not going to die, airplanes just don't fall out of the sky." With a faint smirk, she added, "Plus, we still have one engine, it will be a pillowy-soft landing."

However, even as her words hung in the air, the final engine's hum abruptly ceased, leaving the cabin in a stunned silence broken only by the rushing wind.

"You were saying!?" P.J. groaned.

Up in the cockpit, Della's focus was unwavering as she quickly assessed their altitude, her voice steady despite the dire circumstances. "We're down to 2000 feet."

Amid the tension, Kit's chuckle broke through as he gazed out of the cockpit window, seeing nothing but darkness before them. "Tell me something I don't know."

Della's gaze sharpened as she scanned the horizon. "I don't see anything yet."

Kit's response was swift, his voice laced with determination, "It's there, just a little further." He reached for the radio, his fingers dancing over the controls as he dialed the frequency. With a deep breath, he transmitted a mayday call, the urgency in his voice matching the intensity of the situation.

"Mayday, mayday," Kit's voice crackled through the handheld receiver, "This is cargo plane Sea Duck out of Cape Suzette, we are going down, repeat, we are bingo fuel and need to land."

As seconds stretched into agonizing silence, there was still no response. Kit's grip on the radio tightened, frustration mixing with his determination. He tried once more, his voice resolute despite the mounting pressure.

Della's focus remained solely on gliding the Sea Duck down, her steady hands maneuvering the controls with a deftness born from experience. Her eyes flickered to the altimeter, and her voice cut through the tension as she relayed the diminishing altitude, "We're at 1500 feet, Kit. Where's this country of yours?"

Kit's response was laced with frustration, "It's there, goddammit! I know it is!" He then repeated the mayday message once more, the urgency in his voice leaving no room for doubt.

Just when it seemed their situation was dire, Della's sharp eyes caught a glimmer of lights in the distance, and a spark of hope ignited within her. The moment was punctuated by a voice crackling through the radio, like a lifeline thrown to them in their darkest hour, "Cargo plane Sea Duck, this is Macadamia Control. We read you. State your situation."

Kit's voice rang with conviction as he relayed their message, a lifeline cast into the void, "This is cargo plane Sea Duck out of Cape Suzette. We are bingo fuel and need to make an emergency water landing. Repeat, emergency water landing."

"Sea Duck, this is Macadamia Control," a steady male voice broke through the radio's static. "Head for Macadamia port. Maintain heading 080 at an altitude of 500 feet. You are cleared for an emergency water landing. Fire and rescue teams will be on standby."

"Well, at least this burg has firetrucks," Della said, her touch on the controls both gentle and unwavering. She followed the guidance provided by Macadamia Control, her skill evident as the Sea Duck responded to her every input. The island of Macadamia grew larger on the horizon, a beacon of safety drawing closer with each passing moment.

"Brace yourselves, everyone," Kit's voice echoed through the cabin as he put the receiver down. He turned to face the others, a serious yet reassuring expression on his face. "Things might get bumpy."

P.J., still gripping his seat, let out a panicked sigh, "Bumpy? I don't like bumpy. What happened to pillowy-soft?" He glanced over at Gadget, who, to his amazement, was fast asleep again, seemingly unfazed by the impending landing. "Are you freakin' kidding me right now?"

As Della took control of the Sea Duck, her focus sharpened. She felt the weight of responsibility settle on her shoulders, the lives of her friends and herself hanging in the balance. Her hands danced over the controls, fingers adjusting and compensating as she guided the aircraft lower and lower toward the water's surface.

Kit sat beside her, his confidence in her abilities unwavering. "You've got this, Della," he encouraged. "Just like landing a kite on a windy day."

Della shot him a wry grin, her eyes locked on the task at hand. "Yeah, a 100-ton kite, easy-peasy."

The minutes stretched out as Della expertly maneuvered the Sea Duck, her calm demeanor a stark contrast to the adrenaline coursing through her veins. Kit's voice remained a steady presence, guiding her through every adjustment, every minor correction, "Ease up on the flaps."

"Will you stop side-seat piloting?" Della puffed out her cheeks, adjusting the Sea Duck's approach.

And then, after what felt like an eternity, the moment arrived. The Sea Duck's pontoons made contact with the water's surface, and a collective breath was held. The plane skidded across the water, the sound of crashing waves and the creaking of metal adding to the symphony of the emergency landing.

"Easy does it, Della," Kit's voice was a soothing anchor in the chaos. "Keep her steady."

With a final, tense two minutes, Della's expertise paid off. The Sea Duck glided gracefully over the water, the deceleration slowing down as the plane gradually lost its momentum. The tension began to ease as the Sea Duck's movements grew smoother, the water's surface calming beneath them.

Finally, with a sigh of relief, the Sea Duck pulled into a nearby dock. The landing had been a success. The cabin's occupants sat in stunned silence for a moment, allowing the reality of their safe landing to sink in.

Kit couldn't help but break the silence with a grin. "Not bad, not bad. Though I'll give it a 9 out of 10. You lost points for the splash."

Della chuckled, her hands still gripping the controls. "I'll work on my entry next time."

As the tension began to give way to a mixture of relief and light-heartedness, the atmosphere in the cabin shifted. Gadget stirred from her nap with a soft yawn, blinking sleepily as she looked around. "Did we crash yet?" she asked, her tone groggy and unaware of their current situation.

P.J. looked at her in disbelief, his expression a mix of exasperation and amazement. "Seriously? How do you sleep through all of that?"

"How can you not?" Gadget replied, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. "Ducky had it under control."

Meanwhile, Molly wasted no time, unfastening her seatbelt and hurrying to the cockpit. She pushed herself into the doorway and found Della still in her seat, her hands slowly releasing the controls. Molly's eyes gleamed with admiration and genuine happiness, "That was an amazing landing!"

Della grinned, her exhaustion momentarily forgotten. "Thanks, kiddo."

As the euphoria of their successful landing began to settle, Della's curiosity was piqued by an unusual sight outside the cockpit window. She leaned forward, peering at the scene unfolding before them. Dozens of camels were gathered on the dock, each with fire hoses hanging off of them. The men tending to the camels wore odd clothing, their robes, and turbans painted in rich hues of red and gold.

Della blinked in confusion, her brow furrowing as she voiced her thoughts aloud, "The question is, where did we land?"

Chapter Text

Chapter XI - Khahesh Mikonam

=========================================
Macadamia
=========================================

Stepping onto the weathered wooden dock, the Sea Duck's occupants found themselves surrounded by a mesmerizing blend of modern and traditional elements. Della's footsteps echoed softly against the sturdy planks as her eyes swept across the scene, taking in the sights that surrounded her. Nearby, a group of canine men dressed in flowing robes adorned with intricate patterns of rich reds and vibrant gold moved around with an air of purpose. Their turbans, elegantly wound and crowned with bright tassels, marked their status and seemed to shimmer in the moonlight.

Gadget's hands twitched with the urge to intervene as the men inspected the Sea Duck, her protective instincts over her aircraft warring with the understanding that their scrutiny was necessary.

Among the organized activity, camels stood regally, their majestic forms adorned with colorful gear and harnesses that bore the signs of regular use. Fire hoses were secured to their saddles, a unique twist that blended the ancient role of the camel with the demands of modern technology. These animals, so perfectly adapted to the desert environment, now took on the task of makeshift fire trucks, a testament to the resourcefulness of the place they had landed in.

Della's initial confusion gave way to intrigue as she observed the scene, the fusion of cultures and practices painting a vivid picture before her. She turned to Kit, a quirk of curiosity in her expression. "Macadamia, huh?"

"Macadamia," Kit remarked. "Baloo told me about the place, said it was real friendly."

Molly nodded in agreement, her eyes following the camels as they bustled about. "Well, at least they're prepared for anything."

As the local men continued their assessments and the camels moved with a plodding sense of purpose, Della felt a mix of anticipation and caution. This was an unexpected encounter with a culture that clearly held its own unique way of life. It was a glimpse into a world that promised new experiences and a chance to rest after their turbulent journey.

With a sidelong glance at Kit, Della couldn't help but grin. "Well, we haven't been shot at yet, so there's that."

In the midst of their exchange, one of the locals approached an engine compartment of the Sea Duck. Gadget's protective instincts kicked in, and she darted over, her voice raised with a mix of indignation and frustration. "Hey, get your bloody paws off my engines!"

The local man looked at Gadget with a confused expression, then responded in his local tongue, "با دست های خونین خودتان از موتورهای من دور شوید!"

Gadget blinked in confusion, her linguistic skills failing her in this instance. She glanced back at Della and Kit, her eyebrows furrowing as she gestured toward the man and shrugged, clearly bewildered by the language barrier.

As the scene unfolded, P.J. stepped forward, addressing the local man in the native language. "چه کار می کنید؟" he inquired, his tone curious yet friendly.

The man turned to P.J., a warm smile on his face. "من فقط از تدابیر ایمنی برای محافظت اطمینان حاصل می کنم."

P.J. listened attentively, then turned back to his companions with a reassuring smile. "He's just making sure there are no fires. It's a safety measure to ensure our well-being."

Gadget let out an exasperated sigh and shot P.J. an irritated look. She grabbed him by the lapel of his tweed jacket, her grip surprisingly strong. "Listen, if any of them so much twist a single bolt on my engines, I'll personally make sure they regret it. Got it?" she warned, her eyes narrowing in emphasis.

P.J. turned to relay Gadget's message to the man, but before he could utter a word, Gadget's hand clamped down on his jacket again, her gaze unyielding. "Not, one, bolt," she reiterated firmly with a single finger raised.

P.J. spun back to the man to convey Gadget's warning, only to find himself grabbed by Gadget's firm grip a third time. She flashed him a toothy grin and added, "And hurry it up, will ya? We don't have all night."

Laughter rippled through the group at Gadget's assertive stance, and Kit chimed in with a grin, "Well, P.J., at least you're useful for something."

As laughter and camaraderie filled the air, the group on the dock suddenly turned their attention toward the road ahead. The flashing lights of police cars caught their eye, casting an ominous glow against the night sky. Four Nash LaFayette 2-door police cars led the procession, their presence drawing a mixture of curiosity and concern as sirens wailed.

"I got a bad feeling about this," Kit furrowed his brow.

But it was the sight of the luxurious Rolls-Royce Silver Wraith trailing behind that truly piqued their interest. Della's brow furrowed as she stared at the approaching vehicles, a hint of worry in her voice as she turned to Kit, "Now what have you got us into, Skyprancer?"

As the police cars pulled up and the opulent Rolls-Royce followed suit, the group on the dock watched with a mix of curiosity and apprehension. The synchronized flashing lights of the police vehicles painted a surreal picture against the backdrop of the unfamiliar town. The anticipation in the air was palpable as the sleek Rolls-Royce Silver Wraith came to a regal halt.

A hush fell over the group as the door of the Rolls-Royce opened, and a rhinoceros chauffeur stepped out, a picture of professionalism as he moved to open the passenger door. The atmosphere was charged with intrigue and uncertainty as the moment they had been waiting for arrived.

And then, with an air of elegance and power, the passenger emerged from the car. She moved with a grace that bespoke her high station, her fennec fox form draped in sumptuous silks that seemed to shimmer in the soft glow of the streetlights. Cascades of lustrous, tawny fur framed her face, with her head topped by bat-like ears, and her piercing eyes held an enigmatic allure that seemed to capture the essence of her kingdom.

Her features were a harmonious blend of beauty and authority, each angle and contour highlighting her status as a sovereign ruler. The vixen's attire was adorned with intricate jewelry that caught the light and cast radiant sparkles, reflecting her regal presence. Her presence seemed to radiate a magnetic charm that effortlessly drew attention, and the confidence in her every movement spoke of a ruler accustomed to command.

As the vixen stepped forth from the Rolls-Royce, her transformation was nothing short of astonishing. The extravagance and regal beauty that had initially defined her seemed to melt away, replaced by a woman who gushed with love and emotion. Her voice rang out with a mixture of excitement and longing, calling out with a heartfelt familiarity, "It is the Sea Duck! Where is Baloo? Where is my sweet Bubaloo?!"

The group watched in a mixture of surprise and utter confusion as the vixen abandoned all semblance of formality, her eyes alight with an affection that appeared entirely at odds with her majestic demeanor. She darted between them, her expressions shifting from queenly to deeply personal as she searched for someone who wasn't there.

Della exchanged a stunned glance with Kit, both of them equally bewildered by the rapid shift in the vixen's behavior. With an incredulous shake of her head, Della turned to Kit and silently mouthed, 'What the hell?'

Kit could only offer a helpless shrug in response, mirroring her confusion.

Kit's concern for the situation pushed him to take action. He stepped forward, reaching out to gently touch the vixen's arm in an attempt to calm her. "Hey, wait a second," he began, his voice measured. "Baloo's not here."

However, before his words could fully register, the sudden appearance of drawn guns from the police officers jolted the scene into a tense standstill.

Kit's hand retreated as he navigated the swiftly changing situation, his expression a mix of concern and awkwardness. The vixen's focus returned to him, her gaze intense and seeking affirmation. "But this is the Sea Duck, is it not?" she inquired, her voice carrying a hint of yearning. "Owned and operated by the great and wise Baloo?"

Her words took on a poetic quality, as if she was crafting an ode to the bear in question. "Baloo, a reflection of the tender sky's embrace, his touch a testament to the gentle yet potent force guiding the winds." Her speech continued, each phrase laden with romantic prose, "His figure, a masterpiece crafted by celestial hands, a harmonious blend of elegance and might, his member a powerful weapon that slays the wombs of virgins..."

As the vixen's words began to delve into the realm of personal devotion, Molly's interruption broke the spell that had enveloped the scene. Her voice was tinged with disbelief as she spoke, "Baloo?" She cocked her head to the side, "Baloo von Bruinwald? The same bear who once ate a sandwich he found behind the fridge?"

With her words coming to an abrupt halt, the vixen focused her attention on Kit. Her brow furrowed, suspicion etching her features. "So, if Baloo is not among you, then it stands to reason that you must have stolen his aircraft," she deduced, her voice sharp with accusation.

Kit scanned the scene, noting the encroaching presence of the police officers. He took a step forward, his voice clear and composed, "No, that's not it at all. I'm Kit Cloudkicker, Baloo's adopted son. Sort of. Unofficially." Kit stopped for a moment to think about his familial circumstances before shaking his head and continuing, "We had to make an emergency landing here due to engine trouble."

The vixen, still caught between suspicion and curiosity, approached Kit with a thoughtful expression. A glimmer of something akin to admiration flickered in her eyes as she spoke, her tone carrying a hint of playful jest, "So noble is the one named Baloo that he has adopted a son even from among the humblest of folk?"

Kit's brows furrowed as he retorted, "Hey, lady, who you callin' humble folk?"

The vixen's lips curved into an alluring smile, her fingers gently brushing over his chest. "No, you most certainly are not," she purred, her voice dripping with implication. "In fact, the old bull has bequeathed upon me a strong, young calf."

Molly, standing nearby, could barely contain her frustration, her annoyance evident as she clenched her fists. Steam seemed almost ready to emerge from her ears as she watched the vixen's interactions with Kit.

P.J., sensing the tension, broke the silence by asking, "Uh, miss? Who are you exactly?"

The vixen turned her attention toward P.J., her smile retaining its captivating allure. "Forgive my manners. Allow me to introduce myself," she proclaimed, a regal tone taking over. "I am Queen Lotta Lamour of Macadamia."

With the introductions underway, Della stepped forward, her voice laced with gratitude, "Thank you for your hospitality, Queen Lamour. Once we're finished making the necessary repairs to the Sea Duck, we'll be on our way and out of your fur."

The vixen's response was unexpected, her hearty chuckle echoing through the air. She clapped her hands together with a dramatic flourish before making an announcement, her voice carrying a sense of excitement, "Nonsense! You shall do more than mend your aircraft. I shall bring you to the palace for a feast that will not only delight your taste buds..." She then cast a playful sidelong glance at Kit, a twinkle in her eye, "...and ignite passions."

Molly's patience reached its limit, her irritation apparent as she muttered under her breath, words dripping sarcasm. "Oh, how wonderful."

Gadget then spoke up, her concern for the Sea Duck evident in her words. "Your, uhh, majesty," she began, her voice respectful but determined, "If it's alright with you, I'd prefer to stay here and oversee the repairs. I have a certain...attachment to my work and would rather not have others tinkering around. Della will stay with me and be my assistant. "

Della blinked, momentarily caught off guard by Gadget's sudden decision. "What do you mean stay and hel--" Before she could finish her sentence, a playful smirk crept across Gadget's face, and Della's understanding dawned. She cleared her throat, a hint of a smile tugging at her bill. "Right," she chimed in, her tone pointedly suggestive. "Gadget and I will take care of the repairs. You all can enjoy the feast."

With Gadget's decision agreed upon, the crew faced the Queen's announcement. "Then it is settled!" Queen Lamour said with regal authority. "The common women will stay with Baloo's mighty plane, while you," she pointed directly at Kit, "Will join me in the palace for a feast."

The Queen's gaze then shifted to P.J. and Molly, her scrutiny discerning and a touch venomous. "As for the portly one and the...let me deduce your occupation...ah, cattle farmer," she declared, her voice dripping with playful certainty of Molly's occupation. "Yes, with those large hands of yours, definitely a cattle farmer. You two shall also join us! Together, we shall break bread and make merry!"

With a graceful turn, the Queen led the way toward her luxurious Rolls-Royce, her movements embodying her regal presence. Kit, Molly, and P.J. exchanged glances before reluctantly following her lead. As they walked, Molly's voice cut through the air with a frosty edge, directed at Kit. "Yeah, Kit, let's go break bread." Her stare shooting daggers at the bear beside her, "And make merry."

Kit shifted uncomfortably under Molly's glare, a blush creeping up his cheeks as he internally wondered about the possible consequences of her simmering frustration. The division between repairing the Sea Duck and joining the Queen's feast seemed to grow wider, with each step taking them further into the heart of Macadamia and the unknown.

=========================================
A Short While Later,
Macadamia Royal Palace
=========================================

The grand dining hall of the Macadamia Royal Palace radiated opulence and grandeur, its intricate architecture a representation of the kingdom's rich history and cultural significance. Elaborate tapestries adorned the walls, depicting scenes from Macadamia's past, woven with threads of gold and vibrant hues that caught the light and gleamed with each movement. Ornate chandeliers hung from the high ceiling, their crystals sparkling like stars in the night sky.

In the heart of the hall, a long dining table stood draped with an exquisite silk tablecloth, embroidered with intricate patterns mirroring the lush landscapes of the kingdom. Cushioned chairs surrounded the table, inviting guests to indulge in the feast. The cushions were adorned with gold thread and designs that echoed the beauty of the surrounding tapestries.

The hall buzzed with the vibrant energy of the event. Rhinoceros guards stood vigilant at the entrances, their imposing presence a reminder of the kingdom's security. Hyena waitstaff moved gracefully between guests, dressed in a blend of traditional clothing adorned with modern accents, embodying Macadamia's harmonious fusion of tradition and progress.

Amidst the animated conversations and shared laughter, Queen Lamour commanded attention at the head of the table, her regal presence undeniable. Her attire was as extravagant as before, a gown that shimmered like liquid gold and accentuated her graceful figure. Beside her, her advisors sat, dressed in a blend of traditional and contemporary clothing, symbolizing their roles as guardians of the kingdom's heritage.

As Kit, Molly, and P.J. absorbed the scene around them, they couldn't help but feel both awed and overwhelmed by the grandeur of their surroundings. The juxtaposition of old and new, tradition and innovation, was evident in every detail of the hall, a reflection of the kingdom's identity and the enigmatic Queen who reigned over it.

Platters of enticing Macadamian dishes adorned the table, each offering a tantalizing blend of flavors and aromas that reflected the diversity of Macadamia's cuisine. Richly spiced meats, succulent kebabs, and savory stews were presented alongside vibrant salads and fragrant rice dishes. The colors of saffron, turmeric, and paprika infused the culinary spread with a warm and inviting palette.

Freshly baked flatbreads were stacked in woven baskets, their aroma mingling with the fragrant spices of the main dishes. Hummus and baba ghanoush were served in ornate bowls, accompanied by platters of olives, dates, and figs that added a touch of sweetness to the feast.

As the guests savored these exotic delights, the climax of the feast was heralded by the arrival of a dish that elicited intrigued glances and dubious expressions. With an air of suspense, the final platter was revealed, and on it lay a plate of fried crickets, seasoned and arranged to be visually striking.

Queen Lamour's eyes twinkled mischievously as she motioned toward the dish. "Ah, the pièce de résistance! A delicacy of our region that may raise a brow but is truly an acquired taste."

Molly's gaze fell upon the plate, her curiosity piqued. P.J. exchanged a wary glance with her, his expression clearly uncertain. Kit's nose wrinkled at the sight, a mixture of surprise and mild revulsion evident on his face. "Crickets?" he muttered incredulously under his breath.

The Queen laughed melodiously, her joyous demeanor infectious. "Fear not, young adventurer. They are quite nutritious and considered a treat among our people."

As the conversation continued to flow, Molly hesitated before gingerly picking up a cricket and taking a tentative bite. The crunch of the insect gave way to a burst of unexpected flavors, surprising her taste buds. P.J., encouraged by Molly's bravery, followed suit and found himself nodding in approval.

Kit, on the other hand, remained skeptical, watching his companions with a mixture of amusement and bewilderment. "I think I will pass on the bugs."

"They're actually not bad," P.J. remarked, reaching for another cricket. "Could use a little hot sauce, though."

Kit chuckled and shook his head. "You do you, big guy. Me? I'll stick to a classic hot dog and a cold beer."

Kit's attention was abruptly diverted when a captivating figure made her entrance. His gaze fixed upon the black-feathered heron woman who strode into the hall, a presence both alluring and dangerous. Every movement she made was a dance of confidence and grace, drawing the eyes of everyone in the room.

She stood tall, her lithe form exuding an air of lethality and intrigue. Her feathers, a deep shade of black, seemed to absorb the ambient light, creating an aura of mystery around her. The vivid contrast between her striking orange beak and the dark plumage only accentuated her enigmatic allure.

Dressed in a slinky red dress that clung to her curves, she emanated an unapologetic sensuality. The white knee-high boots she wore added to her commanding presence, each step exuding confidence and purpose. Her black hair was fashioned into a stylish pageboy haircut that framed her face, drawing attention to her sharp, calculating eyes that seemed to hold a thousand secrets.

As she moved through the hall, the hushed whispers of those around her only added to the air of anticipation and respect that accompanied her presence. There was an undeniable aura of power and intrigue that surrounded the black heron woman, leaving those who beheld her simultaneously captivated and cautious.

The echoing applause of the Queen resonated through the dining hall as she clapped her hands together with an air of delight. "Ah, Miss Heron, so good of you to join us!" Her voice carried a warmth that contrasted with the earlier regal tone. "Please, do sit. You are not the only stranger to partake of my hospitality tonight, as we have welcomed other guests."

The black heron woman offered a gracious nod, her movements fluid and elegant as she took her place at the table. The sultry allure she exuded seemed to blend seamlessly with the air of mystery that surrounded her. "Thank you, Your Highness," she responded in a Thembrian accent that carried a distinct Eastern undertone, each word dripping with polished sophistication.

Seated across from Kit, Molly, and P.J., the heron's gaze swept over the assembled company with calculated interest. Her sharp eyes seemed to miss nothing as she observed each person at the table, an unreadable smile tugging at the corner of her beak.

Kit's suspicions heightened upon hearing the Thembrian accent from the woman. His instincts were on high alert, sensing that there might be more to her than met the eye. He exchanged a cautious glance with Molly and P.J., a silent acknowledgment that they should remain vigilant.

Queen Lamour's words brought the conversation back to the enigmatic black heron woman. As the Queen continued to speak, her tone was one of respect and admiration. "Miss Heron comes to us as an esteemed advisor," she declared with a hint of pride, "Having pursued her studies at Duckburg University, specializing in archaeology. She lends her expertise to our efforts in discovering long-lost artifacts of our culture, buried within the vast desert."

Kit's gaze remained fixed on the heron, his curiosity and suspicion evident in his furrowed brows. "Oh yeah?" he quipped, his tone a mixture of skepticism and intrigue. "And what's in it for Miss Heron?"

The heron's chuckle was smooth, like a velvety melody, as she indulged his inquiry. "Please, just call me Black Heron," she purred, her voice a sultry cadence that seemed to glide effortlessly through the air. She plucked a cricket from the nearby platter and nonchalantly consumed it before continuing, "You must be an Alliance soldier of some type, yes?"

Kit's stare didn't waver, his eyes piercing as he replied evenly, "I was, as a matter of fact. A pilot. Bombed many Thembrian fascists back to the stone age."

The tension in the air was thick, evident in the exchanged glances between P.J. and Molly. The atmosphere seemed to crackle as Black Heron brushed Kit's comment aside with an air of nonchalance that didn't quite match the weight of his words. "Yes, I suppose you have," she replied, her eyes locked onto Kit's, their gaze unyielding. "But not every person from Thembria held the ideals of Thembrian High Marshal."

Kit's stare remained unflinching, his determination was evident as he continued to scrutinize Black Heron. "So what were your ideals?" he questioned, his voice steady as he sought to uncover more about the enigmatic heron's perspective and motivations.

Black Heron's beak curved into a subtle, knowing smile in response to Kit's persistence. "A man of questions and curiosity, I see," she mused, her tone smooth and measured. "Well, I am a woman of science, committed to the pursuit of knowledge and the preservation of culture. I have no inclination to follow a path of madness and genocide led by a deluded dictator."

With a deliberate pause, she continued, "The war is over. The Alliance brought it to a close with their weapons of mass destruction." Her slender fingers delicately plucked another cricket from the platter, the insect meeting its fate as she crushed it between her fingertips. "As for what's in it for me? Money, young pilot. A substantial amount of it."

Amidst the ongoing conversation, P.J. suddenly blurted out, his words slightly muffled by a mouthful of cricket, "I'm a man of science too! I'm helping these two find the Spear of Selene!" His spontaneous admission caught both Molly and Kit off guard, their eyes narrowing with a mixture of surprise and frustration.

Black Heron's eyes seemed to light up at the mention of the Spear of Selene. "Is that so?" she inquired, her curiosity evident in her tone and the glint in her gaze.

P.J., still chewing on a cricket, nodded eagerly. "And we even have a lead on the location of Ithaquack...maybe." His enthusiasm was quickly tempered by a sharp kick under the table, courtesy of Molly, prompting a wince and a slightly awkward pause in the conversation.

Queen Lamour's interest was piqued, her curiosity evident as she leaned forward slightly. "The Spear of Selene, you say? I have not heard of this. What is this object that you seek?"

Before P.J. could respond, Black Heron interjected smoothly, her voice carrying an air of authority. "Allow me, Your Majesty. The Spear of Selene is an object of immense power and unparalleled wealth," she explained, her words carefully chosen for dramatic effect. "It is said to possess the ability to slay entire armies, crown kings, and even bring the dead back to life."

Kit's chuckle carried a touch of skepticism as he responded to Black Heron's elaborate description. "Legends and fairy tales, huh? Miss Lady of Science?"

Black Heron's gaze remained fixed on Kit, her eyes meeting his with a hint of intrigue. "Indeed," she acknowledged smoothly. "But even within legends and tales, there can often be fragments of truth. The Spear of Selene, while shrouded in mystery, holds significance as a historical artifact of great importance...and wealth."

The tension between them remained palpable, a silent battle of wills and unspoken thoughts that played out in their locked eyes as the toast hung in the air.

Queen Lamour's voice, rich and melodic, resonated through the grand hall as she raised her glass, a beacon of camaraderie and celebration. "To the tapestry of legends, the embrace of friendship, and the boundless wealth that unites us all." The sentiment was met with glasses lifted high and a harmonious chorus of agreement from the gathered guests, all except for Kit and Black Heron, who continued their unbroken gaze.

Kit suddenly stood, dusting crumbs off his pants as he offered a grateful smile to the Queen, his gratitude genuine. "Thank you for your hospitality, Your Majesty, but I think it's best if we return to the Sea Duck and set out."

The Queen's response was swift and decisive, her tone carrying a note of playful admonishment. "Nonsense, my dear guests. You've traveled a long way, and it's only proper that you spend the night as honored visitors in my palace." Her words were met with nods and murmurs of agreement from the other guests, but Kit couldn't help but notice the intensity of the Queen's gaze upon him, a mixture of hospitality and something more.

Black Heron's sultry voice interjected; her words were a blend of observation and suggestion. "Indeed, Your Majesty is known for her generous hospitality. I encourage you and your companions to indulge in the creature comforts that the palace offers."

P.J., not missing a beat, sniffed his armpits and chimed in, "Yeah, a bath sounds good right about now."

The Queen's laughter rang out, warm and infectious. "Then it is agreed, my stout man of science. You shall all spend the night as my honored guests."

Kit could feel the weight of the Queen's gaze on him, her intent unmistakable. He resisted the urge to shift uncomfortably, her lingering eyes seemingly undressing him with each passing moment. Kit then turned his gaze to Molly, his concern deepening at the fiery intensity in her expression. Swallowing hard, he managed a nervous smile and offered a slight bow. "Then we gratefully accept your generous hospitality, Your Majesty."

The Queen's attention, however, remained steadfastly fixed on Kit, her lips parting with an almost hunger-like intensity. "Very good, very good indeed," she purred, a mixture of anticipation and satisfaction lacing her words. "I shall have my servants show you to your quarters."

Chapter Text

Chapter XII - Strange Bedfellows

=========================================
The Sea Duck,
Port of Macadamia
=========================================

In the stillness of the night, the Sea Duck sat parked at the dock, bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight. The surroundings were shrouded in peaceful tranquility, interrupted only by the rhythmic crackling of welding coming from within the plane's cabin. The full moon hung luminous and watchful in the sky, casting elongated shadows that danced playfully across the ground.

Inside the cabin, Gadget stood focused and determined, her goggles pulled down over her eyes to shield them from the bright sparks that flew as she expertly maneuvered the welding tool. The dim light emitted from the welding process illuminated her face, accentuating the intense concentration etched across her features. Each precise movement of her hands seemed to be in perfect harmony with the delicate hissing of the welding torch.

Della approached quietly and she watched Gadget work for a moment before speaking up, her voice barely a whisper amidst the night's serenity. "How's it going? We all ready to fly out?"

Gadget looked up from her work, her focused expression softening into a tired but contented smile. With a quick motion, she removed her goggles and shut off the welder. "Actually, I've been done for over an hour now. Just making a few final adjustments and improvements."

Della's brow furrowed in confusion as she processed Gadget's words. "Then what have you been working on all this time? We could be enjoying a palace feast with the others!"

Gadget's eyes gleamed mischievously as she reached over and picked up Kit's airfoil, the very object she was working on. "Oh, I've been fixing up Kit's do-hickey here and making some special enhancements."

Della groaned in annoyance, her frustration evident. "Gadget, you and your gadgets! Sometimes I think you enjoy tinkering more than actually enjoying life."

Undeterred by Della's irritation, Gadget grinned playfully and walked over to her, her thin tail swaying in time with her hips. She wrapped her arms around the duck in a surprisingly tender embrace, her nose brushing against Della's bill. In a sultry voice, she purred, "But now I'm done, and we're alone."

Della's annoyance melted away as she chuckled, shaking her head in amusement. "I suppose...still, a feast would have been nice." Her eyes meeting Gadget's.

As the moon's gentle glow bathed the cabin in soft light, Gadget ran her hands over Della's shoulders and then pulled the duck into a soft, exploratory kiss. Tongues met and meshed, lips sipped and sucked. Gadget's paws ran slowly over Della's body; shoulder to hip, gliding under Della's shirt to travel from back to breast. Small moans emanated from Della's mouth; unspoken rhythms of yearning.

The kiss ended but Gadget's hands remained on Della's breasts, fondling them through the bra of her lover as the mouse whispered, "I am going to have my own feast." She remarked with a wink before slowly falling to her knees before Della.

=========================================
The Royal Palace of Macadamia
=========================================

Having taken their fill of all the exotic cuisine Macadamia had to offer, Kit, Molly, and P.J. followed the hyena servants through the palace corridors. Kit found himself sandwiched between Molly and P.J., both of whom seemed to be venting their frustrations from the evening's events.

On his left, Molly's voice dripped with annoyance as she mocked the Queen's earlier words. "The old bull has bequeathed upon me a strong, young calf," she muttered. "Yeah, more like bull shit."

On his right, P.J. rambled on, his voice a mix of annoyance and exasperation. "And how was I supposed to know we weren't supposed to talk about the Spear of Selene? What, was it supposed to be a top-secret mission? Like I'm just supposed to keep quiet about it forever?"

"And did you see those fuck-me eyes she was giving you?" Molly huffed.

"You know, I haven't even seen a single cent of payment that you promised," P.J. added in, carrying on his own conversation.

"I will claw her eyes out."

"This dry desert climate is really bothering my skin."

Kit's patience wore thin as he felt like he was being pulled in opposite directions by his companions' gripes. Finally, he couldn't take it anymore and came to a stop, the exasperation in his voice palpable. "Enough, that's enough, both of you, shut up!"

He turned to Molly, his gaze steady. "I have no interest in the Queen's supposed affections, alright? Can we please drop that topic?"

Then, he turned his attention to P.J., his expression firm. "You'll be paid when we find the Spear of Selene, and only if you manage to keep your mouth shut about it. Can you do that?"

Before P.J. could respond, Molly interjected, her voice laced with sarcasm. "Oh, I'm sure he'll be a regular vault of secrets."

P.J. shot her a glare before turning back to Kit, his tone defensive. "Hey, I can be discreet when I need to be"

Kit raised his paws in a placating gesture, his frustration clear. "Shut your mouths." He reached over and grabbed each of them by the lips. "Shut...shut your mouths." He repeated, a nagging headache creeping up the back of his neck and into his skull. "That's enough. I'm tired, I'm grossed out by crickets, I've got a mother of a headache brewing, and I have had enough excitement for one damn day."

Slowly releasing his grip, Kit's fingers unclenched from Molly's and P.J.'s lips. But before he could catch a moment of respite, the two of them immediately resumed their complaints, their voices overlapping in a cacophony of grievances.

As the verbal onslaught continued, a merciful interruption came in the form of one of the hyena servants. The servant stepped forward, her presence a welcome distraction. "Your rooms are ready," she announced with a respectful bow.

Kit's gaze shifted from Molly to P.J., a mix of exhaustion and exasperation in his eyes. He nodded his appreciation to the servant, "Thank God."

Molly huffed and turned away, her steps heavy with annoyance as she headed to her room. Before disappearing from view, she shot a warning glance back at Kit. "You better not be sneaking off to see the Queen, or you'll wake up dead," she threatened, her voice sharp as a dagger.

P.J. followed suit, his complaints echoing through the corridor as he trudged off to his own room. "I'm a scholar, dammit! I deserve some respect!"

Both their doors slammed simultaneously.

Left in the wake of their discontent, Kit sighed deeply, rubbing his temples as he mulled over the events of the evening. The hyena servant extended a polite hand, indicating the direction of his own room. Kit mustered a tired smile and nodded, following the servant's lead with a sense of relief, eager to escape the drama and find a semblance of peace for the night.

=========================================
A Short Time Later,
Kit's Room
=========================================

After some time settling into his room, Kit lay in a luxurious bed, the lavish Macadamian decor that surrounded him seemed to cast a spell of comfort and relaxation.

The canopied bed, with its drapes cascading like a promise of respite, cradled Kit in its embrace. The moonlight filtered through the windows, casting a soft, dreamlike ambiance that added to the room's enchantment. Plush cushions dotted the space, inviting moments of reprieve and contemplation. A finely crafted desk and chair stood nearby, a silent invitation to gather thoughts or engage in quiet pursuits.

Despite his weariness, Kit found sleep elusive. His thoughts churned and swirled, troubling his mind. At first, his mind drifted to Black Heron, her Thembrian origins stirring a deep-seated mistrust within him. Memories of his time as a pilot, fighting against the Thembrian Empire, resurfaced. The scars of war, the pain and loss, all mingled in his thoughts, casting a shadow over his perception of anyone associated with the once-oppressive regime.

Kit's thoughts then shifted to the Queen, Lotta Lamour. He found himself grappling with conflicting feelings. On one hand, her lavish hospitality and undeniable charm were alluring, yet he couldn't shake the sense of discomfort he felt in her presence. Her gaze, lingering on him with a lustful intensity, had stirred a mixture of unease and curiosity within him. He wondered about her true intentions and the extent of her interest in him and his companions.

As his thoughts drifted, they settled on Molly, like a ship finding its anchor in tumultuous waters. Memories of their moments together replayed in his mind — the camaraderie, the banter, and that fleeting, almost-kiss in the Sea Duck. Had he read the situation right? Was there a deeper connection between them that he hadn't yet dared to explore?

He sighed, his heart heavy with uncertainty. The growing tension and cold exchanges between them lately puzzled him. Was it something he'd said or done? He replayed their recent interactions, searching for clues to her changing demeanor. The incident with Queen Lamour had only fueled her anger, and he struggled to understand the reason behind it.

The desire to confront her warred with his apprehension. He imagined storming to her room, confronting her about her behavior, demanding answers. Or perhaps, he would bridge the gap between them with a kiss — a daring act that might either mend the rift or deepen it irreparably.

Kit's fingers tapped against the bedspread, the internal battle waging within him. Sleep remained elusive, as his thoughts whirled in an intricate dance of emotions and choices.

Should he confront Molly? Should he dare to cross the uncharted waters that lay between them? Or should he leave the unresolved tension to linger, a silent abyss between two hearts yearning to connect?

As Kit's thoughts swirled in the turmoil of indecision, a faint rustling sound reached his ears, stirring his senses to heightened awareness. The door of his room creaked open, the dim moonlight illuminating the silhouette of a figure. Anticipation coiled within him as he assumed it was Molly, his heart pounding in anticipation of a confrontation or, perhaps, something more.

His voice laced with a mixture of bravado and exasperation, Kit spoke to the approaching shadow. "So you've come to your senses, huh?" A grin spread across his face, ready to face whatever Molly had come to say.

However, as the figure drew nearer and climbed onto the bed, straddling him, a realization struck Kit like a bolt of lightning. The sensual touch against his chest and the softness of the voice dispelled the illusion he had woven into his mind.

It wasn't Molly who had entered his room, but the Queen herself.

Kit's eyes widened, his breath caught in his throat, and his body tensed beneath her touch. The Queen's voice oozed with seduction, the words weaving a web of intrigue that left him both intrigued and wary. "Has the young, bucking calf been thinking about being subdued?" Her sultry question hung in the air.

In the dim moonlight, the Queen's figure took on an ethereal quality, her curves accentuated by the alluring fabric of a silky negligee that clung to her form. The fabric shimmered as she moved, its subtle patterns tracing the contours of her body with every motion. The delicate lace trim brushed against her fur, creating an intoxicating contrast between the opulent attire and the regal aura she exuded.

As Kit's realization sunk in, his pulse quickened, and his mind raced to process the situation. He scrambled back, his eyes widening further as he sputtered in a mix of surprise and flustered embarrassment. "I...uh, Your Majesty, I appreciate the hospitality, but I'm awfully tired, and I wouldn't be up to...you know, performing." His cheeks flushed a deep shade of crimson, his heart racing as he struggled to find the right words to navigate this delicate encounter.

That was when Queen Lamour dropped the front of her silks, exposing her breasts to Kit.

The Queen's lips curved into a knowing smile as she leaned closer, her voice a velvety whisper that held an intoxicating allure. "Oh, my dear calf, I assure you, this night would be one you would never forget," she purred, her eyes dancing with a mixture of mischief and desire. "I'm curious to know if you are anything like my previous lover, Baloo. He was...quite endowed."

As her hand rested on Kit's thigh, a jolt of electricity shot through his body, his mind reeling as he grappled with the overwhelming tension of the moment. Before he could fully process what was happening, the sensation of falling gripped him, and suddenly, he found himself tumbling out of the bed with an undignified yelp. Springing to his feet in a mixture of panic and embarrassment, he took a hasty step back, his voice catching in his throat as he stammered, "Listen, Your Majesty," Kit began, his voice slightly shaky as he hurriedly moved to a nearby cushion and started pulling on his pants. "You're very attractive and all..."

The vixen momentarily cut off Kit's words by grasping at her left breast with her paw, lifting it, and teasingly running her long tongue over a nipple, her bushy tail flowing behind her.

"Dear God..." Kit muttered under his breath, his eyes widening at the audacious display before him. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he snapped back to reality. "No! This is...bad Queen! No, no, no!" He hopped around the room, quickly putting on his boots, his back to her for a split second.

Just then, a dagger came whizzing past Kit's head, embedding itself into the wall. He blinked in shock and turned toward the Queen, his heart pounding in his chest.

"Hey! It's not that I don't want to!" he blurted out, assuming she had thrown the dagger. As he spun around to confront her, his gaze caught sight of another shadowy figure in the room. Reacting on instinct, Kit lunged at the Queen, propelling her out of harm's way just as a scimitar swooshed through the air, missing them by a hair's breadth. The two tumbled off the bed in a chaotic blur of limbs and sheets, narrowly escaping the deadly strike.

With a swift motion, Kit's hand reached for the bedside lamp, and he turned it on. The sudden burst of light filled the room, revealing the figure that had attempted to take their lives. Before them stood a cinereous vulture, cloaked in dark blue robes. The vulture's grip tightened around the massive scimitar in their hand, poised for another attack. An assassin, intent on finishing their deadly mission.

Without a moment's hesitation, Kit's determination overrode his fear. He launched himself across the bed, muscles coiled with a fierce resolve. He tackled the assassin with a primal force, their bodies colliding in a violent clash of wills. In an explosive display of strength, Kit seized the vulture and lifted them off their feet, their struggles becoming futile against his unyielding grip.

With a deafening crash, the assassin's body met the unrelenting surface of a nearby mirror on the wall. Shards of glass erupted into the air, glinting like deadly stars as they fell in a mesmerizing dance of destruction. The room quaked with the impact, the very air charged with the intensity of the struggle.

In the midst of the chaos, the Queen's voice pierced through with a shrill scream of fear and surprise. Her sudden presence heightened the urgency of the moment, adding to the already tense situation.

=========================================
Outside of the Room
=========================================

P.J. cautiously poked his head out of his room, glancing at Molly with a perplexed expression. "Did you hear that? Was that a woman screaming?"

Molly's eyes narrowed as she stepped out of her room, her mind racing to conclusions. "Oh, I heard it alright," she replied, her voice filled with fury. Without wasting a second, she marched up to Kit's door and slammed her paw against it. "Kit Cloudkicker, you filthy animal! You better be enjoying yourself, because when I get in there, I am going to skin you alive!"

Amidst the tense moment, they heard another crash coming from Kit's room. P.J. couldn't help but chuckle at the situation, his tone amused. "Sounds like they're really going at it."

Molly shot P.J. a withering glare that could freeze even the boldest soul before pounding on the door once more.

=========================================
Kit's Room
=========================================

As the struggle between Kit and the assassin continued, the cacophony of chaos reverberated within the room. Amidst the clashing of bodies and the shattering of glass, the persistent pounding on the door echoed through Kit's ears. The urgency in Molly's furious blows matched the tension that gripped the air.

Caught between the threat of the vulture assassin and the impending wrath of Molly, Kit couldn't help but feel torn. In the heat of the moment, his thoughts were a chaotic whirlwind, unsure of which adversary he feared more – the lethal intruder or the fiery anger of the bear pounding on his door.

The vulture assassin's strength was surprising, pushing Kit away with a force that left him stumbling. The deadly swipe of the scimitar came dangerously close, and in a desperate bid to defend himself, Kit snatched a nearby painting from the wall. The impact of the assassin's blow against the painting sent shockwaves through Kit's arms, the struggle for control was evident in every strained muscle.

As the chaos unfolded, Kit's gaze fell upon the painting he now wielded. His eyes widened in disbelief as he stared at the image of a bear that bore an uncanny resemblance to Baloo. The scimitar had pierced the image right between the eyes, "You've got to be kidding me."

The assassin wasted no time, capitalizing on Kit's momentary lapse in focus. A swift kick to the stomach sent Kit tumbling backward, the breath forced from his lungs as he crashed to the floor.

Queen Lamour continued to scream.

=========================================
Outside of the Room
=========================================

The sound of the Queen's scream echoed through the corridor once more, each cry sending a jolt of tension through Molly and P.J. As Molly stood at Kit's door, her frustration growing, she grabbed the handle and attempted to turn it, only to find it locked.

Her irritation escalated to a boiling point.

"Open this door, Kit Cloudkicker!" Molly's voice was laced with urgency and anger, her patience wearing thin. She turned her gaze to P.J., determination etched across her features. "P.J., you're going to bust this door down, right now."

P.J. hesitated, his apprehension evident as he glanced at the sturdy door. "Uh, Molly, I think maybe we should find another way..."

Molly's eyes blazed, her temper flaring as she clenched her fists. "No more waiting! If you don't break down this door, I'll use your skull as a battering ram myself. Now, do it!"

"Ah, geez..."

=========================================
Kit's Room
=========================================

The forceful kick sent Kit sprawling to the floor, landing him right beside the Queen who continued to emit ear-piercing screams. Irritation welled up within him as her shrill cries reverberated through the room, and he couldn't help but blurt out, "Lady, for the love of God, stop screaming!"

Just as Kit's patience reached its limit and he yelled at the Queen, the vulture assassin charged toward them, his scimitar raised high. In a split-second decision, Kit pushed the Queen to the side while simultaneously rolling in the opposite direction. The vulture assassin's scimitar struck the floor with a deafening clang, narrowly missing its intended target.

As the metallic echo of the blade striking the floor reverberated in the room, the Queen's screams momentarily halted, replaced by a collective gasp from both Kit and the Queen. The vulture assassin, thrown off balance by his missed strike, stumbled forward.

And then things took an even more chaotic turn.

The door to Kit's room suddenly splintered and shattered as P.J. clumsily crashed through it, landing face-first on the floor. Molly swiftly followed suit, stepping over P.J.'s prone form with an angry determination etched across her face. "Kit Cloudkicker, you snake!" Molly's furious words started to spill from her lips, but the sight that greeted her cut her off abruptly.

The vulture assassin's hand disappeared into the folds of his dark blue robes, producing a gleaming dagger with deadly intent. Molly's eyes widened in alarm but Kit was quick to spring into action. In a blur of motion, Kit was on his feet and lunging at the assassin, tackling him to the ground just as the dagger was released.

The dagger sailed through the air, narrowly missing Molly's head by a mere inch, embedding itself into the door frame with a sharp thud.

The room erupted into a frenzy of action as Kit and the assassin grappled on the ground. Blows were exchanged, the struggle taking them to the floor in a chaotic tangle of limbs. Just as Kit managed to gain what seemed like an advantage, the assassin swiftly reversed their positions, pinning Kit beneath him.

The glint of the scimitar caught the light, its lethal edge pressed against Kit's throat. The weight of the blade threatened to break through Kit's defenses, his heart pounding with a mix of fear and determination. Every muscle in his body strained against the assassin's superior strength, desperately trying to keep the blade at bay.

Kit's mind raced, searching for a way to turn the tables. He wriggled and fought against the pressure of the blade, his thoughts focused solely on surviving this life-threatening encounter.

In the midst of the intense struggle, a sudden and deafening crash shattered the tension in the room. Kit's momentary confusion quickly gave way to clarity as he saw P.J. standing above the fallen vulture assassin. P.J. was panting heavily, his chest heaving, and he tightly gripped a fragment of a shattered vase in his trembling hands. The vulture lay sprawled on the floor, unconscious and disarmed, the scimitar abandoned beside him.

"Yeah! That's right!" P.J. erupted in triumphant elation, his voice a mixture of exhilaration and unrestrained celebration. "Spoonerville pride, baby! You just got knocked out! What? That's right! What? That's right!"

In response to P.J.'s victorious proclamation, Molly hurried over with a mixture of concern and relief etched onto her features. Her gaze alternated between Kit, who was slowly pushing himself up from the floor, and the incapacitated assassin.

Before questions could even begin to form in the minds of those present, the atmosphere in the room shifted once more. The arrival of Black Heron, accompanied by a sinister entourage of vulture assassins, shattered any semblance of relief as they stormed into the room. The atmosphere became taut with tension, a heavy silence enveloping the space.

Black Heron's wicked smile sent a chill down the spines of those in the room. Her words dripped with malevolent intent as she addressed them, "Welcome to the coup."

Kit's shoulders slumped as the weight of the situation settled on him. He turned to P.J., his voice filled with resignation, "Got any more of those vases?"

Chapter Text

Chapter XIII - Fly the Coup

=========================================
Royal Palace of Macadamia
=========================================

In the moonlit courtyard of the Royal Palace of Macadamia, a scene of turmoil unfolded. Black Heron, her demeanor transformed from sultry elegance to commanding authority, stood at the center of the chaos; she had swapped her alluring dress for a meticulously tailored uniform.

Her jacket, crisply adorned with intricate golden insignias and epaulets, fit snugly over her lithe form. The deep grey fabric contrasted starkly against the pale glow of the moon, lending an aura of ominous authority to her figure. The jacket's cut accentuated her form, hugging her curves while maintaining an aura of authority. Beneath the jacket, a crisp white shirt with a high-collared black tie added a touch of formality to the ensemble with gold-trimmed cuffs peeking out from the jacket sleeves.

Her lower half was clad in tailored pants that seamlessly melded style and practicality. The pants, the same grey as the jacket, tapered down her legs to emphasize the polished leather jackboots that adorned her feet.

Black Heron's belt, adorned with gleaming accents, held two distinct accessories. On one side, a Luger pistol was holstered, a symbol of her readiness for any confrontation. On the other side, a rapier hung in its scabbard, an elegant and deadly weapon that spoke to her finesse in combat.

In the moonlight, the interplay of light and shadow danced across the officer's uniform, creating an aura that was both captivating and foreboding. With her vulture assassins at her side, Black Heron's presence in the courtyard was a chilling reminder of the power she held and the dangerous game that had begun.

As she barked orders and directed her forces, the stark contrast between her attire and the serene surroundings only intensified the tension that hung in the air.

Amid the orchestrated chaos, Kit, Molly, P.J., and Queen Lamour found themselves thrust into a grim tableau of hostages. Gun-wielding vulture assassins prodded them with cold indifference, forcing them to join a ragtag group that included royal guards and servants, their expressions a mix of fear and defiance.

The moonlight cast eerie shadows across the courtyard, accentuating the tension that permeated the air. Kit's keen eyes scanned the scene, taking in the calculated movements of the Thembrian soldiers who had now joined Black Heron's sinister operation.

Warthogs, dressed in Thembrian military uniforms carrying MP 40 submachine guns; maintaining an organized formation under Black Heron's directions. The rhythmic sound of boots hitting the courtyard's stone floor echoed like a march of impending doom, underscoring the control that Black Heron held over her subordinates.

As the hostages were herded together, forming a disconcerting congregation of royal guards and servants, Kit's heart pounded against his chest, a mix of anger and frustration brewing within him. Beside him, Molly's jaw was set in a defiant line, her eyes flashing with a fire that mirrored his own. The queen, once exuding regal authority, now stood among them, her gaze filled with a mixture of confusion and indignation. The palpable tension in the air seemed to thicken with each passing moment, the moonlight casting long shadows that seemed to reach out and touch the very core of their fears.

P.J. was just worried he was going to soil himself. Again.

"Oh, man, oh man," P.J. muttered. "Why didn't I just stay home?"

Among the shifting shadows of the courtyard, Kit's keen eyes caught sight of another figure that stood out distinctively amidst the chaos. A tall and lithe form, draped in a long, ominous black Thembrian military jacket, caught his attention. The figure's attire seemed to blend seamlessly with the night, enhancing his enigmatic presence. A wide-brimmed hat cast a shadow over his features, concealing his identity from prying eyes.

As Black Heron approached the mysterious figure, Kit's focus remained locked on their interaction. Heron's beak moved, her words a hushed whisper that carried an air of conspiratorial intent. Their exchange held an air of urgency, a secretive dialogue that seemed to hold the key to their unfolding predicament.

A shiver of apprehension traced down Kit's spine as he observed the enigmatic exchange, a foreboding sense that their situation had taken an even more dangerous turn.

"Bring the young pilot!" Black Heron's command sliced through the tense atmosphere like a blade, prompting immediate compliance. The firm pressure of an MP 40 against Kit's back served as a forceful reminder to move forward, his steps guided by the muzzle's unyielding insistence. Amidst the charged silence, his hushed words carried a mix of defiance and caution, a fleeting attempt to temper the gravity of the situation.

Guided by the warthog guard, Kit drew closer to the enigmatic figure who stood as a central focus of the courtyard's eerie tableau. Moonlight's touch unveiled the mysterious man in all his enigmatic glory – a serpent, a cobra whose sinuous form exuded a sense of otherworldly malevolence. The reptilian intensity of his yellow gaze seemed to pierce through the fabric of reality itself, casting an unsettling spell upon those who dared to meet his eyes.

Yet, it was not his gaze that chilled Kit to the bone.

It was the snake's physical transformation that seemed to mark him as something out of a dark and twisted nightmare. A metallic prosthetic adorned his lower jaw, a grotesque appendage that replaced what once was flesh with a cold and unfeeling machine. The harsh, mechanical contours of the prosthetic seemed to mock the natural grace of his cobra form, a sinister juxtaposition of life and technology that whispered tales of cruelty and mutilation. The very sight of it sent shivers down Kit's spine, igniting a primal unease that tugged at the edges of his consciousness.

Speaking with a sibilant hiss that elongated his words into an eerie cadence, the snake-man's voice resonated with an almost alien quality. The syllables seemed to drip with an insidious potency, like venom seeping through the cracks of his words, "What do you know of the Spear of Selene?"

Kit's smirk held a tinge of defiance as he met the serpent's gaze. "The Spear of what? Dunno what you're talking about, pal," he quipped, his tone laced with a touch of cockiness. However, his cheeky retort was abruptly silenced as a heavy blow from a warthog struck the back of his head, the brutal impact sending shockwaves through his skull. Staggering, Kit dropped to one knee, a momentary daze clouding his vision.

"Kit!" Molly's voice cut through the tension, a mixture of concern and outrage. Her protest was met with a chilling response, as the vulture assassins shifted their weapons in her direction, a collective display of readiness to silence any dissent.

The snake's scaled hand closed around Kit's jaw, its touch sending a shiver down his spine. As Kit gazed upon the sinister appendage, he couldn't help but notice the intricate sigils carved into the flesh, forming a ghastly tapestry of evil symbols. The scars etched across the skin resembled a twisted patchwork, a nightmarish mosaic of malevolent designs that seemed to writhe and twist with a life of their own.

The serpent hissed, his voice a chilling rasp that slithered into Kit's ears. "Do you know who I am?" His question hung in the air like a venomous threat, heavy with the weight of dread.

Kit's smirk remained undaunted, his defiance unyielding even in the face of the enigmatic figure before him. "All you fascists look the same to me," he retorted, his voice laced with a mix of bravado and disdain.

The forceful kick from his warthog guard sent Kit down to both knees, a jolt of pain radiating through his body.

The snake's hiss-like voice slithered through the air, his cold yellow eyes fixed on Kit. "Allow me to properly introduce myself. I am Thaddeus E. Klang, chief science advisor of the Thembrian Empire and the right hand of the esteemed Thembrian High Marshal."

Kit's lips curled into a defiant smirk, his own gaze locking onto the snake-man. His retort was quick, "So, what's that right hand good for? Giving your dear Marshal a hand job?" His words carried a biting edge, a display of his unyielding spirit even in the face of danger.

The warthog's grip on his weapon tightened as he prepared to strike Kit once more, but Klang's dismissive gesture halted the impending blow. A sinister chuckle escaped Klang's mouth, his chilling yellow eyes narrowing as he regarded Kit. "Ah, the typical Alliance bravado. It's no wonder you managed to win the war. Yet, not all of you were soldiers," he hissed, his elongated 's' drawing out his words with an unsettling rhythm. He shifted his gaze towards Black Heron, issuing her a command that dripped with malevolence. "Bring his woman."

As Black Heron signaled for Molly to be brought forward, a surge of dread coursed through Kit's veins, his heart hammering in his chest. His mind raced, searching for any possible escape from the perilous predicament they found themselves in. The realization that Molly was being dragged into the dangerous web they were ensnared in only fueled his determination to protect her and find a way out.

Molly was forced to stand at Kit's side, and before Kit could even voice a protest, his heart sank as he watched Black Heron unsheath her rapier and press the gleaming blade against Molly's delicate throat. The threat was clear, and Kit's protective instincts surged, his anxiety for Molly's safety intensifying.

Klang's hiss cut through the tension, his gaze locked onto Kit with unwavering intensity. "I won't ask again," he hissed, "What do you know about the Spear of Selene?"

Amidst the tense confrontation, Queen Lamour and P.J. stood as anxious onlookers, their eyes locked onto the harrowing scene unfolding before them. The Queen's voice trembled as she whispered to P.J., her desperation evident, "What do we do?"

P.J.'s fear had reached a fever pitch, but he managed to muster a shaky whisper in response, "I don't know, Your Highness, but I'm sure Gadget and Della will come to the rescue with the Sea Duck. Isn't that how it works? Like the cavalry swooping in to save the day?" His voice wavered, a fragile glimmer of hope clinging to the idea that their companions might yet arrive to turn the tide of the dire situation.

=========================================
The Sea Duck
=========================================

"Oh fuck, oh shit," Della screamed out into the night as Gadget's tongue lapped between her glistening folds, "Yes, oh God, Gadget, right there. Lick me there...mmff, fuck a duck!"

=========================================
Back at the Palace
=========================================

Kit's mind raced as he scrambled to come up with a convincing bluff. He stood and turned to Klang, his eyes narrowing in an attempt to convey sincerity. "Look, pal, some old, crazy duck just rambled about this legendary place called Ithaquack, but come on, it's just a bunch of ridiculous stories, right?" he asserted with feigned skepticism.

Molly caught onto Kit's plan and swiftly chimed in, her tone matching his act. "Yeah, seriously, Mongrelia is huge. We'd be lucky to even stumble upon a speck of dust there, let alone some mythical city." She nodded in agreement, playing her part in the fabrication.

Kit's frown deepened as he glanced at Molly, his frustration seemingly genuine. "Molly, why would you even tell him that? Now he's gonna think we're onto something!" he chided her, continuing the charade with a mixture of annoyance and subtle amusement in his voice.

As their fabricated argument continued, Molly played her role convincingly. "Honestly, Kit, I'd rather be upfront than end up dead because of some dumb legend," she retorted, maintaining the guise of their disagreement.

Kit shot back with a mix of exasperation and amusement, "Molly, come on! You can be honest without giving away all the details. It's called lying by omission!"

Molly snorted in response, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she countered, "Oh, like you were lying about your sudden interest in the queen, huh?"

Klang and Heron exchanged confused glances, clearly unsure of what was happening.

Kit huffed and rolled his eyes, his voice tinged with a mix of defensiveness and amusement. "That was all her! I had nothing to do with it! She practically jumped on me!"

Molly's eyes sparkled mischievously as she continued to play her part, calling Kit a liar with feigned exasperation. "Oh, come on, Kit. You're so full of shit it's no wonder your eyes are brown!"

Kit shot back with a smirk, leaning into their exchange. "Well, what about my needs, huh? A guy's got to take opportunities when they come, right?"

Heron's patience seemed to wane as she tried to regain control of the situation. "Enough of this nonsense! Both of you, knock it off!"

But Kit and Molly continued to escalate their pretend argument, their voices growing louder as their words became more heated. The facade they had built started to blur with the intensity of their back-and-forth, and it seemed less like a ruse and more like an actual quarrel between them.

Molly's laughter rang out, undeterred by the escalating tension. "Oh, I'm sorry, your needs? I think your needs have more to do with wanting to get your pickle tickled by some Arabian Nights tart."

Kit's eyes narrowed at Molly as he retorted, "Well, at least she's a nice and respectable lady with goddess-like features, unlike you with your baseball mitts for hands!"

Molly's growl reverberated through the air, her temper flaring. "You want to see these hands?"

Kit's challenge echoed back, his smirk challenging. "Yeah! I do!"

Before anyone could intervene in their escalating banter, Molly turned swiftly and delivered a solid punch to Heron's beak, causing her to stumble back into Klang. Kit wasted no time, his actions fueled by adrenaline and instinct. He swiftly struck his warthog guard, disarming the man in a flash, and grabbed the MP 40 submachine gun for himself.

"Kill them!" Black Heron's furious orders echoed through the courtyard, rallying her soldiers to action. Kit's finger tightened on the trigger of the MP 40 as he swung the weapon towards her and Klang; and in the blink of an eye, the rapid staccato of gunshots rang out.

Black Heron and Klang reacted with lightning speed, ducking and dodging out of the way of the gunfire. Bullets whizzed through the air, leaving trails of destruction in their wake as they struck nearby walls and pottery, sending fragments of stone and debris flying.

Kit's heart raced, his focus sharp as he attempted to regain control of the situation. The sound of gunshots mixed with shouts and screams, creating a cacophony of mayhem. Amidst the turmoil, Molly turned to Kit with a frown,

"Like baseball mitts? Really?!" Molly's voice cut through the chaos, a mixture of irritation and disbelief evident in her tone.

The courtyard had transformed into a battleground, as the captured guards seized the opportunity to turn on the Thembrian warthogs and vulture assassins. The clash of weapons and the cacophony of the fight echoed off the palace walls.

Kit's fingers worked deftly as he reached down and grabbed a fresh magazine from the Thembrian soldier he had knocked out earlier, deftly changing the clip of the MP 40. He glanced at Molly, a smirk playing on his lips as he retorted, "Okay, more like cricket bats!"

Molly let out an exasperated yell, her voice competing with the din of the battle, "How is that better?!"

Bullets whizzed past them as they continued to defend themselves, using whatever cover they could find to avoid getting hit. P.J. and the Queen, caught in the midst of the turmoil, sought refuge behind a stone pillar, their eyes wide with fear and disbelief at the sudden turn of events.

"Where are Gadget and Della?!" P.J. groaned, his hands covering his ears as the deafening gunshots echoed in the air around him.

=========================================
The Sea Duck
=========================================

As the waves of ecstasy subsided, Della and Gadget lay intertwined in a tangle of limbs and discarded clothing aboard the Sea Duck. Their chests heaved in unison, their breaths coming in ragged gasps that gradually calmed as they basked in the aftermath of their passionate encounter.

Della reclined against a rolled-up sleeping bag, a satisfied smile gracing her bill as she puffed on a cigar, its fragrant tendrils of smoke curling upwards and mingling with the warm air of the cabin. Gadget's fingers traced absent patterns along Della's feathered shoulder, their connection still charged with the electricity of their intimate moments.

"Still think we should have gone to the feast?" Gadget asked, a soft chuckle escaping her lips as she shifted slightly, her tail brushing across Della's prosthetic leg now and then.

Della let out a contented sigh, her gaze distant as she lay beside Gadget. "I wouldn't trade this for all the feasts in the world," she murmured. "I still can't feel anything below my waist."

As they lay there, a series of popping sounds reached their ears from the distance. Della's brow furrowed as she sat up, her head tilting to the side as she tried to make sense of the noise. "Do you hear fireworks?" she questioned, a hint of curiosity in her voice.

Gadget's lips curled into a mischievous grin, and she leaned in closer to Della. "I'm pretty sure you felt fireworks earlier," she teased, a playful glint in her eyes. The comment earned her a chuckle from Della, but her amusement was short-lived as the realization dawned on her – the all-too-familiar sound of gunfire, echoing through the night.

Without wasting another moment, Della sprang into action. She hurriedly pulled on her clothing, her movements swift and efficient. Gadget followed suit, zipping up her coveralls as she moved with urgency to join Della on the dock where the Sea Duck was parked.

Gadget was the first to voice the question that hung in the air as they both stared toward the palace in the distance. "Is that...gunshots?" Her voice trailed off, uncertainty etched across her features.

Della nodded grimly, her expression growing more serious. "Yeah, it's Skyprancer. Seems like he's managed to find trouble once again," she sighed, quickly adjusting her pants. "Get the Sea Duck fueled up. I have a feeling we're going to need to make a quick exit."

=========================================
Back at the Palace
=========================================

Kit's fingers tightened around the grip of the MP 40, his training and instincts taking over as he mowed down a group of Thembrian soldiers with controlled bursts of gunfire. The weapon's rapid-fire echoed through the courtyard, mingling with the cacophony of battle cries, gunshots, and the clash of steel on steel.

Running beside him, Molly's legs propelled her forward with all the urgency she could muster. She held her hands over her head, a futile attempt at shielding herself from the danger that lurked in every direction. "Are you aiming to set a new record for how many times you can get shot at in a single day?!" Molly's voice was laced with panic as she yelled at Kit over the deafening sound of gunfire.

Royal guards engaged in desperate battles against Thembrian invaders, bodies thrown back and forth in the brutal struggle. Smoke and dust clouded the air, adding to the sense of pandemonium that reigned in the courtyard.

Kit and Molly managed to regroup with Queen Lamour and P.J., their hurried footsteps mirroring the urgency of the situation. P.J. voiced the question that hung in the air, "What do we do now?"

Kit's gaze was focused as he plucked a couple of MP 40 magazines off the body of a fallen Thembrian soldier, swiftly reloading his weapon, his response carrying a sense of urgency. "We gotta get outta Dodge and fast!"

P.J.'s voice was laden with concern as he posed the question that weighed heavily on their minds, "Well, how the hell are we going to do that?" Just as uncertainty hung in the air, a sudden rumble of an engine broke through the chaos. A Volkswagen Type 82 Kübelwagen roared into view, carrying four more of the Thembrian soldiers ready for battle.

Kit's anger blazed in his eyes as he finished reloading the MP 40, his fingers moving with practiced efficiency. Without missing a beat, he raised the weapon and unleashed a hail of gunfire that tore through the windshield of the light military vehicle and its occupants, leaving a trail of destruction in his wake. As the last enemy fell, Kit turned to face P.J., his expression focused and resolute. "We drive out!" he declared, the urgency in his voice matching the fierce determination in his eyes.

Amidst the ongoing chaos, Kit and his companions rushed toward the captured Kübelwagen, their hearts pounding in time with the battle unfolding around them. Kit wasted no time as he pulled lifeless bodies out of the vehicle, their weight hitting the ground with a thud, one of them landing at P.J.'s feet.

P.J.'s face turned a shade of green as he looked down at the mangled warthog corpse. His stomach churned, and he doubled over, retching.

"Oh, come on!" Kit's exasperated voice conveyed both annoyance and empathy as he glanced over at P.J.'s unfortunate display of nausea.

"I am not a soldier, damn it! I grade papers for Miss Dodd!" P.J. protested weakly, still recovering from his bout of sickness.

Kit's response was both matter-of-fact and laced with urgency, "Today, you're about to become a soldier!" Kit turned to Molly, his eyes locking onto her as he spoke with a mixture of determination and trust, "You can drive!"

Molly quickly climbed into the driver's seat and she couldn't help but throw a snarky remark Kit's way, "Oh, so my hands aren't too big for the steering wheel?"

Kit and P.J. swiftly climbed into the Kübelwagen alongside Molly, their hearts racing with a combination of adrenaline and urgency. Kit couldn't help but glance back at Queen Lamour, his brows furrowing as he asked, "Are you coming with us?"

The Queen's resolute expression made her decision clear, "No. I will remain with my people and work to clean up this mess."

A bittersweet smile tugged at Kit's lips as he acknowledged her determination, "Well, thanks for the hospitality, Your Majesty, but we gotta scoot." He gave a nod of gratitude before turning to join his companions in the vehicle.

But just as he settled into the Kübelwagen, the unexpected happened. The Queen reached out and grabbed Kit, her lips capturing his in a kiss that sent shockwaves of surprise and confusion coursing through him. His heart seemed to stop as the sensation of her soft lips pressed against his registered in every nerve ending. The kiss was unexpected, intense, and oddly tender, leaving Kit stunned and momentarily immobile.

He could feel the gentle pressure of her mouth against his, the warmth of her breath mingling with his own. Her lips were soft, and the taste of her was a mix of regal grace and a hint of lingering sexuality from their earlier encounter. Kit's eyes widened as his body reacted to the unexpected contact, a mixture of emotions surging within him.

And just as abruptly as it began, the kiss ended. Queen Lamour pulled away, her fingers slipping from Kit's shirt collar. Her words, infused with a mix of solemnity and well wishes, resonated in the air, "May your quest be fulfilled, young calf." Kit's mouth opened slightly, his thoughts a whirlwind of surprise and astonishment as he tried to process what had just occurred.

His gaze shifted from the Queen to Molly, a goofy grin forming on his lips as he turned to his feisty companion. But that smile quickly faded as he caught a glimpse of Molly's expression — eyes narrowed, jaw clenched, and fury emanating from her very being.

Before any further words could be exchanged, Molly's foot slammed on the accelerator. The Kübelwagen roared to life, and Kit found himself tumbling to the back seat as the vehicle accelerated with breathtaking speed. The tires screeched against the ground, leaving trails of dust and debris in their wake.

Kit shifted in the backseat, his frustration evident. "What the hell, Molly?"

Molly's grip on the steering wheel tightened as she maneuvered the Kübelwagen through the chaos, her snarl audible even above the cacophony. "I am not speaking to you right now!"

Kit let out an irritated huff, his arms crossed, "Oh, real mature!"

Meanwhile, P.J. was desperately searching for a seatbelt in the backseat, only to find none. His voice trembled with a mix of panic and frustration as he interjected, "Could you two maybe have your weird little lovers spat when we're not being shot at?"

Both Kit and Molly shot him furious glares, their voices in unison commanding, "Shut up!"

As the Kübelwagen sped through the turmoil, dodging bullets and weaving through the chaos, Kit's attention was drawn to a radio on the dashboard. A spark of hope ignited within him, and he quickly climbed back into the passenger seat, snatching up the radio and scanning through the frequencies. His heart raced as he dialed in the one used by the Sea Duck. "Della? Gadget? Anyone?" he urgently called out, his voice crackling through the static-filled airwaves.

"Oh, you gonna ask them for a kiss too?" Molly huffed as she drove them out of the gates of the palace.

Ignoring Molly's sarcastic remark, Kit continued to call out through the radio, his desperation evident in his voice. "Della! Come in, Della!" he pleaded, his gaze fixed on the radio as if his words alone could bridge the distance between them.

Kit's relief was palpable as Della's voice crackled through the radio. "Wait, who's being kissed?" she questioned, a note of confusion in her tone.

Kit couldn't help but roll his eyes in frustration, dismissing the topic. "That's not important! Just tell me Gadget has the damned Sea Duck patched up and fueled!" he exclaimed.

Della's reassuring response came swiftly, "Yeah, I heard the gunfire and figured we were making a quick departure. We're ready and waiting!"

Kit shared a quick glance with Molly, a mixture of determination and gratitude in his expression. "We're heading your way, so don't take off without us!"

Molly's sudden application of the brakes sent Kit's head crashing into the dashboard, eliciting a grunt of pain. He shot her a frustrated glare, his irritation evident. "Why are we stopping?!" he demanded impatiently.

Molly's response came swiftly, her voice tinged with exasperation, "Because I'm trying to remember where to go!"

Just as they were caught in the midst of their disoriented pause, a deafening explosion erupted nearby. A wall disintegrated into a cloud of dust and rubble, leaving behind a scene of chaos and destruction. As the dust settled, their eyes were drawn to the ominous sight of a Thembrian Panzer tank, its massive cannon adjusting its aim to target their Kübelwagen.

P.J., his voice laced with panic, chimed in with a suggestion, "Maybe steering away from the big tank would be a brilliant plan!"

Kit's gaze remained locked on the looming tank as he issued a single word of instruction, "Drive."

Without a moment's hesitation, Molly slammed her foot on the accelerator, causing the vehicle to lurch forward and surge ahead. The roar of the engine filled the air as they raced away, narrowly avoiding another explosive impact as the tank's cannon fired, the shell soaring just above them.

The thudding sound of tank treads behind them signaled their relentless pursuer, and P.J., his voice wavering with panic, looked back over his shoulder. "Shouldn't we be firing back?"

Kit shot a glance at P.J., his tone exasperated, "I've got a machine gun, not an anti-tank rifle!"

P.J.'s eyes widened, and he tried to come up with another solution, "Shoot it in its weak spot!"

With a mixture of disbelief and frustration, Kit retorted, "It's a tank! It doesn't have any weak spots!"

The deafening roar of the tank's cannon erupted once again, the shell streaking past them with a high-pitched whistle before smashing into a nearby building. The force of the impact unleashed a cascade of debris, showering the Kübelwagen as it careened through the destruction. Bricks and dust filled the air, momentarily obscuring their vision.

Amid the chaos, Kit's voice rose, cutting through the turmoil, "Faster! Molly, we have to go faster!"

Molly's grip on the steering wheel tightened as she navigated through the debris-littered streets. Her jaw clenched in determination, she shot a glare at Kit, her voice sharp, "I am still not talking to you!"

The tank's cannon fired once more, the shell exploding nearby and sending shockwaves through the air. The force of the blast rocked the Kübelwagen, but Molly expertly maintained control.

Kit's fingers clenched around the radio once more, desperation pushing him to make the call. "Della! Start up the Sea Duck and get those cargo bay doors open, we're coming in hot!"

The voice of Della crackled over the radio, confusion evident, "What do you mean by hot?"

Gritting his teeth, Kit responded, his words filled with panic, "I mean we're being chased by a tank!"

A moment of static hung in the air, followed by Della's composed voice, tinged with disbelief, "I'm sorry, I must have misheard. Did you just say tank?"

Frustration welled up within Kit as he shouted into the radio, "Yes, Della, I said tank! Now start that goddamned plane!"

Another pause filled only with the sound of static before Della's voice came through once more, her tone simply stating, "Oh."

=========================================
The Sea Duck
=========================================

As Gadget reentered the Sea Duck, her ears caught the conversation over the radio. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion as she muttered to herself, "Did he just say tank? Where on earth did they find a tank?"

Della was already in action, her skilled hands flicking switches and bringing the Sea Duck's engines to life. She shot Gadget a quick glance, a wry smile curving her bill. "It seems like they're being chased by a tank, sweetheart."

Gadget's eyes widened, disbelief etched across her features. "A tank? But...who could possibly--"

Della's voice interrupted, both reassuring and determined as she settled into her seat and fastened her seatbelt. "We're about to find out. Buckle up, buttercup, because things are about to get a little wild." With those words, the rumble of the Sea Duck's engines grew louder, filling the air with anticipation as they prepared to provide their friends with a daring escape.

=========================================
Nearby
=========================================

The Kübelwagen plowed through an outdoor café, chairs, and tables shattering in its wake, leaving a trail of destruction as it sped through. P.J. couldn't help but voice his concern amidst the chaos, "Are you trying to cause as much damage as possible?"

Molly shot P.J. a sharp look, her grip firm on the wheel. "Do you want to drive?" she challenged him.

A sheepish expression crossed P.J.'s face as he quickly shook his head. "No."

"Good," Molly retorted, her attention fully on navigating the chaotic path ahead. "Then shut up and let me do this thing!"

Kit's gaze was locked on the road ahead, his heart racing as they hurtled through the chaos. He spotted Macadamia Port in the distance and urged, "Go, go, go!"

Molly's grip on the steering wheel tightened, her determination evident as she shouted over the engine's roar, "What do you think I'm trying to do?!" The Kübelwagen sped forward, their destination growing closer as the pursuit of the Thembrian tank raged on.

As the Kübelwagen raced toward the entrance of Macadamia Port, Kit's eyes widened as he noticed the closed entrance barred by a sturdy wooden and metal crossbar. He quickly leaned over to Molly and yelled, "Drive through it!"

Molly's determination didn't waver as she gripped the steering wheel tighter, her foot pressing on the gas pedal. But just as they approached the entrance, a guard in a nearby shack began frantically waving his arms, signaling for them to stop. Kit's heart pounded in his chest as he yelled, "Don't stop! Keep going!"

However, before Molly could react, another deafening explosion shattered the air. A shell from the pursuing Thembrian tank obliterated the guard shack and the unfortunate guard within, reducing it to a cloud of debris and smoke. The shockwave and the spray of debris rippled through the air, leaving a scene of destruction in its wake.

Despite the chaos and destruction, Molly's grip on the wheel remained steady as she pushed the Kübelwagen forward, crashing through the barrier and into Macadamia Port.

The sight of the dock where the Sea Duck was waiting brought a surge of relief to Kit, Molly, and P.J. Ahead, Della had already turned the plane around, its engines roaring to life in anticipation of their arrival. Kit grabbed the radio once more and yelled, "We're comin' in, Della! Get ready!"

Della's voice crackled through the radio, "Get a move on, Skyprancer!"

Molly's grip on the steering wheel tightened as she maneuvered the Kübelwagen with expert precision, expertly weaving through the rows of shipping containers within the port toward the waiting Sea Duck. The chaos of the chase was behind them, replaced by a glimmer of hope as their escape drew closer. With each passing moment, the distant roar of the tank's engine grew fainter, gradually drowned out by the increasing volume of the Sea Duck's powerful engines.

As they closed in on the dock, P.J.'s realization of Kit's plan settled in, and he couldn't help but voice his concern, "Are you sure this is such a good idea?" The uncertainty in his voice hung in the air as the Sea Duck loomed closer.

Molly white-knuckled the steering wheel, focus etched onto her face as she guided the Kübelwagen toward the waiting cargo hold of the Sea Duck. "Everyone hold on!" Molly's shout was a mix of warning and determination as she accelerated the vehicle, her eyes locked on the narrow opening of the cargo bay ahead. The Kübelwagen's tires thudded against the wooden dock as it hurtled forward with a burst of speed.

"Brakes! Brakes!" Kit's urgent cry pierced through the rush of adrenaline.

Molly's retort was quick and confident, "I know what I'm doing!"

At the very last moment, with an almost heart-stopping precision, Molly slammed on the brakes. The Kübelwagen shuddered and skidded, the tires protesting against the abrupt stop, and for a split second, it seemed as though the narrow gap between the cargo bay's walls and the vehicle's sides would collide.

But then, almost miraculously, the Kübelwagen slid into the cargo loading area of the Sea Duck with a hair's breadth of clearance on either side. The vehicle came to a halt mere inches from the passenger seats, leaving everyone inside momentarily breathless.

Gadget, who was already secured in her seat within the Sea Duck, looked on with wide eyes as she witnessed the heart-pounding feat of precision. As the dust settled and the reality of their successful escape sunk in, she couldn't help but let out a surprised and amazed, "Golly."

"Oh, now she's impressed." P.J. sighed, wiping his brow in relief.

The Sea Duck's engines roared to life, propelling the aircraft forward with a surge of power. It glided effortlessly over the water's surface, the moonlight glistening on the ripples beneath. With a graceful lift, the aircraft left the chaos of Macadamia behind, ascending into the open sky; the city lights growing distant, fading against the expanse of the night.

Chapter Text

Chapter XIV - FUBAR

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Royal Palace of Macadamia
=========================================

In the dim light of the early morning, the Royal Palace of Macadamia stood as a stark contrast to the peaceful tranquility it had once exuded. The sun's first rays pierced through the lingering shadows, casting an eerie glow over the scene of chaos that had unfolded within its walls. The faint echo of gunfire still reverberated now and then, punctuating the tense atmosphere with reminders of the ongoing skirmishes that erupted sporadically.

Black Heron and Klang's ruthless platoon of Thembrian soldiers and vulture assassins had successfully seized control of the palace. Their presence loomed over every corner, casting a malevolent aura that seemed to taint the very air. The once-grand halls and elegant chambers were now tainted with the scent of smoke and the lingering aftermath of violence.

In the grand council chamber, its opulent furnishings now marred by signs of the recent struggle, Black Heron and Klang stood in hushed conversation. Their voices, laden with a sense of triumphant anticipation, were barely audible over the distant sounds of soldiers tossing bodies into a macabre pyre that crackled in the courtyard beyond.

Amidst the eerie backdrop of destruction, Heron and Klang exchanged plans in low, conspiratorial tones. Klang's metallic jaw clinked softly as he asked, "Have you located the queen yet?" His tongue flicked out of his mouth, tasting the death in the air.

A sinister smile tugged at the corners of Heron's beak as she nodded in affirmation. "Indeed, she's in our custody," she responded, her voice tinged with a sense of satisfaction. With a subtle gesture, she ordered her soldiers to bring forth their captive.

Queen Lamour was escorted into the chamber, her regal poise and demeanor overshadowed by the indignity of her captivity. Her hands were at her sides and her expression betrayed a mixture of fear, defiance, and determination. Struggling against the grasp of the vulture assassins who held her, she fought to maintain her composure in the face of her captors.

The guard's forceful shove propelled Queen Lamour closer to Thaddeus E. Klang, his cold, reptilian gaze locking onto her. As he cupped her jaw with his scarred hand, a twisted smile played on his face. "Are you angry?"

In a defiant act of resistance, the Queen spat in Klang's face, her disdain and fury unmistakable as she cursed at him, "کلاب آلوده"

With a sinister chuckle, Klang's serpentine tongue darted out to lick the spittle from his cheek, his yellow eyes glinting with amusement. "You have a lot of spirit in you, Queen Lamour," he remarked, his voice laced with an eerie calmness. "What did she call me?"

"A filthy mongrel," Black Heron stood nearby, her hand upon her holstered Luger.

His grip on her jaw tightened momentarily before he released her, allowing her to stumble back a step. Black Heron watched the interaction with a twisted grin, her amusement evident as she observed the Queen's futile attempts to resist. The eerie laughter that followed resonated in the air, chilling those who heard it. Klang's amusement turned into a malicious delight as he suddenly backhanded Queen Lamour, the force of the blow causing her to fall to her knees. Her face twisted with pain and rage as she glared up at him.

"You're lucky your kingdom doesn't hold much of what I seek, or we would have already razed this entire city," Klang sneered down at the fallen queen.

"And we have no need for your kind here, either," Queen Lamour retorted, her voice dripping with disdain. "So why not go back into whatever hole you slithered out of?"

Klang's unsettling chuckle echoed through the courtyard as he paced about, relishing in the power and control he held over the situation. "It's almost serendipitous that we should cross paths," he mused, his yellow eyes flicking toward the queen as he spoke. "Black Heron has been to many countries, searching out artifacts of legend for me. My men and I, we wait nearby; the loyal of the High Marshall of Thembria."

As Klang continued to speak, Queen Lamour remained keenly observant, her eyes scanning the surroundings for any potential advantage. It was then that she noticed a Thembrian boot knife discarded beside her, partially hidden from view under debris. Swiftly and discreetly, she retrieved the blade and concealed it within the folds of her dress, her heart pounding.

The Queen's words carried a defiant edge as she openly challenged Klang's arrogance. With a scornful look in her eyes, she retorted, "I seem to remember that Thembria and Panda-la both lost the war and your so-called High Marshall, the coward he was, ended his own life in his bunker." Her voice was laced with a mixture of contempt and disdain, a sharp contrast to Klang's composed demeanor.

Klang returned his focus to the Queen, his sinister smile never wavering. "And that's what makes all of this so amazing," he remarked with an eerie calmness. "Black Heron was on the verge of departing, and then fate brings an Alliance soldier and his little band of men to our doorstep, bearing information that could change the tide of destiny."

Confusion flickered across Queen Lamour's face, and Klang couldn't resist the temptation to elaborate. "The Spear of Selene," he continued, his voice dripping with a perverse satisfaction. "That's why we came to this insignificant kingdom of yours. To find the legendary artifact that holds great power. Yet, as it turns out, it's not here. And yet, we've been gifted the location, as if by divine intervention."

Queen Lamour's laughter rang out, her defiance undeterred. "Oh, you stupid man, Kit and the others have made their escape," she mocked, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "The young calf has slipped through your serpent's grasp. He's long gone, leaving behind nothing but a trail of lies to keep you entertained. You have nothing."

Amidst the exchange, one of the Thembrian warthog guards approached Klang, holding out a piece of aged paper. Klang's amusement grew as he took the paper from the guard's hands. "What have we here?" he mused aloud, his eyes scanning the contents. "A piece of history, it seems." With a dismissive chuckle, he turned his gaze back to Queen Lamour. "It appears that your allies forgot some things in their haste."

The guard who had handed Klang the paper spoke up, his voice a mix of triumph and pride. "We found this in the room of the larger one who was with them, the fat one," he explained, a smug grin on his face. Klang's laughter reverberated through the courtyard as he held up the old paper, a twisted smile curling his lips.

"You were saying, Your Majesty?" Klang hissed as he showed the map to Ithaquack.

As the tension escalated, Queen Lamour seized the opportune moment to strike back. With the knife drawn from her dress, determination flared in her eyes as she aimed for Klang's throat, the blade poised for a swift, lethal strike. But her audacious attempt was halted in its tracks by the sudden appearance of Black Heron. In a fluid and practiced movement, Heron's hand shot out and snatched the Queen's wrist, wrenching it behind her back with a painful twist that elicited a sharp cry of agony from the vixen.

Klang remained unnervingly unfazed by the close encounter with the blade, his yellow eyes locked onto the unfolding scene. The eerie calmness that radiated from him was a stark contrast to the Queen's struggles and Heron's swift intervention. With the Queen now restrained and in obvious pain, Klang's lips curled into a sinister smile, his serpentine tongue darting out to taste the tension in the air.

Klang's cold demeanor remained unshaken as he contemplated the situation at hand. With a calculated air of malevolence, he addressed Queen Lamour, his voice dripping with an eerie satisfaction, "You know, I was just going to end your life swiftly, but I believe I've had a change of heart." His eyes flickered to Black Heron, and he issued a cold command, "Take her to the airstrip. We depart immediately."

As Heron's grip tightened around the Queen's wrist, a cruel smile tugged at her beak. She relished the moment of control, savoring the Queen's helplessness. Her eyes gleamed with malicious satisfaction, mirroring the sadistic delight that Klang exuded.

Klang leaned in closer, his serpentine tongue flicking the air in a taunting manner as he addressed Queen Lamour with chilling amusement, "Oh, how fitting it will be for you to bear witness. When we retrieve the Spear of Selene, your beloved calf will meet his end, and we shall resurrect our High Marshall from the realm of the dead."

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Hours Later,
Somewhere over the Ocean
=========================================

The Sea Duck soared gracefully through the cerulean sky, its wings slicing through the warm, salty breeze. The sun hung like a radiant jewel in the firmament, casting shimmering reflections upon the expansive canvas of the ocean below. The water stretched out in every direction, a tranquil expanse of azure and turquoise, interrupted only by the occasional ripple that danced across its surface. Above, seagulls glided with effortless elegance, their cries blending harmoniously with the distant rush of the waves.

Amidst this serene panorama, tension suddenly erupted within the confines of the Sea Duck's cabin. Kit's voice echoed through the plane, laced with frustration and exasperation, "Why the hell would you bring the map with you, P.J.?" His tone resonated with disbelief, as if he couldn't fathom the idea of P.J.'s actions.

P.J., his face contorted into a mix of guilt and apprehension, clutched the hem of his shirt in his hands, his fingers gripping it as if it were a lifeline. His eyes darted nervously between Kit and the floor, his voice wavering as he stammered, "I-I thought it might be useful, you know? I was going to compare it with some of my books, see if I could figure out exactly where Ithaquack was." P.J. pushed his glasses up his nose, "My books, by the way, are still in Macadamia..."

"I would rather put them up your ass!" Kit's eyes rolled heavenward in a gesture of exasperation, his hands tugging at his hair as if trying to extract reason from the situation. "Useful? Listen, we're not a bunch of tourists going on a sightseeing trip! We're trying to find an ancient artifact!" His frustration was palpable, accentuated by the way he gestured animatedly as he spoke.

Molly, who had been leaning against a seat, observing the exchange with a mix of amusement and concern, chimed in, "He was just trying to help, Kit."

"Help?" Kit let out an exasperated sigh, "This whole thing is FUBAR."

"FUBAR?" P.J. inquired, his head tilted to the side.

"Fucked up beyond all recognition," Gadget chimed in from nearby, lounging in a seat with a nonchalant yawn.

Kit snapped his fingers and pointed at Gadget in acknowledgment before turning back to P.J. and Molly, his frustration palpable. "No map, no Spear of Selene," he sighed heavily, his voice laden with exasperation. "No Spear of Selene means no money..."

"FUBAR," Gadget nodded in agreement.

Molly's lips curled into a wry grin as she shrugged, a touch of mischief in her eyes. "Well, at least we're not being shot at right now," she quipped, her tone light but underlying tensions still simmering beneath the surface.

Kit's frustration reached its peak, a boiling mixture of annoyance and helplessness. He clenched his fists and took a deep breath, struggling to contain his exasperation. "You know what?" His voice rose, laced with a blend of irritation and resignation. "What were Thembrians even doing in the desert?"

As the words left Kit's lips, Della stepped out of the cockpit, her presence drawing the attention of everyone in the cabin. She held a lit cigar between her fingers, a trail of wispy smoke curling upward. "What? You think that because the High Marshall is dead and we bombed Panda-la back to the Stone Age; suddenly the war is over?" Della's voice was a mix of wry amusement and a hint of weariness. She continued, "Been hearing it from all sorts of soldiers that have come home from the front. There are still loyalists out there, but they're mostly fighting among themselves now, scrambling for whatever wealth they had and scurrying to the corners of the world to hide."

"Well, this Klang guy isn't hiding," Kit interjected, his frustration giving way to a more focused determination. "He had a couple squads of soldiers with him."

Della furrowed her brow as she processed the information, her eyes narrowing in thought. She took a drag from her cigar and exhaled a cloud of smoke before asking, "What did you say his full name was again?"

Kit replied with a mixture of annoyance and resignation, "Thaddeus E. Klang, right hand of the Thembrian High Marshall or some bullshit."

Della's features shifted, a glimmer of recognition touching her expression. "Thaddeus E. Klang," she repeated slowly, her voice tinged with contemplation. "I have some memories of that name... During the chaos when the Thembrians were turning against each other before the war's end, I heard a story about him being involved in an assassination attempt on the High Marshall. There was a bomb explosion, and Klang supposedly took the hit to protect the High Marshall."

Molly chimed in, confirming Della's assessment. "That would explain the metal jaw."

Della's voice carried a note of concern as she laid out the gravity of their situation. "Considering the rumors I've heard about Klang's obsession with ancient legends and lost artifacts, his affinity for the occult, and his dedication to the Thembrian cause, I'm afraid we might be up against more than we can handle. If he has indeed found the map, as I suspect he has, we might be better off heading home."

Kit's laughter was tinged with a hint of disbelief. "I never thought you were the superstitious type."

Della turned her gaze toward Kit, her expression serious. "It's not about superstition, Kit. The High Marshall might have been a madman, but Klang is different. He's intelligent, driven, and ruthless. He won't hesitate to do whatever it takes to resurrect the glory of the Thembrian Empire, even if it means tapping into ancient powers or uncovering forgotten artifacts."

Molly's agreement was accompanied by a troubled expression, her thoughts visibly churning. "He did seem off his rocker to me," she admitted, her voice tinged with a mixture of unease and dread. "But his eyes...Kit, there was something about them that felt like he wanted to rip the soul from my body."

As if in response to the rising tension, Kit's frustration erupted in a raw display of emotion. He clenched his jaw and balled his hand into a fist, striking the wall of the Sea Duck with a resounding thud. "Dammit!" His voice rang out, a potent mixture of anger and helplessness. "We were so close, Molly, so close to saving Higher for Hire and everything we worked for."

Della's touch on Kit's shoulder offered a small semblance of comfort amid the overwhelming disappointment. "Sorry, Skyprancer," she said softly, her voice laced with sympathy. "We tried our best, we'll figure out something else."

The sudden outburst from P.J. startled everyone within the confined space of the Sea Duck's cabin. Startled gasps and wide-eyed stares greeted his exclamation of "Pangaea!"

"The fucking-fuck?!" Molly's reaction was particularly strong, and she turned to P.J. with an exasperated glare, "Are you trying to give us all a heart attack?" she exclaimed, her tone filled with annoyance and anger.

P.J.'s excitement radiated through the cabin, his enthusiasm cutting through the tension like a burst of energy, "Look, I know I messed up, messed up bad, but I have an idea!"

Gadget's eyes rolled as she let out an audible sigh, her tone dripping with sarcasm, "Oh, this should be amusing."

P.J. remained unfazed by Gadget's comment, his focus firmly on his revelation. "There's someone else who knows about the Spear of Selene, more than me, more than Professor Dodd!" His voice brimmed with excitement, his eyes wide with anticipation. "Pangaea Toft!"

Kit swiftly closed the distance between himself and P.J., grabbing the feline by his shirt. "Where is this Pangaea Toft?" he inquired, a glimmer of hope rekindling in his eyes.

P.J.'s initial excitement seemed to dim, the flush of enthusiasm draining from his furry cheeks as the weight of their possible destination settled in. His eyes blinked a few times, and a sheepish smile replaced his once-eager expression as he turned to Kit. "Uhhh, Eichenburg, in Thembria?"

Kit's grip on P.J.'s tie loosened as he absorbed the information. His expression shifted from hopeful to a mix of frustration and resignation. For a moment, he felt defeated, the weight of failure heavy on his shoulders. He considered the choice before him: to fly into Thembria, a land scarred by war and chaos, or to return empty-handed, with the prospect of leaving his friends and family vulnerable to the whims of fate.

As he glanced around at his companions, he realized that they were all looking to him for guidance, for a glimmer of hope in the face of adversity. He couldn't let them down. He couldn't let himself down.

With a heavy sigh that carried with it the weight of his burden, Kit nodded, his resolve strengthening. His lips curled into a smile as he spoke, "Well, we were headed in that direction anyhow, let's set course for Eichenburg."

A sudden cheer erupted from Della, infused with a fierce determination that stirred the air. "Hell yes! Let's make it happen. Forward to Thembria! Full speed ahead! We're on a tight schedule, so rev up those engines!" Della swiftly made her way over to Gadget and took a seat beside her, casually draping her arm over the back of the seat.

As everyone stared at her in disbelief, Della cracked a mischievous grin and stood up, pointing at the cockpit, "Oh right, that would be me. The pilot. Back to work."

With Della heading back to assume control of the Sea Duck, a faint crease formed on Molly's brow. Her gaze shifted toward Kit, the hint of doubt evident in her expression as she asked. "Are you really sure about this idea? Eichenburg is still under Thembrian control."

Despite Molly's uncertainty, Kit appeared resolute. He strode purposefully toward the Kübelwagen positioned at the back of the Sea Duck, assessing its condition. Despite the visible damage, he seemed to deem it suitable for his purposes. He delved into the contents of various boxes stored in the vehicle's rear, his hands searching for something specific. Amidst the items, Kit retrieved a Thembrian military uniform, his lips curving into a mischievous grin.

Shifting his attention to P.J., Kit raised an eyebrow and presented the uniform with a playful glint in his eyes. He posed a question to P.J., his voice carrying both amusement and anticipation. "How's your Thembrian?"

P.J. began to respond, "Well, it's a little rusty. I haven't used Thembrian since the war broke out, people tend to look at you funny when you--" Then, the realization of what Kit was suggesting hit him like a ton of bricks. His words trailed off as his eyes widened in disbelief, and a look of resistance spread across his face. "Oh...no. No way, not happening," P.J.'s voice grew more emphatic, his protest punctuated by a shake of his head. "This is a stupid idea and I won't have any part of it! There's got to be a better way!"

Chapter Text

Chapter XV - Blindside

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Thembria
=========================================

The Sea Duck had landed in a river within the desolate and rugged landscape of Thembria, roughly thirty miles west of Eichenburg. The atmosphere was one of cold, rainy dreariness that seemed to permeate every inch of the grassy area they found themselves in, a stark contrast to the warmth of Macadamia. All around, tall, imposing mountains loomed like ancient sentinels, their peaks disappearing into the low-hanging clouds. These mountains were cloaked in shades of dark gray and muted green, their rocky surfaces glistening with moisture from the incessant drizzle.

The grassy terrain underfoot was a patchwork of dull, wet earth and stubborn blades of grass, bending under the weight of raindrops. Puddles of murky water had formed in the uneven depressions, reflecting the gray sky above like tarnished mirrors. The air was thick with the scent of dampness and earth, and the faint sound of raindrops pattering against the Sea Duck's metal hull created a somber symphony.

Kit stood near the Kübelwagen, his jacket now slick with moisture, its color muted by the relentless rain. He shivered, the cold seeping into his bones, as the drizzle continued to fall. His boots sank slightly into the muddy ground with each step, leaving behind imprints that quickly filled with rainwater.

Impatience gnawed at him as he looked to the Sea Duck for P.J.

"Come on, P.J.!" Kit's voice rang out, carried away by the wind and swallowed by the vast, lonely expanse. His shout was tinged with frustration and anxiety, a stark contrast to the stillness and quiet that enveloped the desolate landscape. Kit's eyes darted toward the Kübelwagen, his impatience growing as he wondered what was causing the delay. In this desolate place, every minute felt like an eternity, and time seemed to stretch on endlessly as he waited.

A figure emerged from the Sea Duck, struggling to fasten a Thembrian soldier uniform. It was P.J., his face etched with discomfort and annoyance as he tugged at the stubborn belt that refused to cooperate. The gray uniform clung to his stout body, making his appearance remarkably different from his usual self. Drops of rain clung to his glasses, obscuring his vision and adding to his frustration.

Kit couldn't help but chuckle at the sight. "Well, at least it fits," the drizzle continued to fall, and Kit felt a shiver run down his spine, but seeing P.J. in the Thembrian uniform brought a momentary break from the tension that had gripped them earlier.

P.J. huffed in annoyance, but there was a hint of reluctant amusement in his voice. "Yeah, yeah, very funny," He finally managed to secure the belt, adjusting the uniform with a resigned sigh. "I still think this is a stupid idea."

As P.J. adjusted the uniform once more, looking somewhat out of his element, the women in the back of the Sea Duck couldn't resist a bit of good-natured ribbing. Molly, Della, and Gadget leaned against the cargo area, catcalling P.J.

Molly couldn't help but chuckle as she called out, "Looking good dressed up as a fascist, P.J.!" Her tone was playful, and she couldn't hide the smirk on her face.

"Try not to fall over while goose-stepping, okay?" Della joined in as she made a mock salute.

Gadget added her own quip, "Just remember, P.J., it's not about the size of the uniform, it's how you wear it!" She punctuated her comment with a sly wink.

P.J. rolled his eyes, his cheeks flushing slightly in response to their teasing. "You guys are the worst," he mumbled, though there was a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Despite his initial reluctance, he knew that their light-hearted banter was a way of offering support in their daring endeavor.

Kit, standing beside P.J., couldn't help but chuckle at the good-natured teasing as he brushed the shoulders of the uniform. "Don't worry, big guy, you've got this. Just act like you belong, and we'll be in and out of Eichenburg before they even suspect anything."

P.J. rolled his eyes once more, but this time there was a hint of resignation mixed with his lingering annoyance. "Yeah, because all our plans have been working out great so far," he sighed, his tone reflecting the uncertainty that had gripped them throughout their journey.

Clapping P.J. on the back, Kit offered reassurance. "Will you relax? You look great! Just follow the plan. You do remember the plan, right?"

Frowning, P.J.'s expression shifted from irritation to a more determined one. "I am not some idiot, of course, I know the plan! Say you're a prisoner of interest I am taking to the commander in charge, then we get to Toft's house, assuming it's still there, get his help, and then slip out under the cover of darkness."

Kit nodded in approval, his confidence in P.J.'s ability to execute the plan growing. "Exactly! See? Isn't hard at all!"

With determined resolve, P.J. shouldered the weight of their mission and joined Kit as they moved toward the Kübelwagen. As they reached the vehicle, P.J. couldn't help but feel a growing sense of purpose, even amidst the rain-soaked dreariness of the landscape.

Kit, still wearing his own resolute expression, looked back towards the Sea Duck and called out to Della, "It's 17:16 now, if we're not back by zero-hundred hours, you guys take the Duck and get back to Cape Suzette."

Molly snorted at the suggestion, her defiance clear in her voice. "If you even think we won't come for y--"

But Kit interrupted her firmly, "You'll do as I say. Any trouble and you guys get out of here."

Della leaned toward Molly, "He'll be back, don't you worry." A wry grin spread across her bill, "Most likely because the Thembrians will find Skyprancer as insufferable as the rest of us."

"I heard that!" Kit called out as he climbed into the passenger side of the Kübelwagen.

Della chuckled in response. "Yeah, I am sure you did. See you in a few hours."

As Kit settled into the vehicle, preparing to head toward Eichenburg with P.J., Gadget dashed over to him, holding his airfoil in her hands. She offered it to him, and he took it, looking at her with a hint of confusion. "Uh, I am not planning on jumping out of any airplanes."

Gadget grinned mischievously, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Even better, hold the straps and press that button there."

Kit obliged, looping his hand through the leather straps on the underside of the airfoil and pressing the designated button. To his surprise, the airfoil sprang open, but instead of its familiar crescent shape, it had transformed into a full disc.

Kit examined the newly formed object, his eyebrows raised in surprise. "What am I supposed to do with this?" He turned it over in his hands, slowly realizing its purpose as a protective barrier. "What do you think I am, a Knight of the Roundtable?"

Gadget's grin widened as she explained, "Think of it as added insurance. You never know what you might run into out there. This way, you've got some extra protection. It will stop a Luger bullet or three."

Kit couldn't help but chuckle at Gadget's ingenuity, even if he still found the idea of wielding a shield in their covert mission a bit unconventional. He folded the airfoil up and tucked it under his seat, "Thanks, Gadget."

P.J. took the driver's seat in the Kübelwagen, his expression still a mix of concern and apprehension. He looked toward Gadget and asked with a hint of worry, "Well, what about me? What about my safety?"

She leaned across Kit, her tone playful as she pinched P.J.'s furry cheek. "You've got your spiffy little uniform," she teased. "So just try not to get shot."

"Wonderful," P.J. sighed as he started the ignition. "Kit gets a shield and I get 'well, just don't get shot'. Great advice."

=========================================
Shortly
=========================================

As P.J. drove Kübelwagen through the relentless drizzle, Kit sat in the passenger seat, keeping a watchful eye on their surroundings. The sun hung low in the sky, its warm, golden hues filtered through the thick, rain-laden clouds. The world around them had undergone a profound transformation as they neared Eichenburg, the signs of Thembria's recent turbulent history becoming increasingly evident.

The grassy terrain that had greeted them upon their arrival in this desolate land had now given way to an unforgiving expanse of mud. The once-green landscape had turned into a monochrome canvas of browns and grays, the persistent rain having turned the earth into a quagmire that threatened to swallow them whole.

As they approached Eichenburg, the scars of war became impossible to ignore. Burned-out tanks littered the landscape, their metal skeletons serving as grim reminders of the fierce battles that had taken place. Deep craters, some filled with murky water, marked the spots where bombs had fallen from the sky, their destructive power leaving behind wounds in the earth.

The devastation extended to the outskirts of Eichenburg itself. The city appeared shrouded in an eerie silence as if holding its breath in the aftermath of destruction. Buildings bore the unmistakable marks of conflict, their walls pockmarked with bullet holes and signs of fire damage. The streets were littered with debris, and remnants of barricades and sandbag fortifications hinted at the fierce fighting that had occurred here.

Kit couldn't help but feel a heavy weight in his chest as he gazed upon the city. This was once a thriving metropolis, now reduced to a somber and haunting reminder of the chaos that had gripped Thembria. The rain continued to fall, as relentless as the memories of the war that had ravaged this land.

P.J. maintained his focus on the road ahead, the gravity of their mission and the stark reality of their surroundings weighing on him as well. They were about to enter Eichenburg, a city that held secrets and danger in equal measure, "I saw newsreels," He said with a sigh, "But I never realized just how bad the war was while in Cape Suzette."

"How could you," Kit replied, adjusting himself in his seat. "Honestly, I didn't see much either. When you're overhead you really don't see all this..." He gestured to the devastation that surrounded them, "...destruction."

P.J. nodded in understanding, his gaze fixed on the rain-soaked road. The two companions fell into a contemplative silence, absorbing the destruction that was displayed before them.

After a moment, P.J. turned to Kit, his voice tentative as he asked, "What was it like; being in the war?"

Kit hesitated for a moment, his mind drifting back to those tumultuous days. "It was...intense," he began, his words carrying the weight of his experiences. "You see, when you're up there in the sky, you're focused on your squadron and your mission. You don't really see the people on the ground, the towns, and the destruction. It's almost like a different world."

He paused, gathering his thoughts, before continuing with a war story that had left a lasting impression on him. "There was this one time, we had taken control of a Thembrian airstrip outside of some town...I can't remember the name now. The Alliance had occupied the town, and we thought we had secured it." Kit's voice took on a somber tone as he recalled the memory. "But one night, we heard screams coming from one of the houses. We rushed in, thinking it was a Thembrian attack. Instead, we found a family -- a father, mother, and their young daughter. They were huddled in a corner, terrified."

P.J. listened attentively, the rain pattering against the vehicle providing a haunting backdrop to Kit's story.

Kit's voice continued, the emotions of that night still vivid in his mind. "Turns out, they were just trying to hide from the fighting outside. We had occupied their town, but they were caught in the crossfire. We tried to calm them down, and assure them that they were safe with us. But then, in the midst of our conversation, a bullet came through the window..." The memory hung in the air, heavy and sorrowful. Kit's voice trailed off, leaving the unspoken truth of what had happened that night. He closed his eyes and then finished, "The Thembrians used them as bait, killing their own countrymen just to get us in a trap."

P.J. offered a sympathetic nod, realizing the profound impact that war had on those who lived through it, "I'm sorry."

Kit turned to P.J., his expression a mix of acknowledgment and acceptance. "Yeah, everyone is sorry," he admitted, the weight of past tragedies still etched in his eyes. But then, as if shaking the memory out of his head, he managed a faint smile. "But hey, let's just focus on the task at hand, alright? My turn for a question -- how do you even know where this Toft guy lives?"

P.J. adjusted his grip on the steering wheel, his thoughts drifting back to a time before the war had torn through Thembria. "Well," he began, "I came to Thembria as a boy with my parents before the war broke out. Pangaea Toft was a friend of my father's. He was the one who got me interested in archaeology in the first place. It was his recommendation that got me my spot as Professor Dodd's assistant."

The rain continued to patter on the vehicle as P.J. recounted his connection to Pangaea Toft. "We kept in touch, you know? Sent letters back and forth. Though it's been about a year since I last heard from him."

Kit let out a sigh, "Well, let's just hope he's still here."

As they continued their journey into Eichenburg, Kit's sharp eyes spotted a roadblock up ahead. He pointed it out to P.J., who couldn't help but frown at the sight. "Aw, geez," P.J. muttered, his unease evident. "I don't know if I can do this."

Kit offered a reassuring smile, though his tone remained lighthearted. "Don't worry about it," he quipped, "Just be humorless and boring, so kind of like you anyhow, and remember what I told you."

P.J. sighed, his worry not entirely alleviated. "Your pep talks need a lot of work," he commented, his voice tinged with a mix of amusement and exasperation.

As the Kübelwagen approached the ramshackle roadblock of sandbags and a burned-out car, it became clear that it was manned by two weary Thembrian warthog soldiers. The rain had soaked their drab uniforms, making them appear even more disheveled. Both soldiers stood with rifles in hand, their expressions reflecting a blend of fatigue and vigilance.

One of the soldiers, a grizzled warthog with a scar across his snout, stepped forward, raising his hand to signal for P.J. to stop. P.J. complied, bringing the vehicle to a halt while Kit, seated in the passenger seat, discreetly placed his hands behind his back to simulate being in handcuffs.

The Thembrian soldier approached the Kübelwagen cautiously, his eyes scanning the vehicle and its occupants. Raindrops rolled down his wrinkled face as he scrutinized the scene, suspicion evident in his gaze. The other soldier remained on alert, his rifle trained on the vehicle, ready to respond to any perceived threat.

The warthog with the scar, his eyes fixed on Kit, stepped closer to the Kübelwagen and inquired in Thembrian, "Was haben Sie hier?"

P.J., keeping his composure and speaking in Thembrian, replied, "Nur einen Allianz-Soldaten, den ich außerhalb der Stadt erwischt habe. Ich glaube, er könnte ein Spion sein, also werde ich ihn zum Kommandanten bringen."

The soldier with the scar continued to scrutinize Kit; raindrops splattered on the wet ground around them, the persistent drizzle adding to the tension of the moment. He let out a gruff laugh and responded, "Der Kommandant ist tot, aber ein Gefreiter wird sich um diesen Abschaum kümmern. Geh zum Wütenden Schwein Gasthaus."

He stepped back and waved P.J. on, his tone less hostile now, "Seien Sie einfach vorsichtig vor den Allianz-Scharfschützen. Heil Thembria."

P.J. nodded and replied, "Heil Thembria," acknowledging the soldier's instructions and conveying allegiance to Thembria. The warthog soldiers, satisfied with P.J.'s explanation, allowed the Kübelwagen to pass, and P.J. carefully drove onward, relief washing over him as they cleared the roadblock.

As they drove away from the roadblock, the tension in the air began to dissipate, and Kit couldn't help but exhale a sigh of relief. He glanced over his shoulder and remarked, "Well, that clenched my butthole," his humor returning in the wake of their successful encounter with the Thembrian soldiers.

Turning to P.J., he asked, "So, what did those pig noses say?"

P.J. quickly summarized their conversation, "They said the commander is dead, but a corporal will handle me as a prisoner. We need to head to the Angry Pig Inn. Oh, and something about snipers."

"Joy," Kit nodded, their plan still in motion despite the danger. "Good work, P.J., told you that you were going to be a soldier."

Glancing down at the Thembrian soldier uniform he wore, P.J.'s expression was a mixture of discomfort and resignation, his voice carrying a hint of self-disgust "I feel dirty."

=========================================
Shortly,
Center of Eichenburg
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Kit and P.J. stood before the house that supposedly belonged to Pangaea Toft, with its sturdy stone walls and peaked roof showcasing typical Thembrian architecture. But the ravages of war had left their mark; the once-charming facade now looked shabby, with cracked windows, chipped paint, and signs of damage from bombings and fighting.

The neighborhood, once bustling with life, now lay in eerie silence, the absence of any light or signs of activity further emphasizing the desolation brought about by the war. The rain continued to drizzle, casting a cold and somber pall over the scene.

Kit exchanged a glance with P.J., both of them sharing a sense of uncertainty, "No lights, looks abandoned."

P.J.'s expression reflected a mixture of despair and hope, his fear of the worst outcome gnawing at him. He had held dear memories of this man from his childhood, and the thought of him being gone was almost unbearable.

But they had come this far, and he had to know the truth.

With a deep breath to steady his nerves, P.J. stepped up to the door of the house and softly knocked, the sound barely audible in the quiet, rain-soaked street. He hoped against hope that there would be an answer, that Pangaea Toft was still alive and within those walls.

There was no response from inside the seemingly abandoned house. Kit, leaning against the wall near the door, took out a Lucky Strike cigarette and lit it, the ember casting a faint glow on his face as he inhaled. He turned to P.J. with a hint of doubt in his voice, "Are you sure it's the right house?"

P.J. shot Kit an angry glare, his frustration bubbling to the surface. "I spent a few summers here," he retorted sharply, "I think I would know where he lives."

Undeterred by the lack of response, P.J. knocked on the door once more, this time with a sense of urgency.

Then, the door suddenly swung open, and they were greeted by an angry voice that filled the doorway, "I told you pigs I have no food!" The voice carried a mix of frustration and desperation, but before P.J. could react, a menacing sight emerged. The barrel of a hunting shotgun was thrust into P.J.'s face, the cold metal sending shivers down his spine.

With lightning-fast reflexes, Kit reached over and grabbed the shotgun's barrel, pushing it downward, redirecting the lethal aim away from P.J. The loud report of a gunshot echoed through the empty streets as the shotgun discharged harmlessly into the ground. In a chaotic struggle, Kit shoved the unseen assailant backward, and they tumbled over each other in the dark foyer of the house, grappling for control amidst the confusion and fear.

The person Kit was struggling with yelled in anger, "Get your bloody hands off me!"

In response, Kit yelled out for P.J., his voice filled with urgency, "Don't just stand there! Get in here and help me, P.J.!"

Shaken by the sudden violence but determined to assist his companion, P.J. stumbled into the house and quickly shut the door behind him, "What should I do?!"

Kit managed to wrest the shotgun away from the struggling figure, but as he did, the person beneath him ceased to resist and instead began to speak. "P.J.? P.J. Pete? Is that you, my boy?" The voice was filled with surprise and a hint of relief.

P.J. froze in recognition, his eyes widening with a mixture of disbelief and joy. "Pangaea Toft?" he asked in astonishment, finally realizing the identity of the man who nearly shot him.

Kit shuffled away from them, his tension easing as he released his grip on the shotgun. He reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved his Zippo lighter, flicking it open to illuminate the scene.

Before them sat an elderly man, his face covered in stubble, his clothes tattered and ragged from years of wear. His once-vibrant attire had faded to a dull hue, and his coat bore the scars of time and hardship. But what truly caught Kit and P.J.'s attention was the old man's eyes. They were almost pure white, clouded over with blindness, a stark contrast to the memories P.J. had of him.

P.J. couldn't contain his emotions any longer, and tears welled up in his eyes as he recognized the man who had once been his mentor and friend. "P-Pangaea," he stuttered, his voice choked with emotion. "What happened to you?"

Chapter Text

Chapter XVI - Taken

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Pangaea Toft's Home
=========================================

Inside Pangaea Toft's house, the atmosphere was dim and shrouded in shadow. All the windows had been blacked out with curtains and newspapers, shielding the interior from the grim reality outside. The room was claustrophobic with the weight of years gone by, and a sense of timelessness pervaded the space.

Toft, his hunched form revealing the toll of age and hardship, shuffled about in the shabby kitchen. The worn wooden floor creaked underfoot as he moved with careful but deliberate steps. His movements were slow and methodical, a testament to the meticulous routine of his daily life.

The kitchen itself was a relic of bygone days, its appliances outdated and showing signs of wear. A battered kettle sat on the stove, its once-polished exterior now tarnished and faded. A rickety wooden table occupied the center of the room, where Kit and P.J. sat patiently, their faces illuminated by the soft, flickering glow of a simple kerosene lantern placed on the table's surface.

As Toft went about the task of making tea, the rhythmic clinking of porcelain against porcelain filled the air, a gentle melody of hospitality in this otherwise somber setting. The room was filled with the scent of dried herbs, a comforting aroma that hinted at the promise of warmth and companionship amidst the shadows.

"Err, do you need any help there, Pangaea?" P.J., his concern evident, asked Toft, his voice laced with a desire to assist his old friend in his daily routine.

Toft, however, responded with a touch of pride and a hint of stubbornness, "I may be blind, but I know my own damn way around my own blasted kitchen." His gruff words carried a sense of independence and self-reliance that had undoubtedly served him well over the years.

Kit couldn't help but chuckle at the old man's spirited response.

P.J., his desire to help still evident, glanced at Toft's determined but somewhat shaky movements. Without saying a word, as Toft approached the table P.J. extended a hand toward the kettle, silently offering his assistance.

The old man paused for a moment, his clouded eyes turned in P.J.'s direction, as if considering the offer. Then, with a gruff but appreciative nod, he relented. "Alright, lad, you can help with the kettle, but don't be meddling with anything else."

P.J. nodded in understanding and carefully took hold of the kettle, working in tandem with Toft to make their shared task a little easier. Together, cups of tea were poured, and a package of biscuits laid out.

"It isn't much, I'm afraid," Toft admitted as he settled into a chair at the table. His hand fumbled over the tabletop, searching for a biscuit among the meager offerings. "Both the Alliance and Thembria have tightened their grip on our rations," he added, his tone filled with resignation.

"It's more than enough," Kit took a sip of his tea as he continued the conversation, his tone reflecting a sense of optimism. "Well, the war is officially over, I'm sure they'll mop up the remaining holdouts in no time."

Toft, however, scoffed at the comment, his voice laden with cynicism. "Don't much care about all that," he muttered gruffly, his fingers finally finding a biscuit. He took a bite, savoring the taste before continuing, "Even if they clean the city of every fascist, there's always someone else, not a fan of either side, to be honest, they both committed war crimes."

Kit's voice took on a reflective tone as he shared a deeper perspective, "Sometimes, in war, you've got to do what's wrong to help preserve what's right."

Toft listened to Kit's words, pondering them for a moment. A small, knowing smile crossed his lips, and he nodded in acknowledgment. "I like your friend here, P.J.," Toft remarked, his blind eyes turned in P.J.'s direction. "An optimist, someone with values. That's hard to find these days."

P.J. couldn't help but blush at the compliment, "He's more like a co-worker."

"Boss," Kit added with a smirk.

Toft, still curious and puzzled by their unexpected presence, finally broached the question that had been lingering in the air, "So, my boys, what brings you here, behind enemy lines?" His blind eyes seemed to fix on the space between Kit and P.J. as he awaited their response.

P.J. and Kit exchanged glances for a moment, silently communicating their readiness to reveal the purpose of their visit. P.J. took a deep breath and finally broke the silence, "The Spear of Selene, we're on our way to get it."

Toft, who had been taking a sip of his tea at that very moment, sputtered on the liquid, his head twisting to the side in disbelief. "I think my hearing must be going because I think I just heard you say you're going after the Spear of Selene."

"Yes, sir, we are," Kit confirmed. "There's just one problem..."

P.J. interjected with a sheepish grin, "We had a map leading to Ithaquack, but I, uhh, sort of lost it."

A long, tense silence hung in the air as P.J. and Kit exchanged uneasy glances, unsure of how Toft would react to their admission. Then, unexpectedly, Toft burst into laughter, the sound hearty and infectious. "Hah! The Spear of Selene? Ah, P.J., I needed a good laugh. Thank you, my boy," he exclaimed, his amusement genuine.

Toft stood up from his seat and began shuffling back to the stove with the kettle. He continued, his tone lighthearted, "I spent my whole life trying to find that thing, and you know what I found? It's a myth. Doesn't exist. No Ithaquack."

P.J. cleared his throat, determined to make Toft understand. "Pangaea, it's real, I have seen the map with my own eyes, it all lines up," he insisted.

A heavy silence settled over the room once more, the tension growing with each passing second. Toft stood at the stove with his back turned to them, his shoulders tense. Then, without warning, he violently threw the kettle across the room, the clang of metal against wood echoing through the shabby kitchen. His voice quivered with frustration as he yelled, "I told you it's not real!"

P.J. and Kit exchanged startled and uncertain glances as Toft's outburst disrupted the room. Kit motioned for P.J. to approach Toft, silently urging him to try and make sense of the situation. P.J. complied, sliding out of his seat and cautiously making his way to Toft's side.

As he stood next to the agitated old man, P.J. gently placed his hand on Toft's shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. In a barely audible hushed whisper, P.J. ventured a question that had suddenly occurred to him, "Pangaea, where's Eurasia?"

Toft lowered his head, his previous anger subsiding into a heavy sigh. He remained silent for a few moments, contemplating P.J.'s question. With a heavy heart, he turned away from P.J., his clouded eyes distant, and spoke with a tone of resignation, "I think you two should go. You won't find what you're looking for here."

Kit rose from his seat, his frustration evident as he confronted Toft. "We came a long way and went to considerable trouble to get here old man," he asserted, his voice tinged with impatience. "P.J. said you knew all about this stuff, so what's going on? What's Eurasia?"

Toft turned to face Kit, a solemn expression on his face as he replied, "Not what, who. Eurasia is...was, my daughter."

"What happened to her, Pangaea?" P.J. asked.

Toft returned to the table and slumped into a chair, his weary shoulders reflecting the weight of his memories. P.J., after placing the kettle back on the stove, joined him, listening intently as Toft continued his somber tale.

"She wanted to be just like her old man," Toft began, his voice filled with a mix of pride and sorrow. "Run around, see the world, and dig through the dirt. She was good at it too. Problem is, she was too good."

He paused, his gaze distant, lost in the painful recollections of the past. "The Thembrian High Marshal," Toft continued, his voice growing heavy with bitterness, "He got it in his head that ancient artifacts might help him in his war against the Alliance. So, he had his Gestapo scour the country for experts. I'm an old man, so I ain't much use to them. I tried to send her away, P.J., actually gave her your address in Usland, but she didn't make it."

"What happened?" Kit inquired, his hands already balling up into fists as he imagined the worst.

The pain in Toft's voice was palpable as he recounted the harrowing events of that fateful day. His trembling hands gripped the edges of the table, and his head hung low as he replied, "They took her," Toft's voice cracked, a mournful wail escaping his lips. "Eurasia! They broke down the door to my home and dragged her from my arms. I tried to stop them, but for my trouble, the bastards beat me, sprayed chemicals into my eyes, and blinded me."

"Probably lewisite," Kit said with a frown, "Seen it used on a few people; so much for being prohibited under international law."

The room fell into a heavy silence, the weight of Toft's suffering and the brutality of war hanging in the air like a shroud. P.J. and Kit could only imagine the anguish he had endured, losing his daughter in such a violent and heart-wrenching manner.

Tears streamed down Toft's wrinkled face as he continued to pour out his pain. "I don't know if she's still alive," he lamented, his voice choked with grief. "And if you go searching for that, P.J., I know they're gonna get you too."

P.J. reached out and gently patted Toft's trembling shoulder, his voice filled with empathy and reassurance, "She's alive, you just have to believe it."

As P.J.'s words landed with comforting weight, Kit couldn't help but feel a twinge of sorrow deep within him. He remembered the years of separation from his own family during the war, how they had believed him to be gone forever. Now, hearing Toft's anguish over his daughter, it reminded Kit of the pain and uncertainty his family had endured, unaware that he had survived and would one day return to them, a man reborn from the ashes of war.

"If she's alive, then I know damn well who would know," Kit's determined tone cut through the heavy atmosphere in Toft's kitchen. "Thaddeus E. Klang."

Toft's eyes widened in surprise, "You know that bastard Klang?"

Kit leaned forward, a sense of urgency in his voice, "Yeah, we had a run-in with him already. He's probably got the map and is on his way to Ithaquack as we speak."

Toft wiped his eyes on his sleeve, then stood abruptly. "If Klang has your map, then we have no time to waste," he said, his voice regaining a sense of urgency. He picked up the lantern and led the way, his steps uncertain but determined, deeper into his house as Kit and P.J. followed, exchanging confused glances.

Finally, Toft brought them to his study, a room consumed by organized chaos. Piles upon piles of papers, maps, and books lay scattered haphazardly throughout the space. Dusty cobwebs clung to the corners, and the lantern's dim light cast eerie shadows across the cluttered room. The walls were lined with shelves, each crammed with ancient tomes, scrolls, and artifacts from various archaeological expeditions. Amidst the disarray, there was an unmistakable air of reverence for the knowledge contained within the room.

Toft navigated through the labyrinthine piles with an almost uncanny familiarity, finally stopping at a desk that seemed to be a precarious tower of manuscripts and notes. He began to shuffle through the mess, searching for something specific amidst the chaos.

Kit and P.J. exchanged glances once more, the significance of the room not lost on them. This was the sanctum of a man dedicated to unraveling the mysteries of the past. As Toft continued flipping through the pages, he traced the textured parchment with his fingers, feeling the weight of his lifelong pursuit in the musty scent of ancient knowledge that filled the room. "I spent the better part of thirty years looking for that damn island," he confessed, his voice heavy with the weight of years of effort. "Chased every clue and legend from here to Zibaldo."

His fingers moved over the pages, some filled with detailed illustrations, others with cryptic notes and annotations. "Now, there aren't a lot of countries in this world," he mused, "But you bet your arse there are plenty of small islands."

Toft's memories seemed to come alive as he flipped through the pages, the years of his quest for Ithaquack etched into each line of text and every faded map. It was then Kit's eyes fell upon a map that looked hauntingly familiar. He couldn't contain his excitement as he pointed at it, "Wait! P.J., do you see this?"

P.J. leaned closer, his eyes narrowing in recognition. "It kinda looks like our map, but it's missing something," P.J. adjusted his glasses, "East of Thembria, islands, that's where it was supposed to be, but they're not there."

Toft chuckled wryly, his fingers tracing the faded lines on the map he had drawn years ago. "The only thing you'll find out that way is a whole lot of nothing. There were islands out that way, about 500 years ago, but a mix of earthquakes and volcanoes swallowed them up. Treacherous there too, ships tend to avoid it as well as planes as it doesn't really connect to any trade routes, just an open expanse."

P.J.'s curiosity was piqued as he proposed a thought, "But what if they didn't?" He turned to Kit, his eyes locking onto the young pilot's. "What did that duck say to you about how he found them?"

"Uh," Kit thought for a moment, "It was surrounded by mist."

P.J. nodded as Kit mentioned the mist. "Right, and considering the volcanic activity in the region, it's possible that the mist is related to it. Plus, it's not a common route, and, a small island could easily be missed."

Toft leaned in, his blind eyes showing a spark of interest. "And don't forget, my boy, that even in this modern age, the oceans of the world are only about 60% mapped. There's a lot we don't know out there."

P.J. snapped his fingers, his excitement palpable. "Underwater oceanic cartography, maps of the region, Pangaea, do you have any?"

Toft furrowed his brow, deep in thought for a moment. "Hmm, I might have something useful. Check that pile of maps over there," he said, extending a crooked finger towards an old wooden end table stacked high with dusty scrolls and parchments.

P.J. rushed over to the designated pile, the lantern in his hand casting long shadows on the cluttered stack. He carefully sifted through the collection, each map, charts to a piece of nautical history. The lantern's soft glow illuminated his eager face as he sought the one map that might hold the key to their quest.

After a few moments of meticulous searching, his fingers brushed against a rolled-up map stamped with a recent date. He gently pulled it from the pile, feeling the texture of the paper under his touch. With a sense of anticipation, P.J. brought the precious find back to the desk and unrolled it.

The map spread out before them, revealing intricate details of the world's oceans. P.J. scanned the familiar region east of Thembria, his eyes darting over coastlines, sea routes, and marked locations. His heart quickened as he saw it -- a mass under the water, roughly like the ones on the old map they used to have.

Excitement danced in his eyes as he turned to Kit, who couldn't hide his own growing enthusiasm. "I think I found it," P.J. exclaimed, his voice filled with a mix of wonder and hope. "Here!" P.J. placed his fingertip on the map, "This one."

Kit leaned over Toft's cluttered desk, his eyes scanning the map with an intense focus. His fingers brushed against a compass and a slide ruler, and he quickly snatched them up. P.J. watched with growing curiosity as Kit began to make measurements on the map.

"I remember Della saying how we once flew a mission over this way," Kit mused aloud, his eyes locked onto the map's intricate details. He adjusted the slide ruler, aligning it precisely with the map's scale markings. With a deft movement, he started to measure distances.

P.J. leaned in closer, his curiosity piqued. "You think we're on the right track?"

The kerosene lantern cast a soft, flickering light over the scene, creating an aura of mystery and anticipation in Toft's dimly lit study; Kit's eyes didn't waver from the map as he responded, "Yes, it has to be." His voice was laced with confidence as he continued to make calculations, hoping to unlock the secrets hidden within the map's lines and symbols, "It's there, everyone just thinks it's at the bottom of the ocean."

P.J. and Kit's excitement grew with each measurement and calculation they made on the map. As they shared a triumphant glance, P.J. couldn't contain his joy any longer. "That's it, we found it, Ithaquack!"

Their celebration was cut short when they turned to Toft and saw the old man sitting in his chair at the desk, looking drained and somehow older than his years. His blind eyes remained distant as he spoke, his tone carrying the weight of hard-earned wisdom. "The Spear of Selene is not something to be taken lightly, lads. If Klang and his goose-stepping friends get their hands on it, if the legend is true, they can use its power for great evil."

"But you've always told me to be skeptical," P.J. couldn't hide his confusion, and disbelief crept into his voice, "That archaeology was fact and the myths were a lot of mumbo jumbo, ancient curses, and mystical powers. That the only power they had was in legend."

Toft let out a dry chuckle, his blind eyes still gazing into the distance. "My boy, it's not the artifact itself that grants power; it's the man who wields it. Klang is a man driven by madness, and he possesses a unique talent for manipulating others into doing his bidding. If he were to lay his hands on the Spear of Selene, an object renowned for its ancient power, just imagine what he could achieve -- the minds he could twist with his venomous words."

Kit's determination burned in his eyes as he responded, "Then that's even more reason to get there before he does." He placed a comforting hand on Toft's shoulder. "And maybe, I'll beat the location of your daughter out of Klang."

Toft reciprocated by placing his hand atop Kit's and giving it a firm squeeze, along with a solemn nod. "Goozle that son of a bitch until he shits his britches," he said with a grin.

P.J. followed up with a genuine offer. "Do you want to come with us?"

Toft let out another chuckle, his voice tinged with resignation. "My boy, I am too old, too tired. Ithaquack would chew me up and shit me out. Don't worry about me; you go on and keep that spear away from Klang."

Kit extended his hand towards the map. "Is it okay if we take this?" he asked Toft, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

Toft smiled softly, a hint of warmth in his voice. "Not like I can read it."

With the map now safely tucked into Kit's jacket, they made ready to depart. However, P.J. lingered for a moment, his gaze fixed on Toft, a mixture of concern and affection in his eyes. "Will you be safe?" he inquired, his voice laced with genuine worry.

Toft's smile remained, the lines on his aging face softening. "The pig noses haven't got me yet, my boy," he reassured, his voice carrying a sense of resilience. "Don't worry about me. You just keep doing what you're doing."

Moved by the connection he had with this kind-hearted archaeologist, P.J. took a step closer, enfolding Toft in a heartfelt embrace. "I promise you," he vowed, his voice unwavering, "If Klang knows where Eurasia is, we'll find her."

Toft returned the embrace with a gentle, affectionate squeeze. "I know you will," he said softly, his gratitude evident. "Now, get going."

=========================================
Outside
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Kit and P.J. stood outside in the moonlight, their breath visible in the cool night air. The rain had finally ceased, leaving behind damp streets glistening under the pale glow of the moon. Their journey to Toft's house had been a revelation, and now they found themselves back at the Kübelwagen, parked discreetly in a shadowy alley.

P.J. stood in the moonlight, his gaze fixed on Toft's modest home. It was a moment of reflection, the weight of the loneliness he knew the old man faced pressing down on him. His sigh held a touch of melancholy as he voiced his thoughts, "I just wish we could have convinced him to come with us. He's all alone out here."

Kit, leaning against the Kübelwagen, couldn't help but chuckle at P.J.'s concern. He shook his head, sliding into the passenger seat and making himself comfortable. "If you want to drag that ornery old man out of his home," he quipped with a playful glint in his eye, "I would pay good money to see you try." Kit patted the dashboard, "Let's get going. I don't want to be stuck in the mud this late at night either."

As P.J. stepped around to get into the driver's seat, suddenly, piercing lights cut through the darkness. A voice in Thembrian rang out, breaking the silence, "Du da, was machst du?!" The two friends exchanged startled glances, their hearts pounding with the realization that they were not alone.

As Kit and P.J.'s eyes adjusted to the sudden light, they could make out the details of the scene before them. A large, armored vehicle; a Maschinengewehr-Kraftwagen -- sat imposingly in the alley, its exterior spattered in mud. The Thembrian soldiers who emerged from the vehicle were clad in tattered, dirty uniforms, their faces marked by fatigue and weariness.

A fifth soldier remained seated within the vehicle, gripping the MG 42 machine gun mounted on its turret, which he menacingly aimed at Kit and P.J. The alley seemed to grow smaller as tension filled the air. One of the Thembrians, a burly black bear, his uniform stained with mud and grime, inquired once more, his voice heavy with authority, "Was ist euer Dienstgrad und wer ist euer Kommandant?"

P.J. leaned closer to Kit, his voice barely a whisper, filled with anxiety. "He wants to know my rank and who my commander is," he muttered urgently. "What should I do?"

Kit, ever the calm and collected one, maintained his composure as he gave P.J. advice. He gestured subtly between them. "Just stay calm," he advised, slipping his arms between his legs. "Tell them you were taking a piss and stumbled upon me. You were on your way to report the capture."

The burly bear soldier took a step closer to the Kübelwagen, his heavy boots crunching in the mud. His sharp eyes were fixed on Kit with a mix of curiosity and suspicion, his Luger pistol held firmly in hand. He then turned to P.J., "Ist er Allianz?"

P.J. nodded, adopting a stern expression. "Ich denke schon, aber ich bin sicher, wir werden mehr Antworten bekommen, wenn ich ihn mitnehme."

The bear Thembrian soldier lowered the Luger pistol, placing it under Kit's chin, and in a thick accent, he uttered, "Mickey Mouse." Laughter erupted from his comrades, their voices breaking the silence of the night like shattering glass. In broken English, he continued with a sinister tone, "Haven't you heard? We don't take prisoners any longer, shoot on sight."

Panic surged through P.J.'s thoughts, a frantic drumbeat that clouded his judgment. Without thinking, his words spilled out in perfect English, "Maybe that's not such a good idea, my commander gave me strict orders to—"

P.J. stopped abruptly, his eyes widening as the realization struck him like a lightning bolt. "Ah, geez," he muttered, an exasperated expression replacing his initial panic.

The other soldiers swiftly raised their weapons, their nervous trigger fingers twitching, while the bear maintained his smug grin. "Is good English," he conceded, shifting his Luger to aim it at P.J. "But is also against rules to impersonate a soldier of the enemy." His dark eyes turned to P.J., and a hint of amusement crept into his voice. "Your Thembrian, though, pretty shit."

In the passenger seat, Kit couldn't resist chiming in, his tone casual, "Sorry, pal, he ain't no Alliance soldier, so your so-called rules don't apply."

The bear let out a hearty laugh, his guard momentarily lowered. "Not a soldier?"

"No," Kit's smile turned mischievous. "No, but I am."

In one fluid, lightning-fast motion, Kit revealed his airfoil, snapping it open to its distinctive disk shape. With precision, he used it to disarm the bear, sending the Luger flying from the soldier's grasp and clattering to the ground.

Unfortunately, the other soldiers opened fire.

Chapter Text

Chapter XVII - Allied Forces

=========================================
Outside of Eichenburg, Three Hours Ago
=========================================

The Sea Duck floated gracefully on the calm river waters just outside Eichenburg, its pontoons skimming the surface as the evening sun painted the sky with hues of orange and pink. Inside, Della, Gadget, and Molly huddled around a makeshift card table, the worn-out playing cards scattered across its surface.

The gentle lapping of the river against the plane's pontoons provided a soothing background noise as the trio engaged in an intense game of poker. Della, with her characteristic adventurous spirit, wore a confident grin. Gadget, the ingenious mechanic, studied her cards with an analytical gaze. Molly, always young and spirited, leaned back in her chair, observing the game with a playful twinkle in her eyes.

As the cards were dealt and the rounds progressed, their conversation flowed like a gentle current. They exchanged stories, laughter, and the occasional playful banter. Molly shuffled the cards with a practiced ease, her eyes occasionally flickering toward the entrance of the plane as if anticipating Kit and P.J.'s return.

Della, her short hair catching the warm hues of the setting sun, couldn't help but tease Gadget, "You've got that look, Gadget. What's your secret strategy?"

Gadget smirked, adjusting her goggles. "If I told you, it wouldn't be a secret anymore, now would it?"

Molly chimed in with a laugh, "Well, we'll see about that. I've got a feeling luck is on my side today."

As the game continued, the playful banter persisted. Out of nowhere, Della turned to Molly with a mischievous glint in her eye, "Speaking of luck, when are you and Kit going to get lucky?"

Molly, caught off guard, felt the heat rising to her cheeks as she stammered, attempting to explain that she didn't have those kinds of feelings for Kit anymore. Gadget, ever perceptive, chuckled in response, "I've seen the way you two look at one another. If you want some privacy when Kit comes back..."

The remark made Molly blush even more, and she waved her hands defensively. "Gadget, it's not like that. Kit and I are just really close friends."

Della joined in the teasing, "Sure, just friends. That's what they all say."

Gadget playfully added, "You mean how like Della and I are just friends?"

"Gadget!" Della threw her cards at the mouse woman.

Molly raised an eyebrow. "Wait, you two are...?"

Gadget beamed, her eyes twinkling, "Lovers? Bed buddies? Lesbians? She's my honey butter biscuit, and I am her cookie kiss. Ain't that right, ducky?"

Della groaned, leaning back in her seat. "Yes, Gadget and I are... seeing one another."

Gadget, seizing the opportunity for wordplay, chimed in, "Because vision is such an important sense!"

The revelation left Molly blinking in surprise before she burst into laughter. "Well, that's unexpected! And cute, I guess. How long has this been going on?"

Della rolled her eyes, "Don't encourage her."

Gadget, undeterred, pulled Della into a quick, playful kiss, adding with a grin, "Since we were in the same infirmary during the war. There she was, all laid up, missing a leg because Kit cut it off..."

"In his defense, he did save my life," Della added before Gadget continued.

"So there she was, feeling all sad and sorry for herself, and looking mighty cute..."

"I am going to drown you in the river," Della sighed.

All Gadget did was grin, unfazed by Della's threat.

"But," Gadget continued, "I thought she could use a pick-me-up. So, being the mechanical genius that I am, I fashioned her a makeshift prosthetic leg out of spare parts from her crashed plane."

Della smirked at the memory. "And there I was, hopping around like a one-legged duck."

Gadget's grin turned into a mischievous smile. "I may have, uh, 'accidentally' hidden her crutches. So, she had no choice but to ask me for help getting around."

Della rolled her eyes. "And what was your response when I asked?"

Gadget leaned in, her eyes sparkling. "I said, 'How about I take you to dinner instead? You know, somewhere that isn't the infirmary.'"

Della couldn't help but chuckle. "And that's how this genius swept me off my feet—quite literally."

Molly laughed heartily along with them, captivated by the unfolding love story. "So, does Kit know?"

"Skyprancer?" Della chuckled, her elbow playfully connecting with Gadget's ribs. "The thought of two women being intimate might fry his feeble brain. I think it's best we keep it to ourselves, right, hon?"

"Fine," Gadget rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "He's going to figure it out sooner or later."

"Kit's lucky if he can find his pants in the morning," Molly added with a giggle. "Don't worry; your secret is safe with me."

"Thanks, kiddo," Della smiled at the young woman. "But the question remains, are you and Kit going to hook up or what?"

Molly, responding with good humor, tossed her cards at Della, and they all shared a moment of laughter. However, their levity was abruptly cut short by the approaching sound of an engine. "Are they back?" Gadget wondered aloud, moving swiftly to the loading doors of the Sea Duck. After a brief inspection, she called out to the others, "Uhhh, guys? You may want to come see this."

Della and Molly hurried over to join Gadget, peering down the road. A growing sense of dread washed over them as they beheld a squadron of vehicles approaching, with the ominous silhouette of a tank visible in the distance. Fear tightened its grip, and Della couldn't help but mutter,

"Oh, phooey."

=========================================
Eichenburg, Present
=========================================

The sudden eruption of gunfire shattered the quiet night, muzzle flashes illuminating the darkness as the Thembrians unleashed a hail of bullets toward the Kübelwagen. The deafening roar of the Maschinengewehr-Kraftwagen echoed through the narrow alley, drowning out any other sounds.

In the chaotic frenzy, Kit's instincts kicked in. He grabbed P.J. by the shoulders, shouting, "Get down!" With swift determination, he tackled the feline, their bodies slamming against the door of the Kübelwagen, and together they spilled out of the vehicle, hitting the alley floor in a tangled mess.

The metallic symphony of gunfire continued unabated, shredding the Kübelwagen into a cacophony of twisted metal and shattered glass. Sparks flew, and the acrid scent of burning rubber mixed with the gunpowder-laden air.

Kit, shielding P.J. with his own body, instinctively gauged the rhythm of the gunfire, searching for an opportune moment to make a move. The alley provided some cover, but it wouldn't last for long against the relentless barrage.

The two men scrambled for a better position, limbs entangled as they sought refuge from the lethal onslaught. Bullets whizzed overhead, impacting the walls around them with sharp cracks. Every inch of the alley seemed to vibrate with the destructive force of the Thembrians' attack.

"Why are we always being shot at!?" P.J. screamed as they wriggled away from the destroyed Kübelwagen, Kit's mind raced, calculating their chances of escape. The alley stretched ahead, a labyrinth of twists and turns offering both a potential escape route and a perilous trap. In the midst of the chaos, Kit cast a determined glance at P.J.,

"Just run you fat sack of shit!" Kit shouted, his voice cutting through the cacophony of bullets and destruction.

With adrenaline-fueled desperation, Kit and P.J. took off down the narrow alley. The staccato rhythm of gunfire pursued them, bullets tearing at the brick walls on either side. The dimly lit passageway seemed to close in on them, creating a claustrophobic maze where each turn held the promise of safety or the threat of an ambush.

Both men panted heavily, their breaths syncing with the pounding of their footsteps on the cold, wet pavement. Every slip of P.J.'s feet threatened to send them both sprawling, but Kit's quick reflexes prevented disaster. He grabbed P.J. by the arm, pulling him back to his feet with a forceful urgency.

The rain-soaked ground beneath them turned the alley into treacherous terrain, adding an extra layer of difficulty to their frantic escape. Bullets continued to chip away at the brickwork around them, a constant reminder of the peril that pursued them. Kit and P.J. pressed on, the harsh breaths between them echoing the relentless pursuit of the Thembrian soldiers behind.

With determination etched across his face, Kit spotted a weathered wooden door on their left. He didn't hesitate, using his airfoil as a battering ram to crash through it. The door splintered under the force, revealing a dimly lit, abandoned building beyond. Kit and P.J. rushed through the doorway, navigating the dark and silent interior. Dust particles danced in the air as they sprinted through hallways and up creaking stairs.

Emerging on the other side of the building, Kit and P.J. burst through another door, their momentum carrying them out into the open. The air was heavy with the scent of wet asphalt as the two men stumbled into a deserted street, the distant sounds of their pursuers echoing through the narrow alleys behind them. It was a brief respite, and they knew they had to keep moving to evade the relentless Thembrian soldiers on their tail.

"Which way?" Kit asked P.J.

"What do you mean, which way? You're the soldier!" P.J. retorted, frustration evident in his voice.

"But you're the one who's been here before!" Kit shot back.

"Yeah! When I was a kid! Excuse me if every bombed-out building looks the same!" P.J. shouted, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

Kit rolled his eyes, "Well, maybe if you didn't lose the map, we wouldn't be in this mess!"

"Oh, don't you dare blame this on the map!" P.J. countered, jabbing a finger at Kit.

As the heated argument continued, the distant sounds of Thembrian soldiers drew nearer, prompting the duo to exchange glances before realizing that bickering was a luxury they couldn't afford right now.

Especially when the Maschinengewehr-Kraftwagen rounded the corner.

"Run?" P.J. looked to Kit for guidance, only to find the bear already bolting down the street.

"Are you kidding me right now?" P.J. shouted after Kit, disbelief etched across his face. Without wasting another moment, he sprinted after the airborne pilot as the rhythmic pounding of the MG-42 machine gun erupted, bullets tearing through the air dangerously close behind them. The rain-soaked street blurred beneath their feet as they desperately sought cover, the Thembrian vehicle's relentless pursuit urging them to push their limits as they rounded a corner and...

...the relentless chase came to an abrupt halt as Kit and P.J. skidded to a stop, confronted by an imposing 15-foot wall blocking their path. Panic set in as they realized they had run themselves into a dead end.

Backtracking was not an option, and their predicament worsened when the Maschinengewehr-Kraftwagen pulled up to the street entrance, Thembrian soldiers spilling out with weapons raised. The desperate attempt to escape had led them right into the jaws of their pursuers.

P.J., raising his hands in surrender, voiced a grim realization from Kit. "They're not going to take prisoners." The Thembrian soldiers, armed and ready, advanced with a clear intent.

Lowering his hands defiantly, P.J. asked Kit, "Is it going to hurt?" Kit, seemingly unperturbed, reached into his jacket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. As the Thembrians shouted at them, Kit offered P.J. a cigarette.

"Don't give these fascists the satisfaction," Kit advised, lighting his own cigarette before passing the lighter to P.J.

As he lit his cigarette, P.J. coughed a few times, the acrid smoke mingling with the tense air that surrounded them. "I always thought I would die in Carnuvia," P.J. coughed.

"Why Carnuvia?" Kit questioned, raising an eyebrow.

Taking another drag of his cigarette, P.J. responded, "Really good kumquats and the finest women on the planet. C'est la vie."

Their laughter, initially suppressed, emerged like a burst of rebellion against the impending doom. It began quietly but swelled into a raucous chorus, echoing off the wet, narrow walls of the alley. The Thembrian soldiers, bewildered by the unexpected display, exchanged confused glances.

Amid their laughter, the bear commander, frustration etching his features, bellowed, "FIRE!" The soldiers, raising their weapons, prepared to unleash a barrage of bullets upon the defiant duo.

As the deafening sound of gunfire erupted, Kit and P.J. closed their eyes, bracing for the impact of bullets tearing into their bodies. Time seemed to warp, each second stretching into an agonizing eternity. Kit's mind played tricks on him, conjuring sensations that felt like the sting of bullets, the searing pain of imminent death.

In that suspended moment, Kit questioned the nature of reality, wondering if the end was merely an illusion, a dance of shadows in the theater of his mind.

When Kit finally dared to open his eyes, the alley remained unchanged. His body, intact and unharmed, contradicted the phantom pains that had seized him. The Thembrian soldiers, however, lay sprawled on the wet pavement, lifeless and riddled with bullets.

Kit's gaze shifted to P.J., who, like him, had emerged unscathed. The cigarette that had dangled from P.J.'s lips moments ago now lay forgotten on the ground. P.J. gasped in disbelief, "How the...what the...are we alive?"

Kit's gaze shifted from the lifeless Thembrian soldiers to the wall behind him and P.J. A sigh of relief escaped him as he witnessed the sight of a dozen Alliance soldiers reloading their weapons. Among them, a red-headed canine stood out, her uniform clinging to the contours of her form. The tailored jacket bore the insignia of the Alliance, proudly displaying her allegiance.

Her uniform, a reflection of the era's wartime style, showcased a fitted jacket adorned with brass buttons and patches. The olive-green fabric accentuated her figure, hinting at a subtle allure beneath the guise of a soldier. The emblem on her shoulder identified her unit, and a series of commendations adorned her chest, showcasing a history of valor on the battlefield.

The soldier's striking features complemented the intensity in her eyes—a gaze hardened by the trials of war yet softened by a spark of determination. The red hair framed her face, a bold contrast to the muted hues of the alley. Despite the traces of dust and rain, her appearance exuded a sense of unwavering resolve.

As the soldiers finished reloading, they descended from the wall and the red-headed canine approached with a confident stride, her military uniform bearing the insignia of a sergeant. Her eyes, sharp and perceptive, scanned Kit and P.J. with a nod of acknowledgment. "Kit Cloudkicker? P.J. Pete?" she inquired, a faint but friendly smile playing on her lips.

Kit, still grappling with the surreal nature of their salvation, stammered, "Uhh, yes?" His eyes caught the rank on her arm, and he added, "Sergeant...?"

"Sergeant Roxanne Rover, Baker Company," she introduced herself, her voice carrying a hint of authority softened by a touch of amusement. "We heard you boys may be running around out here with your pants around your ankles."

Kit and P.J., thoroughly bewildered, exchanged perplexed glances. P.J., always quick with words, blurted out, "How did you know we were out here?"

Roxanne's grin widened, revealing a hint of camaraderie. "A little ducky told me."

The confusion on Kit and P.J.'s faces deepened momentarily before realization struck like a lightning bolt. In unison, they exclaimed, "Della!"

=========================================
Shortly
=========================================

The Alliance encampment on the other side of Eichenburg presented a stark contrast to the war-torn landscape left behind. Vibrant and intact buildings stood tall, untouched by the scars of war, illuminated by the soft glow of street lamps. The streets buzzed with activity as Alliance vehicles moved purposefully, signaling order and control in this reclaimed part of the city.

Soldiers in uniform traversed the streets with confidence and assurance, the weariness on their faces softened by the knowledge that this territory was under their protection. Local taverns and eateries welcomed them with open doors, offering a well-deserved respite. Laughter and camaraderie filled the air as tales of triumph and hardship mingled with the clinking of glasses. The atmosphere resembled a lively festival, a testament to the Alliance's success in reclaiming this part of Eichenburg.

As night took hold, the encampment came alive with the warm glow of streetlights. A makeshift airstrip, a symbol of Alliance dominance, housed a fleet of aircraft, including the familiar form of the Sea Duck. The plane rested among its military counterparts, showcasing the Alliance's strategic presence in Eichenburg.

Civilians, unburdened by the constant threat of conflict, strolled through the streets, enjoying a renewed sense of normalcy. The resilience of the Alliance, coupled with the lively spirit of this controlled territory, created a scene that felt like a glimpse into a sanctuary within the chaos of Eichenburg.

A tavern, bathed in the warm glow of lanterns and the convivial hum of voices, became a haven for laughter and camaraderie. Kit, P.J., Della, Gadget, and Molly found themselves surrounded by Alliance soldiers, sharing tales and savoring the comfort of hot meals and cold beer.

The clinking of glasses punctuated the air as toasts were made in celebration of victories, both past and future. Cigars were lit, filling the room with the rich aroma of tobacco. The soldiers, hardened by the rigors of war, found a moment of respite in the company of their newfound comrades.

Kit, leaning back in his chair with a contented smile, exchanged stories with a seasoned pilot. P.J., his robust laughter mingling with the general merriment, shared a tale that had everyone at the table in stitches. Della, her eyes sparkling with joy, engaged in animated conversation with a group of soldiers, her charismatic charm evident in the way they hung on her every word.

Gadget, her eyes sparkling with curiosity, leaned in to examine a piece of unfamiliar technology a soldier had brought to the table. Molly, sitting beside her, listened intently to a soldier recounting the tales of his adventures.

As the revelry continued, a soldier with a guitar in hand began to strum a lively tune. The tavern erupted into song, voices blending in harmony as soldiers and civilians alike joined in the chorus. The atmosphere was one of unity, a shared moment of reprieve from the harsh realities of the ongoing conflict.

Amid the celebration, the Sea Duck's crew found a moment of solace and connection with their fellow countrymen. The revelry echoed not only in the clinking of glasses and the laughter but also in the unspoken understanding that, in this shared moment, they were bound by a camaraderie that transcended the battlefield.

The lively atmosphere in the tavern continued, and amidst the laughter and songs, a new development caught the attention of the Sea Duck's crew. Della and Gadget exchanged knowing glances as they observed Sergeant Roxanne Rover leading a blushing P.J. away, their destination clear.

Kit, ever the joker, couldn't resist a playful comment. "Be careful with him, Sergeant! He may be well-read, but he lacks experience!"

Sergeant Rover, without missing a beat, turned to Kit with a mischievous grin. "Oh, don't worry, I'll give him an education!" With that, she pulled P.J. into a kiss, eliciting cheers and whistles from the raucous crowd before the duo disappeared upstairs.

The tavern echoed with laughter and applause, the revelry continuing as the Sea Duck's crew embraced the shared joy and camaraderie of the moment. Kit, Della, Gadget, and Molly found themselves surrounded by new friends, and allies in the ongoing struggle against the Thembrian forces. The night wore on, filled with shared stories, laughter, and the sense of unity that comes from knowing you're not alone in the fight.

As the night wore on, Kit decided to quietly excuse himself from the festivities to get some fresh air. Kit's steps led him away from the lively tavern, the warmth of camaraderie lingering in his chest. The cool night air greeted him as he slipped outside, the door creaking softly behind him. A moment of solitude enveloped him as he fished out a cigarette, its tip catching the spark of his lighter.

Wandering through the vibrant streets, Kit passed by groups of soldiers and civilians engaged in animated conversations. The night seemed to hum with a sense of shared purpose and resilience. As he continued, the distant sounds of laughter and music from the tavern gradually faded, replaced by the subtle hum of engines.

The airfield sprawled before him, a sea of planes neatly arranged under the night sky. Amidst them stood a sleek P-51 Mustang, its polished surface reflecting the dim glow of nearby lamps. The moon, hidden behind wisps of clouds, cast an ethereal light over the aircraft.

The Mustang's wings stretched elegantly, the familiar curves and lines evoking a sense of power and speed. Kit couldn't help but be drawn to its propeller, a work of art in motion, ready to slice through the air with precision. The metallic skin of the fuselage gleamed, adorned with the insignias of the Alliance, a symbol of defiance against the encroaching darkness.

Kit approached the Mustang, running his fingers along the smooth surface as if communing with the spirit of flight. The cool metal felt alive beneath his touch, a reminder of the freedom and possibilities that soared beyond the horizon. He took a moment to appreciate the craftsmanship, the culmination of human ingenuity and determination.

Lost in thought, Kit stood there, his silhouette cast against the form of the aircraft. The P-51 stood as a silent guardian, a sentinel of the night, and Kit couldn't help but feel a sense of reassurance in its presence. The night air carried the distant sounds of revelry, a harmonious backdrop to the quiet moment of reflection beneath the wings of the Mustang.

Molly's voice cut through the night air, breaking the serene silence. "Is that the kind of plane you used to fly?" she inquired, her eyes reflecting genuine curiosity.

Kit turned to see Molly standing there, her silhouette outlined by the soft glow of the airfield lights. The moonlight kissed her features, transforming her into an ethereal presence—more mature and beautiful than he had ever remembered. A smile played on Kit's lips as he welcomed her into the quiet space beneath the wings of the Mustang.

"Yeah, Molly. That's a P-51 Mustang. One of the best planes I ever had the honor of flying." His gaze returned to the aircraft, and he launched into a passionate description.

"Everything about it was incredible. The roar of the engine as it came to life, vibrating through the entire plane. The way it felt to taxi down the runway, the anticipation building with every passing second. And then, the moment you pulled back on the stick, feeling the G-forces as you climbed into the sky."

He gestured toward the Mustang, his eyes gleaming with the memories. "She's fast, Molly. I mean, really fast. The wind rushing past you, the world below becoming a blur. It was like dancing through the clouds. And when you hit that sweet spot, it felt like you could conquer the sky itself."

Kit's voice held a nostalgic warmth as he continued, "But it wasn't just about the speed. She had this grace, this elegance in the way it handled. The controls were responsive, like an extension of your own body. It wasn't just a machine; it was a partner in the dance of flight."

He paused, looking at Molly with a glint of excitement. "And when you dived, breaking through the cloud cover, it was like emerging into another world. The moon and stars above, the world below, and you, right in the middle of it all. It was... it was freedom, Molly. Pure, exhilarating freedom."

As Kit shared his memories of flight, a palpable warmth embraced them beneath the moonlit wings of the P-51. Molly, captivated by the vivid imagery painted by Kit's words, found herself transported to those airborne moments. His description carried her away, and she couldn't help but feel a shared appreciation for the magic of flight.

The distant sounds of revelry became a harmonious backdrop to the intimate moment. Molly, drawn to Kit's side, reached out and took his paw. The connection between them felt like an unspoken language, a melody composed of shared memories and newfound understanding.

"You're smiling," Molly whispered, her voice carrying the weight of observation and affection.

In response, Kit blinked, genuine confusion etched on his features. "Did I not smile before?" he inquired.

Molly, feeling the warmth of his paw in hers, tightened her grip. "Not like this. Not since before the war," she explained, her eyes reflecting the starlight above. "Right now you're the boy I always remembered, free, spirited. It's like looking back in time."

Kit, moved by the depth of Molly's words, attempted to respond, but she gently placed a finger against his lips, urging him to listen. "I am looking at the man I fell in love with when I was a kid," Molly declared, her words resonating with a tender acknowledgment of their enduring connection.

Kit, his heart echoing the sentiment, attempted to articulate his feelings, but the words remained elusive. In that charged moment, Molly, understanding the language of their hearts, spoke with actions. The gap between them closed as she leaned in, her eyes closing in tandem with his. Their lips met, and time seemed to stand still.

The kiss was an amalgamation of shared laughter, long-lost smiles, and the unspoken promises of years gone by. It was a culmination of the years they had spent apart and the undeniable pull that had brought them back together. The taste of rain and the scent of the night mingled in that lingering kiss, creating a moment that transcended time and space.

As they pulled away, the world around them seemed to come back into focus, and Kit found himself staring into Molly's eyes—windows to a shared past and a future yet to unfold. The weight of unspoken truths hung in the air, and for the first time in a long while, Kit found solace in the embrace of the woman who had always held a piece of his heart.

Kit pressed his forehead against Molly's, and the quiet moment between them echoed with the weight of unspoken truths. It felt like a rediscovery, a homecoming to a piece of his heart that had been held by Molly all along. The tension that had lingered in the spaces between them dissolved into a comforting understanding.

With a contented sigh, Kit whispered, "We should head back and get some rest." His words carried the acknowledgment that, regardless of the quest for the Spear of Selene, he had found something invaluable in Molly. Their hands remained entwined, fingers delicately tracing the contours of shared stories and shared dreams.

Molly didn't respond verbally. Instead, she released Kit's hand and began to pad her way over to the Sea Duck, her silhouette blending with the night. Kit watched her go, a cascade of emotions playing across his features—gratitude, longing, and a sense of completeness that only Molly seemed to evoke.

And with every few steps she took, she removed an article of clothing.

As Molly approached the aircraft, she opened its loading doors, she was now fully nude and casting a beckoning glance over her shoulder. The moonlit scene held the promise of a night that transcended the ordinary, a tapestry woven with shared history and the anticipation of what lay ahead.

Kit, compelled by the unspoken invitation, followed Molly into the Sea Duck, closing the chapter on a night filled with the intricate dance of emotions and the uncharted territories of their evolving connection.