Masters of the Air
By Debra Tash
Small Excerpt
That plane would crash. Its single engine spurted. It sounded as if it couldn't stay up a moment longer. Michael shielded his eyes against the sunset's orange light. He could see the Curtiss Jenny's bi-wings; the wooden struts with the crisscrossing wires that held their fabric skins in place, all dark shadows against a glittering sky.
The Jenny started to turn over his camp. Michael had seen it before. The fool would crash and catch the prairie grass on fire. He waved, his mind whirling.
"Down, you idiot! Set her down while you still have some time!"
The plane began to drop in an attempt to land as if her fool pilot had actually heard him. Michael ran in an effort to clear himself from the Jenny's path.
With a slight dip of her wings the crippled plane banked. It avoided Michael and his own open-cockpit, two-seater Jenny already set down in that field.
The plane landed, bumped over the uneven ground and came to a halt. Michael blew out a disgusted sigh. He hadn't come so close to a crash like that since the Great War had ended. The Jenny's pilot ought to be strapped to a rock.
Michael strode up to the plane, his handsome features knotted with anger, jaw set, dark blond hair tousled. As the single propeller slowed, the pilot looked down with a sheepish grin planted on his freckled face.
"You should have never taken a plane up in that condition!"
The pilot shrugged, that grin even bigger. "Sorry."
Michael grumbled and shook his head. This pilot was an idiot. He turned heel and returned to his small camp. His bedroll was unfurled near a modest fire, his pack nearby.
That was his entire camp. Using a branch, Michael lifted the iron lid off the pot warming against the dancing flames. Well, at least the beans hadn't burned.
The pilot stood beside him and took a whiff of the homey aroma. Michael felt for the pistol hidden beneath his leather flight jacket, but the fellow didn't make a move.
"Hungry?" Michael asked with an eyebrow raised.
He eagerly nodded and removed his leather cap and goggles to expose a mass of curly red hair.
Michael narrowed his green eyes. "Then you better find something to eat."
The man's smile faded. "You're not very friendly."
Michael used the stick to clear the small iron pot off the campfire. "You're damn right. So, maybe you just better leave—on foot."
The Jenny's pilot sat right next to him, gaze level, blue eyes unflinching as he stared at Michael.
"Have you noticed nobody's amazed anymore?"