They went back and forth, bay to airport to bay, alternating who was at the controls until there was no chance of landing in water with wheels down or back on land with the wheels up. Then Vito put them through their paces up and down the coast until it was as familiar as the DC-3 or her old Cessna.
It was an intense, visceral relief that echoed through every aching cell of her body when they parked the big, twenty-passenger plane close by the line of other confiscated craft before the first hint of twilight.
Vito leaned forward between the pilot seats in the echoing silence interrupted only by the pings of cooling engine metal. “No flight tonight. Take today off and finish the manual, get some sleep. Tomorrow morning during daylight hours, we’ll work on long, over-water flights. Think a
