Jack stowed Biff’s gear, and took his place in the pilot’s seat. As quick to action as Hudson was, he was also a sober, careful pilot. He warmed up the plane’s motors. He tested the wing flaps. He made a thorough instrument check. Then he called the tower for take-off instructions.
The plane moved to its assigned runway. Once more Jack revved up his engines. Then, the brakes released, the plane started rolling down the runway. Once it was air-borne, Jack put the plane in a steep climb, made a wide circle over the city of Rangoon, then headed north, following the Irrawaddy River.
“How long before we get there?” Biff asked.
“About four hours. If we don’t hit any weather. Unhao’s about fifty miles north of Myitkyina. ’Bout eleven hundred miles from here.”
“How big’s Unhao. Is it much of a place?” Biff asked.
Jack grinned. “Take a look back at Rangoon. That’s the last civilization you’re going to see for a while.”
The plane sped through the night. As the moon rose out of the South China Sea, its light turned the Irrawaddy River, thousands of feet below, into a slender silvery ribbon, reflecting the moon’s rays like a long sliver of mirror.
Jack Hudson put the plane on automatic pilot. He reached behind him and brought out two boxes. He handed one to Biff.
“Hungry?”
Biff hadn’t thought about eating. But now, he realized he was ravenous. “I’ll say I am. Thanks a lot.” He practically tore open the box and chomped on the sandwiches with an appetite that made Jack wonder when the boy had last eaten.