But I was not alone. Joe's Hurricane roared overhead, displaying the famous RAF roundel on its wings, and 'buzzed' the Spitfire, letting him know that he had company. Joe had taken his Hurricane to a higher altitude, out of the other aircraft's direct vision, and to the pilot of the Spitfire, the Hurricane had come literally out of the blue. The realisation of how easily he could have been shot down would have shaken him up.
If it came to a fight, the Spitfire's agility made it superior in fighter-to-fighter combat, but Joe's experience countered that. The Spitfires seemed a little sluggish and slow to manoeuvre, and I guessed that the pilots were relatively new to the job.
The Hurricane's superior firepower would give Joe the advantage, especially if he could keep the Spitfires separated and unable to make a coordinated attack. I was glad Joe had not fired. It would have made reconciliation with the people at the airfield impossible.
Joe adopted a position right beside us and gave a cheery wave from his cockpit. The two Spitfires had closed up together quite a distance away and showed no inclination to come any closer.
Sol kept us on a course circling the airfield, and I was about to try to contact them again when the radio came to life of its own accord.
"Delta Control to Hurricane. You are displaying RAF roundels. Are you British? Over"
"Hurricane to Delta Control. Canadian. Over."
"Delta Control to Hurricane. Where do the crew on the Skytrain come from? We do not recognise the white star inside a blue circle with white horizontal bars insignia. Can you confirm they are human? Over."
"Hurricane to Delta Control. Confirm that they are human except for the pilot. The aircraft is a C-47 in active service with the United States Air Force, an ally of the British in WW2. The crew are of mixed nationalities and includes the legendary Professor David Jarvis, a founder member of the resistance movement. Over."
They did not reply for a couple of minutes, and I guessed that there was some heated discussion going on in the control tower.
"Delta Control to Hurricane: "We want to believe you, but the machines are masters of deceit. The story of Professor Jarvis is well known to us. As added security, would you please confirm the names of his two colleagues in the first battle against the machine invaders? Over."
"Hurricane to Delta Control: Their names are Rogers and McCloud. But you can ask them yourself. They are part of the crew on the Skytrain. Over"
"Delta Control to Hurricane: That is wonderful news, and we apologise for our initial reaction. Permission to land is granted. Please come in on Runway One, the central runway, which we will illuminate. Wind light and variable, less than three knots. No significant crosswind. Proceed with landing."
"Hurricane to Skytrain: I will go in first, Sol. You follow."
"Skytrain to Hurricane: Copy that."
"Hurricane to SkyTrain: Disregard. Pancake. Repeat. Pancake, first. I have spotted a bandit at Angels 18, bearing two-seven-zero. Looks like a machine surveillance drone, I'm going in. Over"
"Skytrain to Hurricane: Copy that. I'm preparing to land. Good luck, Joe. That drone has seen the airfield and is heading back to base with the info."
Joe slammed the throttle forward. His Hurricane roared and climbed hard into the sun. The drone, unaware, maintained course. Joe lined up the intercept, adjusting trim. The drone's altitude was steady, but its speed was deceptive. Joe knew that he would get only one try. He dived in with all guns blazing, and the drone exploded and crashed down to the ground far below.
"Hurricane to Delta control: Bandit down. Returning to base. Pancaking."
"Copy that, Hurricane. The field is clear. Wind two- zero five. You're cleared to land."
As he taxied in, we came out to meet him.
" Nice work, Joe. That drone won't be reporting anything." I said.
"No," said Joe, his face expressionless. "But how did he follow us here? There is no way he got a visible sighting. He must have received a homing signal. Somebody put a tracker on the Skytrain, and I am going to find it."
We followed him as he boarded the Skytrain through the open cargo doors. Joe was white faced with anger as he began his search.
"Sol," he shouted. Have you got any sort of electronic detection device amongst your hardware? Come aboard and help."
Sol jumped up and made alterations to the control panel on the inside of his right arm. His middle finger extended, and Sol unscrewed it out of its socket, made a series of adjustments, and the end of the former finger lit up. He waved it over one of the control panels in his armoured front as a test, and he was rewarded with a sharp bleep.
"All set to go," he said. "I would be obliged if the rest of you would deplane and leave just Joe and me. I am going to turn this device to a high level of sensitivity, and you will interfere with the readings."
We did as he asked and watched in silence as Sol moved his device carefully over every inch of the aircraft, starting from the back and working inward. After fifteen minutes, they reached the last part where the equipment we had brought aboard was stowed in a large metal cage screwed into the floor.
Almost immediately, the device began to bleep, and Joe started to move the stuff around in the cage, trying to find the exact location of the tracker. We saw him pull out a personal issue rucksack and feel along the seams until he felt an object underneath. He split open the seam with a knife and pulled out a small radio transmitter. It was still live, and he ground it to dust beneath his heel. Instantly, the bleeping stopped.
He held the rucksack high.
"Does anybody recognise this?" he said.
We were silent for a moment, and somebody raised his arm.
"It looks like mine," he said, but I swear to God that I have no idea how that tracker got there."