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American Patriotic Union of the Superheroes of History: Part Four

The cool morning air, while undoubtedly warmer than at the Delaware River in 1776, was still chill to the three heroes as they stand outside the hangar that held the Spirit of St. Louis. The sun was low in the sky, and no one was at the field.

The fact that no one was there did not make it any easier to break into the hangar holding the famous plane. Every door was locked, and Van Buren's Magic did not include lock picking.

"I could knock down the door," Roosevelt offered, readying his Big Stick to strike the door.

"Hold one moment," Lincoln stopped him. "I believe I can enter without property damage being inflicted."

Lincoln, already tall and thin, began to grow even taller, as though he were a piece of taffy being stretched. Within a few moments, he was thin enough to easily slip between the crack under the door. When the doors opened a second later, Lincoln had returned to normal size, but his face was tinged with worry.

"Gentleman, the Spirit of St. Louis is gone."

Roosevelt frowned. "Franklin told us that Lindbergh wouldn't be taking off until seven fifty-two."

"Would that be morning or afternoon?" Van Buren asked. "Because right now I believe it may be seven p.m."

The three turn to look at the low sun; much to their dismay, it was indeed a setting sun and not a rising sun.

"We're half a day late, then?" Lincoln surmised. "That would explain the lack of people to wish Lindbergh luck."

"Then we'll have to be quick if we plan to catch up with Lindbergh," Van Buren said. "Lincoln, if you wouldn't mind? I don't have my carpet with me today."

The 16th president nodded, and laying on the ground, stretches out to the size of a large carpet. The Little Magician and Rough Rider stepped onto his back, and the Magician uses his powers to levitate the Lincoln-Rug.

"I've always wanted to visit Paris," Van Buren remarked casually as they fly in pursuit of the Spirit of St. Louis.

What happened aboard the Spirit of St. Louis was dutifully chronicled in the Lindbergh's flight journal, except for one part. Over halfway into the trip, Lindbergh later confided he had seen white phantoms, and that they had talked to him, but he could no longer remember exactly what they said. Some claim it was simply a hallucination caused by lack of sleep, or that the visions were caused by Lindbergh falling asleep. In any case, Lindbergh maintained his claim that they had been there.

It took several hours for the Lincoln-rug to finally catch up with the plane, in the middle of the night. The plane flew not too far over the ocean, and was already veering slightly off course. Van Buren maneuvered the Lincoln-rug directly behind the plane, where Lindbergh would be unable to see him.

"How do you plan to get us close enough to examine the plane without Lindbergh seeing us?" Roosevelt asked Van Buren. "We can't simply ride up to him, flying on Abe Lincoln's back and expect him to lets us check the plane."

"I've already thought of an idea," Van Buren explained. "I'm going to cast a sleep spell over him; he's been without sleep now for over a day. It shouldn't be too difficult to convince him to take a light nap."

A white haze descended over the plane with a gesture of Van Buren's hand, then disappeared. "It should be safe to check out the plane now."

The Lincoln-rug flew close to the plane, and Roosevelt and Van Buren immediately notice a problem; one of the support beams of the plane's wings had begun to come loose, while ice was beginning to accumulate. It would only be a matter of time before the wing fell apart.

"Hurry, Roosevelt, use your Big Stick before the wing collapses!" Van Buren urged.

Roosevelt quickly supported the wing with the Big Stick, using it to replace the faulty support beam. He did it barely in time; a moment later, the supports fell off, but Van Buren was ready to catch it.

"How strange," the Little Magician said. "It almost looks as though it was eaten by acid."

"There's a little bottle attached under the wing," Roosevelt discovered. "It's been broken open; it must have held the acid that ate the metal."

"We don't have time to wonder about how it happened now; we have to fix the plane," Lincoln reminded them. "And please do so quickly; my back hurts."

"We can't put the support beam back under the wing," Van Buren said. "The acid has eaten it, and now it's too short."

"If that's the only problem, then it's not a problem at all," Lincoln-rug replied. "I can make anything short tall. Please hand me the metal bar."

Lincoln hold the metal bar in his hands, then proceeded to stretch his body a fraction longer, forcing the metal bar to stretch as well. "There," he said, "it's now a little thinner, but it should survive until Paris. But we'll need to get rid of the ice."

"Easily solved!" Roosevelt declared. He took the metal bar and switched it for his Big Stick again. "I'll just whack off the ice with my Stick!"

Roosevelt raised his Big Stick with great enthusiasm and whacked the icicles from the wings. "No more ice," he announced after several minutes of hacking.

"One more thing before we leave," Van Buren said, making another gesture that put the Spirit of St. Louis back on course to Paris. "Lindbergh will wake up in a few minutes, and we'll be nothing more than vague memories."

"Then our job here is done; let us return to Philadelphia."