Desperate, Leo turned his thoughts toward his last and final plan, the one he’d sorely hoped he wouldn’t need. But he had no time left to try to persuade someone to believe him. The other two men would be upon him in mere moments, and he would forfeit his opportunity to implement his last-ditch effort.
Twisting from Jimmy’s iron hold in a move he’d learned as a slight lad on the streets, Leo ducked low and dodged. Jimmy lunged but slipped. After scrambling into the Fabin, Leo hastily prepared it for takeoff, turning on the spark and opening the choke and throttle. Jimmy rose to his feet and stalked toward the cockpit. Leo swung his body outward, striking the bigger man in the chest with just enough force to knock the wind from him but not enough to cause any lasting injury. Jimmy spiraled backward into the dirt while Leo quickly leaped to the ground. More men ran in their direction. After yanking the propeller down with almost violent force, Leo dashed back around the side of the craft. Just as the other two workmen reached the Fabin, Leo catapulted himself into the cockpit. Before anyone could stop him, he shot down the clay runway. Luckily, his path remained clear. He didn’t want to put anyone at risk in his quest to save Mattie.
The airplane barreled along the ground without any sign of trouble. The engine sounded strong, with a good healthy roar that would make a lion proud. It was well crafted, much faster than the Jenny. It reminded him of his old SPAD—small, fleet, and easily maneuverable.
Over the last several weeks, little by little, bit by bit, he’d started to feel more emotion when flying. But today those nascent emotions had shriveled up, leaving him once again barren. Emptied of everything but the task before him, he continued to pull back on the stick and opened the throttle until he shot skyward.
He swooped toward the course, determined to confirm that the Fabin could handle the sharp turns and fast speed. The pylons loomed before him. He focused entirely on the engine and the mechanics offlying as he buzzed almost automatically through the impressive towers. He’d been like this during dogfights, his mind and body completely given over to the objective of the mission, whether protecting a British bombing squadron, taking out an enemy observation balloon, or engaging directly with the Jagdstaffeln.
He made it through the course once. Banking the plane, Leo turned the nose back toward the rickety grandstand. He’d just started his dive between the first two pylons when a fine mist of oil sprayed over him, dousing his face. The motor gasped and spluttered to a coughing and decidedly final stop.
Leo had no time to feel even a single sharp, shredding bite of fear. He had returned to the mentality of combat. He assessed the situation with calm fatalism.
He had no power from the engine, but the wind still held the Fabin aloft. With enough distance, he could keep the bird steady and gently bring her downward. The contact with the ground might be a bit rough, but he’d landed with a dead motor more than once, including in the shell-blasted No Man’s Land.
But he didn’t have enough distance, not with the grandstand stretching before him. If the structure had been empty, Leo would have flown straight for it. He was higher, and by his estimate he could drift over the bleachers. But it would be close. And his calculation could be wrong. The seats weren’t a permanent structure but a temporary one. Even if he just clipped it, the whole wooden construct could collapse.
All these thoughts zinged through his head like a stream of machine-gun bullets. Leo had the barest fraction of a moment to make his decision. But war had taught him to make practically instantaneous analyses. And he chose, as he always did, the safety of those he sought to protect over his own.
Turning the plane from its course would cause him to lose the airspeed that was holding him aloft and send him into a spin with noway to recover. It meant an uncontrolled crash but risked no one else. So he dipped his wing and veered away from the crowd.
The Fabin almost instantly began its deadly tumble. Even though Leo had no way of righting the path, his training kept him alert despite the dizzying effects of the whirling plunge. He kept his eyes open, his hands on the controls, but he didn’t brace for impact. Instead, he thought of Mattie.
Chapter Seventeen
Mattie had experienced almost suffocating pain when her brother had died. She’d lived with the sorrow of her mother’s passing and the bittersweetness of fuzzy, out-of-focus memories of her. As a young flyer, she’d experienced a clench in her heart when she’d executed her first barrel roll and hung upside down over a patchwork of ground far below. She’d lived with worry for all her brothers and Leo as they’d fought in Europe.
But she had never, ever known terror. Until now.
It screamed through her like a projectile shredding the air in a long, extended screech. Her body, her mind, her very soul reverberated with its force.
She lurched forward, as if somehow she could stop the unstoppable. She wanted to reach up and catch Leo, to prevent him from slamming into the unforgiving dirt. He’d been flying low enough for her to see the dark stains covering his face and flight jacket. An engine would fail after losing that much oil. And the silence—the horrible, endless, irrefutable silence—confirmed the horrific truth. The plane’s motor had become a useless, heavy weight, dragging the craft downward.
Built for speed and maneuverability, the Fabin wouldn’t glide well. But itwouldglide. And a pilot with Leo’s skills could carefully bring it earthward. Mattie had no doubts that Leo could have coaxed the aircraft over the bleachers to land in the field beyond. But that would have put others at risk—a proposition intolerable to Leo.
He’d turned the plane, obliterating the lift buoying the craft. For the briefest of moments, the Fabin had responded to the commands Leo had given it. But now it flopped over and began its terrifying fluttering spiral earthward.
Mattie screamed, a guttural, splintering echo of the raw pain tearing through her chest. Picking up speed, she dashed toward the field, toward Leo. A gentle but firm grip held her arm, stopping her forward progression. Mattie tried to yank herself free, but her captor held fast. Before Mattie could put up another struggle, the Fabin smashed into the ground in a hideous rendering of metal and splintering wood. The sound seemed trapped inside her, bouncing back and forth in her skull until she, too, thought she would break from it.
The left wing cracked off first and bounced into the air. It rolled on the ground a few yards before coming to a stop. The right one just dropped while the severed tail shot into the air as if launched by a medieval catapult. The nose slammed into the ground—and the fuselage, the protection around Leo, crumpled.
Mattie cried out again and struggled to break free of the hands preventing her from reaching the wreckage. Vera’s voice sounded in her ear, devastating in its soft kindness.
“The gas could explode, Mattie.”
“Iknow!” The words ripped from her, grating against her throat. “I need to get to Leo, Vera! I need to see him!”
“Be careful,” Vera warned as she released Mattie. At their feet, Ruby whined plaintively.
Not pausing to respond, Mattie tore across the clay runway and then the sandy dirt field. Employees from Fabin Flyer pounded past. They had already begun to toss away ripped pieces of canvas and chunks of plywood to reach Leo when Mattie joined them.
“Miss, get back!” one of the men warned. “It could blow at any second!”
Ignoring the warning, Mattie skidded to a stop in front of the wreckage instead of retreating. Heedless of the hissing coming from the hot engine and the pungent odor of gasoline, she fell to her knees. With surprisingly steady hands, she helped move away the debris.
When her fingers brushed against warm flesh, she cried out for help. With the ever-present threat of fire, the men moved Leo immediately, dragging his limp form without ceremony. Mattie pulled, too, putting all of her strength into bringing him closer to safety.
Then she heard it... a sound at once heart lifting and heart wrenching. A low, pain-filled grunt. FromLeo.
