Trouble in Colored Skies

As the Reverend and Sensei drove, the sun began to set. As they arrived at the specified location, they noticed red letters painted on the doors of a hangar. "Till the last man, the last plane, the last bullet, we fight! We are Tuskegee Men!"

If that isn't inspiring. 

Very much is, but where is the...

The Sensei was cut off by the sound of a V-16 merlin engine rumbling to life. Looking through a crack in the fence, there was a Red-Tailed P-51 Mustang rumbling down a taxiway of the abandoned airstrip. 

How are we supposed to help this guy? 

I'm not sure. The colored of this area have nothing to worry about. New Marawa and the other corporate cities outlawed all forms of racism years go. So I'm not sure....

Before either could continue, a blacked out SUV smashed through the fence gunning it towards the Mustang. 

SENSEI THE VAN! 

ON IT!

The pilot became aware of the SUV as the Reverend opened fire at the tires causing the tire blow out. The P-51 Mustang sped away from the SUV and took to the skies. The SUV stopped as the warbird climbed out of reach into the setting sun. As the Sensei drove the van up to the Reverend, the SUV turned their guns on the two still on the ground.

GET DOWN!

The SUV opened fire at them unleashing a decent about of firepower at them, however, because of the sunset, the SUV couldn't see the incoming threat diving on them. The Red-Tailed P-51 Mustang had aligned its sights on the SUV and opened fired all six of its .50 caliber machine guns. The SUV burst into flames as the warbird screamed just feet about them. 

Holy shit Reverend.

Language Sensei. Let's see if this guy knows who they were. 

As the P-51 landed, it rolled right up to them before the propeller quit turning. As the canopy opened, a man pointed a pistol at the two of them. 

You working with em?

No sir! We got a tip you might be in trouble.

Nah, tell me who sent you. 

I am Reverend Psalms, and I received a prayer request about you. Here take a look. The Reverend held the request letter up. The man hopped down off the wing and took a look at the paper. 

Well that's odd. I certainly didn't put in a request, and nobody knows I live here.

You own the strip?

No shit. Needed a place to keep their legacy alive.

Their? Who's legacy?

The pilot walked them into his hangar where there were pictures of the original Tuskegee airmen on the wall.

Their legacy Kungfu man. 

As the two looked around, the pilot turned on a radio playing "Washing Machine Heart" as he took off his flight gear, and put on his sheepskin, leather jacket. 

I go by Earhart. What can I do for you?

We were wondering, why were those men attacking you?

Not a hundred percent sure Psalms, but they won't be running back to wherever they came from. My best guess is that they're coming to collect a piece I have here.

A piece?

Earhart nods and points at another hangar across the runway. Inside I have a 1929 Tri-Motor Ford. Not my go to flyer but very rare and very much wanted by some big corpo. He made me a nice offer, but it's not for sale. Seems he didn't like no for an answer. 

What's so special about a 1920's plane?

Earhart scoffed and began walking to the other hangar. Keep up!

The two followed him as he began to explain. 

You see Sensei....

Light. It's what my patrons call me.

Right, Sensei Light and Reverend Psalms, the 29' Tri-Motors were considered luxury. Reliable in the skies, easy to maintain, and when they were lost to the crashes, negligence or what have you, corporations began buying them as some symbol of status. 

As he opened the hangar doors and flipped on the lights, the chrome plane was in mint condition, far more valuable than most could afford to pay. 

I see now. So those goons were here to kill you then take it. 

Exactly. Thanks for being a good distraction by the way. 

Don't mention it. 

As they walked back to the other hangar, there was a letter sticking out of the mail slot. 

The hell? I don't get mail here.

Earhart picked up the letter, and it was addressed to the Reverend.

It's for you Psalms. 

The Reverend opened the letter, and it was yet another prayer request. 

This how you both found me?

He found me the same way. What's it say?

The request reads, "Dear Reverend, this request is for myself. I am in need of God's protection. I need him to hear me ASAP. 3311 West Napan Road, New Shanghai. 

New Shanghai? That's further than the van can drive with all the bullet holes. That's a two day trip at best. 

Luckily for you two, you now have a pilot.

You mean you'll help us?

Not sure who is on the other end of these letters, but they need help. As the Last Tuskegee Man, its my job to help. Get your bags, I'll fire up the Ford. 

The two nodded and ran to get their things. They packed light as they didn't expect to be away from home for so long. Earhart drove a tug and put the P-51 back in the hangar, then locked it up. Then he drove over and pulled the Tri-Motor out of the hangar. The Chrome and Blue paint glistened under the starlight. 

As Earhart entered the cockpit of the Tri-Motor Ford, the two settled in with their bags. The inside was well maintained as well. Windows on both sides, luxury seating and lighting. 

Strap in back there! Let's go find out who's been mailing you letters Reverend. 

As all three engines rumbled to life, the Tri-Motor taxied down the runway and then roared into the sky. After the plane was gone. A limo arrived at the burnt out SUV. 

What's their status?

All dead sir. 

Well now. Seems someone is onto our trail. Find out where that plane is headed. 

No logbooks here sir. Just a staging point. 

Fuck. Get me on my Corporate shuttle. Let's see if we can't tail them. 

Yes sir.