Oath Bound - Book V of The Order of the Air Read Free Page B

the new course. He pushed the yoke forward as well, shedding altitude, the ground taking shape with gratifying speed beneath him.
    He kept the angle steady at about twenty degrees, the controls flexing under his hands as he hit the disturbed air over the city. The airfield loomed ahead, the long main runway stretching straight and empty as he leveled out at five hundred feet. There were houses below him, white walls and red tile roofs and the rich greens of trees and grass, but for an instant his mind supplied the mud of the Western front, a few blasted stumps stretching shattered limbs to the sky while the barrels of the big guns thrust up out of their camouflage.  There were other planes on the taxiway, waiting their turn to practice or for maintenance; there was the tower itself, a few hundred feet to his left, rounded end jutting out like a lighthouse or the bow of a ship, and the hangers beyond.  His thumb moved on the yoke, pressing a firing button that wasn’t there, and in his mind’s eye he could see the tracers sleeting ahead of him down the field, destroying the planes and giving the tower something to think about… This was what Patton had been talking about in Hawaii, planes in the lead and the infantry following behind to mop up in the confusion.
    He took a breath, deliberately putting that aside, and pulled the Dart up into a slightly steeper climb. That was not what he was here for, though he suspected at least half the other pilots saw exactly the same things. This was a civilian airshow sponsored by the Italian Ministry of Aviation, attended by representatives of countries who were solidly at peace if not actually allies, and he thumbed the radio button instead.
    “Tower, this is Dart. Coming around for a north-south pass.”
    “Dart, Tower. Roger that.”
    Lewis checked his altitude and pulled the Dart up into a steep turn. Just short of the stall, he kicked the rudder bar and tugged the yoke over, tipping the Dart into an Immelmann turn. It was sloppier than he would have risked in combat, but from the feeling of the plane under him, he could do it properly next time. He leveled out at four hundred feet this time, and made another pass down the runway.
    “Tower, this is Dart. Commencing acrobatics.”
    The tower acknowledged, and he brought the Dart up and around in a split-S, lining up for a barrel-roll as he passed along the runway.  On the next pass, he tried a loop, scowling as he felt the Dart come a little too close to stalling.  The second pass corrected that, and then the Tower’s voice sounded in his earphones.
    “Dart, this is Tower. Your practice time is over. You are cleared to land.”
    I’m not finished. Lewis swallowed the words — it was what every pilot said or thought at this stage of a show — and instead tipped the Dart into a neat wingover.  “Tower, this is Dart. Roger, I am coming in to land.”
    Henry and his lead mechanic were waiting as he taxied up to the hanger and killed the engine. One of the Italian mechanics set the chocks as Lewis hurried through the shut-down list, then slid back the canopy and levered himself out of the cockpit.
    “Well?” That was Henry, hands on hips and his fedora pushed to the back of his head. He’d shaved his neat beard since the last time Lewis had seen him, revealing a surprisingly pugnacious chin.
    “How did it look?” Lewis asked in turn.
    “Good.”  Henry nodded.  “Very nice. You think you can fly Charlie’s performance, or do you want to do something else?”
    Lewis released the chin strap of his helmet, rubbing the spot where the throat mike had pinched. “I’ll go with what he had, I think. She feels good, Henry.”
    “Glad to hear it.”
    Engines coughed to life outside the next hangar, and Lewis turned to see the flight of German light bombers lining up to taxi onto the runway.  They were biplanes, old-fashioned compared to the Dart and the two Italian fighters, but tough and sturdy-looking, and from the way