Planes Junior Novel

by Disney Book Group

  Dusty remembered being in the tunnel and gasped, “I’m dead!”

  Just then, a local race official rolled up. “Mr. Crophopper. Welcome to Nepal.”

  “I don’t understand,” Dusty said. “Have the others left already?”

  The official replied, “Actually, no one else is here yet. You’re in first place.”

  Dusty was stunned. “Really?”

  It wasn’t long before the other racers landed and Ripslinger got the news. “He flew through a what?” Rip yelled. Ned and Zed cowered. They could see Ripslinger’s anger building.

  Reporters swarmed around Dusty, shouting their questions. “Dusty, how does it feel to be in first place?”

  Dusty grinned. “It feels great. But more than anything, I’m just happy I fit through that tunnel.” Then Dusty saw Ishani across the tarmac. “Excuse me, guys,” he said, and rolled over to see her.

  “Crazy day today, huh?” Dusty asked.

  Ishani seemed uneasy. “Yeah. A very exciting win for you today,” she replied. “Quite a risk you took.”

  Dusty nodded. Then he noticed something. “Hey, your propeller? Is it new?”

  “Oh, I suppose it is,” Ishani replied casually.

  “A Skyslycer Mark 5, right?” Dusty asked. “Aren’t those made exclusively for Ripslinger’s race team?” Dusty suddenly understood what was going on. Ishani was helping Rip. She had sent Dusty through the mountains so that Rip could beat him. Her new propeller was the proof.

  Ishani quickly looked away. “Uh, are they?”

  “Yeah, they are,” Dusty told her. “You set me up.”

  “It’s complicated, okay?” she said. “I really thought that you’d just turn around.”

  “Well, you were wrong. And I was wrong about you,” Dusty said. Then he rolled past Ripslinger and said, “Oh, hey, Rip. Thanks for first place.”

  From Nepal, the rally continued with its fifth leg over the vast country of China. As the competitors weaved through rice paddies and over the Great Wall, the Chinese race fans cheered them on.

  “Flying low and quick, Dusty Crophopper is managing to hold on to the top spot,” Brent Mustangburger said. “But current reigning champ Ripslinger is just seconds behind him. This surprise battle for first place has made Dusty Crophopper the one to watch.”

  All around the globe, working-class vehicles were following Dusty’s progress in the race and cheering him on.

  By the time the racers landed at Shanghai Pudong International Airport, Ripslinger was fuming. He couldn’t stand that Dusty was getting the worldwide attention that was supposed to be his. When he saw Zed watching clips of Dusty on a tablet computer, he smashed the screen.

  Zed protested, but Rip just shrugged. “A new one’s comin’ out in two weeks,” he said.

  In another part of the airport, Dusty sat alone by the radio, talking to Skipper. “You’re really showin’ them big-time racers a thing or two, huh?” his coach said.

  “Yeah, we head out across the Pacific tomorrow, Skip,” Dusty radioed back. “You were stationed there for a while, right? Got any advice?”

  “Back in ’forty-one, during the Battle of Wake Island, the Wrenches ran into serious monsoons with embedded CBs that could tear your wings right off,” Skipper replied. “Be careful.”

  Dusty knew about CBs. They were cumulonimbus clouds—tall and thick and famous for being able to create really dangerous weather.

  “And one more thing…,” Skipper said. “I’m proud of you, Dusty.”

  “Thanks, wingman,” Dusty replied. Skipper’s words meant a lot to him.

  Just then, Dottie’s voice came over the radio. “Hey, Dusty, we have a surprise for you!”

  Chug could barely contain himself. “Oh, ya gotta let me tell him!” he said. But Chug was so excited, he couldn’t seem to remember what the surprise was. “Um, oh…I know it. It’s on the tip of my tongue. I’ll remember!”

  Dottie tried to help him out. “We’re going…,” she began.

  Chug nodded and repeated, “We’re going…”

  “To…,” Dottie said.

  “To…,” repeated Chug.

  “Mmmmmmmm…,” Dottie said, hoping she’d given him enough of a hint.

  “Mmmmmmmmmalaysia!” cried Chug.

  “Mexico!” Dottie corrected, rolling her eyes.

  Chug beamed. “Mexico! That’s it! We’re gonna meet you in Mexico!”

  “Really?” Dusty replied.

  “Yep. Tickets are on Sparky and me!” Chug said proudly. “We sold three hundred and twenty-six Dusty bobbleheads, one hundred and forty-three antenna balls, two hundred and three spinner mugs—”

  “And,” Sparky announced as he rolled into the hangar covered from top to bottom in Dusty Crophopper souvenirs, “one thousand whistles! Go Team Dusterino! Yeah!”

  “You sure you’re up for it, Skipper?” Dusty asked.

  Skipper smiled. “You bet. Somebody else is doing the flying.”

  Dusty was thrilled. “That’s great news, guys! I’ll see you in Mexico!” Dusty rolled off happily, thinking one hop across the Pacific and he’d be with his Propwash buddies again. Then he saw El Chupacabra roll by with a wild look in his eyes.

  “Hey, El Chu, where’s the fire?” Dusty asked.

  The masked plane stopped and said, “It is in my soul! Tonight I shall win the heart of Miss Rochelle.” Dusty watched his friend position himself beneath Rochelle’s balcony and plug in a boom box. Then El Chu belted out what he thought was a romantic song while a driving disco beat blasted through the speakers.

  Rochelle looked out from her balcony, annoyed by the noise. “No, no, no! A thousand nos!” she called down to him, and slammed her door.

  El Chu was going to give it another try, but the music abruptly stopped. He looked over and saw Dusty holding the plug to the boom box. “¿Que pasó, Dusty? What are you doing?”

  Dusty signaled, and several mariachi tugs rolled up, playing their guitars in a gentle rhythm. Then Dusty lit some candles to create a romantic mood. “Low and slow,” Dusty advised. El Chu got the idea. He smiled and started to sing again, but this time he softly crooned the words instead of belting them.

  Rochelle peeked out, charmed by his new approach. “Buenas noches, querida,” El Chupacabra said smoothly.

  Rochelle answered sweetly in French.

  El Chu leaned toward Dusty. “What does that mean?” he asked.

  “No idea,” Dusty replied, “but French Canadian is the language of love…in Canada…so it’s gotta be good.”

  El Chu smiled. “I am in your debt, compadre. If ever you need me, I shall be there!”

  “Compadre,” said Dusty. “I like that.”

  The next morning, the racers lined up for the next leg of the rally. The competitors would be flying to Mexico, with a fuel stop in Hawaii. Dusty was currently in first place in the rally, and Rip was in second.

  “You are looking live at Shanghai Pudong International Airport,” Brent Mustangburger said, “witnessing one of the greatest competitions ever in the Wings Around The Globe Rally.”

  As Rip glared at the leaderboard, Dusty rolled up, grinning. “First place. Not too bad for a farm boy!” he said.

  Ripslinger seethed even more. He couldn’t believe Dusty was ahead of him!

  Meanwhile, El Chu was hurrying to the starting line. He looked harried and a bit of a mess.

  “What happened to you?” Dusty asked.

  “That song,” El Chu said, “it flipped a switch.”

  Dusty turned to see Rochelle chasing after El Chu. It was obvious that she was wildly in love with him. She grabbed his cape and pulled at him. “My little monster! Come here!” she shouted.

  “She is like a jaguar now!” El Chu whimpered as Rochelle dragged him away with her.

  “Start your engines!” announced the official, and soon the racers were heading out over the Pacific. Surrounded by patchy fog, they passed Chinese junks as the coastline disappeared beneath them.

 
“This is our sixth and longest leg,” Brent Mustangburger said. “These racers will need to follow their GPS antennas because there’s a big ocean between here and Mexico.”

  The pack climbed into the clouds, and Dusty stayed in his usual low position. Just then, Zed appeared in the fog behind him, zoomed up alongside Dusty, and in one swift move broke off his GPS antenna.

  “No!” Dusty shouted as he helplessly watched the antenna fall. He circled, not knowing what to do. All the other racers had disappeared into the clouds above him. Dusty could hear their engines fading, and he realized he was completely alone. Worst of all, without his antenna, he had no idea which direction he was flying in. “Hawaii, are you there? Do you read? I am low on fuel,” he radioed. But there was only silence.

  Dusty strained to see the glow of the sun through the fog. It was the only marker he could locate in an endless ocean, and he zoomed toward it.

  A little while later, Dusty heard an alarm go off on his control panel. He was running out of fuel! His hopes were sinking fast when a navy fighter jet named Bravo suddenly appeared out of the mist next to him. “Unknown rider. Unknown rider,” his voice boomed. “You have entered restricted airspace. Why haven’t you responded to radio contact?”

  “Somebody cut off my antenna,” Dusty replied.

  “Identify yourself,” Bravo said.

  “I’m Dusty Crophopper,” answered Dusty.

  “Roger that,” Bravo said, and then radioed his ship. “Bogey has been identified as Crophopper Seven.”

  “I’m running on vapors. I need to land!” Dusty cried, desperation in his voice.

  Another fighter jet, Echo, pulled up alongside Dusty. “What are you doing out here with an empty tank?” he asked.

  “I thought I’d refuel in Hawaii, but—” began Dusty.

  “What? Hawaii is three hundred seventy-five miles southwest of here,” Bravo told him.

  “Listen, Crophopper,” Echo said, “better follow us to the boat. No bingo fields around here.”

  “Bingo fields?” Dusty asked, confused.

  “Places to land,” Echo told him.

  Dusty soon discovered that the “boat” he would be landing on was the Dwight D. Flysenhower—Skipper’s old aircraft carrier!

  The two jets escorted Dusty toward the ship and radioed their squadron to get ready for an emergency landing.

  “That’s all I need,” said the captain to the control pitty, “a civilian exploding on my deck.”

  “We could rig the barricade, sir,” the control pitty suggested.

  “All engines ahead flank,” replied the captain.

  The deckhands quickly moved a barricade of thick nylon netting to the end of the flight deck. It was there to catch Dusty in case he overshot the runway.

  Bravo and Echo lined Dusty up with the barricade on the ship. “All you gotta do is throttle on back,” Bravo told Dusty.

  “I’m not sure I can do this,” Dusty replied nervously.

  “I don’t see how you have a choice,” said Echo.

  “But that runway is moving,” Dusty protested.

  “We’ll set you up on the glide path,” replied Echo.

  “Runways are not supposed to move!” insisted Dusty.

  Echo and Bravo could see that Dusty was in a full panic, and they tried to talk him through it. “Slow down…take it easy…throttle on back…”

  There was no turning back as Dusty approached his moving target. His wheels hit the deck with one giant bounce, and he landed in the barricade. Everyone cheered as the LSO announced, “We gotcha Crophopper!”

  The crew had been following the Wings Around The Globe Rally!

  “Come on,” Bravo said to Dusty. “Let’s get you fixed up, refueled, and back in the race. You are way behind.”

  Dusty rolled into an elevator with Bravo and Echo. “Thanks, guys. You saved my tail out there.” They got out at the hangar deck and Dusty found himself looking at a wall filled with photos, names, and medals.

  “Hey, what is that?” Dusty asked.

  “That’s the Jolly Wrenches Wall of Fame,” explained Bravo.

  “Every flier, every mission!” Echo added.

  Dusty scanned the wall, looking for Skipper. “There he is,” he said. There was only one mission listed for his coach: Glendalcanal. Dusty was confused. “But I don’t understand. Why is there only one mission?” he wondered aloud.

  Back in Propwash Junction, the gang was preparing to board a cargo plane heading for Mexico. They couldn’t wait to meet up with Dusty! Chug was the last to board. He was lugging so much baggage, it was slowing him down.

  “What’s all that?” Dottie asked him.

  “Well, I’ve never been out of the country,” explained Chug.

  Dottie pointed out that they were only going to be in Mexico for two days.

  “Gotta be prepared, right?” Chug told her. “Got beachwear, dinnerwear, underwear, got my floaties…”

  But before Chug could finish, the radio in the hangar went off. It was Dusty calling. “Skipper? Come in, Skipper!”

  “Dusty!” Skipper answered. “We’re headin’ off to Mexico right now. Glad ya got there safe. Weather report says a major storm is brewin’ out there.”

  “I’m not in Mexico,” Dusty said as the navy pitties replaced his antenna and fueled him up. “I’m with the Jolly Wrenches.”

  Skipper was speechless for a moment. “You’re on the Flysenhower?” he asked uneasily.

  “Hey, I saw the Wall of Fame,” Dusty continued. “They only list one mission for you.”

  Skipper took a deep breath and shifted uncomfortably. He didn’t want to talk about the days with his old squadron, and tried to steer the conversation in a different direction. What mattered most to Skipper now was getting Dusty through a dangerous patch of weather. “Dusty, if you’re not past that storm yet, you need to—”

  Dusty interrupted him. He couldn’t take his mind off what he’d seen on the wall. “That can’t be right. It must be a mistake.”

  Skipper kept talking about the storm. “Look, you’ve gotta get outta there. You’re gonna have to fly high.”

  But Dusty wouldn’t let it go. “Is it true?” he asked him.

  “Listen to me, get above the storm—”

  “Skipper! Is it true?” Dusty tried again.

  “It’s true,” his coach finally said.

  Dusty was stunned. “But all those stories?” he said, hurt and confused.

  Just then, the chief petty pitty rolled in. “Crophopper, we’ve got weather moving in fast. You’ve got to take off before it’s too late.”

  “I just a need a second here,” Dusty said, waiting for Skipper’s reply.

  But the chief petty pitty shut down the transmission. “That’s a negative, son! You don’t go now, you don’t go at all.”

  In no time, Dusty found himself on the deck in the driving rain. Loudspeakers blared an urgent warning of an oncoming cyclone!

  The storm clouds were growing darker as the crew readied Dusty to be launched off the deck in what looked like a giant slingshot. A shooter tug instructed Dusty to report to Catapult Two.

  “The cat’ll take ya from zero to one hundred sixty knots in two seconds,” he said.

  “We’re gonna check your weight and set the steam pressure,” another shooter tug told him.

  “Remember, climb straight ahead once ya get airborne. Get above the storm,” added the first shooter.

  Dusty was so distracted and shaken by the idea that Skipper had lied to him that he barely heard the instructions. Then Echo said, “Okay. Engine full throttle, nod to the shooter when you’re set.”

  “Go win it for the Wrenches, Dusty!” shouted Bravo. “Volo Pro Veritas.”

  “Headwinds good,” another shooter said. “Pressure is good. Go on Cat Two.” He saluted, pointed the catapult forward, and with a WHOOSH! Dusty was launched off the deck. In seconds, he was alone in the clouds.

  That night over the Pacific, Dusty was just a speck agains
t a dark, open ocean. Thunder rumbled overhead, but all Dusty could think about was Skipper. “How can it be only one mission?” he muttered to himself.

  He could hear Skipper’s voice in his head talking about the Battle of Airway, the raid in Tujunga Harbor, the Aleutians, the Battle of Wake Island, and the Assault on Kunming.

  The storm bore down on him with brutal force. Torrential rain pinged against his fuselage while thunder threatened to split open the sky. Lightning zigzagged across his path. He was struggling to dodge the churning waves just below him when a huge swell came up and drenched him. His engine began to cough and sputter, and he found himself arcing downward.

  “Mayday, mayday, mayday!” he cried. “I am going down! Eighteen degrees north, six minutes, one hundred nineteen degrees…”

  As Dusty hit the water, he felt his landing gear crack and his wings buckle. Then another wave rolled over him, covered his wings, and began to pull him down. “Help!” Dusty called frantically as he disappeared into the cold gray sea.

  All the other racers had arrived at the airport in Mexico hours before. Reporters surrounded Ripslinger, asking him for information. “Señor Ripslinger,” one said, “do you have any comment on the disappearance of Dusty Crophopper?”

  “Dusty was a nice guy who flew the challenge and pierced the clouds of mediocrity. We’re all gonna miss him,” he said.

  After he was out of earshot of the reporters, he turned to Ned and Zed and added with a snicker, “Let’s hope he makes a better boat than a plane!”

  “That was a good one, boss,” Ned said.

  An angry El Chu rolled up to Rip. “Señor Dusty has ten times the engine you do!” he exclaimed.

  “And ten times the integrity!” Ishani added.

  “Said the plane with the shiny new propeller,” Rip sneered. “How much integrity did that one cost you, sweetheart?”

  “Too much!” Ishani replied. “You used to be a great champion. How the mighty have fallen.”

  Meanwhile, a Mexican navy helicopter had heard Dusty’s radio pleas for help. It rushed to the scene and dropped a net into the water. Dusty was aware of being hauled out of the waves just before he blacked out.