Zeke Templar had smiled slightly to himself and added, “He might even make your worst enemies into your best friends.” From that day forward it would take Micah a lot of years, along with his own life experiences, to fully appreciate what his Uncle Zeke had meant.
And now he was the sole beneficiary of this impromptu air show, put on by two graying winter eagles who had once fought in the skies above because they had to, and now flew in those same skies together because of their shared joy in doing so. Micah watched as the B-17 lowered its landing gear and lined up the concrete runway, side slipping a bit as the pilot worked the rudder against a slight gust in the crosswind.
Even from this distance, one could make out the bold yellow letters reading ‘The Uvalde Raider’ emblazoned on the bomber’s nose. Beside the moniker was a large facsimile of the state of Texas painted in red and blue, enclosing a white star marking the location of the town of Uvalde. This community and its surrounding ranches and cow camps was where Ezekiel Templar had grown up, a local boy who had ‘made good’ as people around there were wont to say. That same exact insignia had adorned each bomber that Uncle Zeke flew during the war.
With its flaps down and losing speed, the Boeing touched the tarmac with as perfect a landing as one could ever see in any World War II movie. Admiring the scene, Micah felt the glow of kinship in his uncle's long-polished flying skills. That inner pride lasted about as long as it took to realize that it was not Tio Zeke at the controls of the B-17 as it taxied past, but rather former Luftwaffe hauptmann and holder of the Knight’s Cross of the Iron Cross with Oak Leaves, Maximillian Friedrich Grephardt.
Somewhat taken aback by what he had just seen, Micah snapped his head around and watched quizzically as the Messerschmitt made its own final approach. The fighter’s awkward looking landing gear touched down with the same practiced precision as that just demonstrated by the Flying Fortress. When the Me109 began to taxi past, the side-hinged canopy opened and Micah saw the unmistakable features and grin of Ezekiel J. Templar, retired full bird colonel, United States Air Force.
Quickly rebuttoning his collar and putting the blue clip-on tie back in place, Micah checked his appearance in the outside mirror of the Dodge, adjusting the tie tac a bit to pass his own self inspection. Once satisfied and with one hand on his western hat to secure it from the blowing prop wash, the trooper walked toward the mottled-gray camouflaged Messerschmitt. The fighter braked to a halt, its Daimler 605A engine popping and crackling impatiently, much like a powerful attack dog snapping and growling while being barely restrained on a leash.
Tio Zeke revved the inverted V-12 one last time to keep it from loading up and then killed the engine. Unfastening the restraining straps, he climbed out of the cramped cockpit with the grace of a born athlete. Watching him step on to the wing root and then down to the ground, it was hard to believe that he had celebrated his sixty-fifth birthday a couple of years ago. Of average height and a slim, physically fit build, he could pass easily for a man twenty years younger.
"Hello, nephew, it’s good to see you!" he exclaimed, removing his gloves and grasping Micah's outstretched hand with a firm grip. “How do you like my new ride?”
"Tio!,” replied the still surprised highway patrolman, using the Mexican word for ‘uncle.’ “When and where did you ever learn to fly a Messerschmitt?"
"Aw, she’s not that much different than the P-51s I checked out on after the war. The cockpit is not near as roomy and it’s not as forgiving as the Mustang was, but it is a lot of fun."
"And what does Max think about the B-17?" asked Micah.
"Umph, that German can fly anything with wings on it. 'Course, all those years piloting Lockheed Super Stars and other passenger jobs for Lufthansa gives him an edge.” He paused, looking to the Boeing. “Speaking of which, we better get over there and lend a hand. He's got a lot more machinery to shut down."
The two men walked side by side in the direction of the Flying Fort. The Templar family genes ran strong through the generations and people often commented on the resemblance between uncle and nephew. That resemblance was no more evident than now.
The elder Templar looked around as they strode along, obviously expecting someone else. "Where's Jack?" he asked.
Jack Albright had flown Douglas A-26 Invaders in Korea and owned the ranch where the old landing field was situated. A founding ‘colonel’ in the Confederate Air Force, Micah had first met the man through his uncle when he came to the county as a rookie trooper. Once Jack realized the familial link between the two Templars, Micah became a regular on the Bar JA Ranch. The self-professed ‘colonels’ of the Confederate Air Force were a close-knit bunch, looking after each other’s kin as well as their fellows.
Over the years Jack had improved the bomber-sized emergency strip to a state of repair where CAF aircraft could layover for the night, or be kept for a longer stay if the situation required it. He was well known as a gracious host with his West Texas hospitality and good conversation. It had become an annual event for Tio Zeke and Max to pick up Micah and Jack while enroute to the Confederate Air Force show in Midland.
"He won't be coming with us this time,” explained Micah. “They got a call late last night from Amarillo about an aunt being in a bad way. He
