Aeroplane

The darkness which hung over the housing units on Dover Air Force Base in Dover, Delaware seemed ominous this March Saturday morning. A bit brisk but warming, the air carried something out of the unknown.

Then came the whirring. At first faint, it grew gradually. Bozer “Fast Forward” Dunleavey, a dark skinned man with a muscular build and a close-cropped cut, sat awake and sipping coffee. He looked at the editorial section on his tablet, rose to his feet when he heard the whirring and then a plop onto his doorstep. He figured that recreational drones were in violation of the code. So how could one have floated on his turf?

He opened the door and saw a box about up to his knees. He was five foot nine inches tall, so it was rather sizable. But light. He looked around to see if any other airman or their family member had received a package like this. None. Once he reached his kitchen table, he used a cutter to slice open the box.

It revealed…another box. He sliced that open, too. The same story. He kept removing and slicing until the sixth box. Something was inside of here. His wife Klara turned on the light and walked down stairs. She had blue diamond eyes and flowing blonde hair with a petite physique. Her sharp features and talents on the clarinet netted her Miss Wilmington, Delaware.

“What’s up, babe. You’re up even earlier than usual. What’s with all the boxes?” she asked.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out myself for the last half hour.”

She took hold of the last box with apparent contents. She undid the flaps and produced a model Curtiss P-40 Warhawk. It had green paint with a white star and a menacing mouth with teeth bearing at the front near the propeller. It began to spin in her hand, slicing into her pinky a bit.

“Let me get you some Neosporin,” Dunleavy mentioned.

“It’s okay. It just grazed the skin. How is it even working? I didn't touch anything,” Klara admitted.

The couple witnessed the plane take off and fly around their kitchen.

“Oh, this is some spooky stuff here,” Dunleavy said. Klara then looked down and discovered a note.

“Babe, you should read this,” she said.

He picked it up from her grasp. He read aloud: “Take this model aeroplane with you on missions. It is not a lucky charm but a reminder of what you can achieve. Signed Garland Bales.”

“Who’s that?” Klara asked.

“It was my grandfather. He was thought to have been missing in action. Soon, they declared him dead.”

“Apparently he’s got some life in him,” his wife replied.

The little model plane then made a perfect landing on top of their refrigerator.

“Who’s behind all of this?”

In a room with a computer screen, a ninety-six-year-old man programmed the drone and now the model aeroplane. He grinned at his grandson and granddaughter-in-law. He laughed lightly and clasped his hands.

All he said to himself was, “I’m still alive. I’m still alive.”

“There’s got to be a way to find out who sent this thing,” Dunleavy said with conviction.

“There’s no return address, but maybe we can take it to a lab, have it analyzed?” Klara suggested.

“That’s a good idea. A forensics team would be better than the both of us put together,” Dunleavy pointed out.

“These are facts,” she said.

When they had changed from their pajamas and headed towards the door, a man appeared. Frail, with creases in his face and glasses. He looked at Dunleavy. He was in full dress uniform with the name tag on his breast reading “Bales.”

“We thought you were…Mom and Dad…you earned the Air Force Cross! Come in, come in.”

The man slowly crossed the threshold. He looked at Klara removing his head covering.

“I’ve heard so many stories,” she mentioned.

“I hope they were good!” They all laughed.

“How did you find me? How did you go undetected for all these years? What’s up with the drone and model aeroplane?”

“I’ll start with the second question. I was shot down and lived in North Africa for the longest. No one really notices you there. Then I stowed myself away on a boat to New York City. Then, I traveled back to Wilmington. No one notices you there much, either. Now, I found out that someone with the name Dunleavy, which was one of my daughter’s married names, pops up on the Internet as some Ace fighter pilot. I just researched you until I discovered your living quarters. And the P-40, that was just to let you know I’ll be here soon, and here I am.”

“We’ve got to declare you alive!” Dunleavy’s voice raised.

“No, no, no. I’m Ellison’s Invisible Man.”

“But when will we see you again?” Klara asked with concern.

“You won’t. Just take this moment as a testament to time and technology.”

“Alright, grandfather. Progress in your anonymity,” Dunleavy said.

“I shall.” He hugged them and took one last look at the model plane. He returned his cover to his head and walked out the door into an unmarked car.

“Mystery solved, right?” Klara asked.

“It seems as such.”