Lower. Lower. Wind whistling through the wires and struts, flapping his scarf behind him. Lower . . . touch. The hard rims of the wheels ticked at the ground in a scurf of dry dirt and gravel, ticked again, settled with a rattling thud. The unpowered aircraft slowed rapidly to a halt. Jeffrey snapped open his belts and swung out to the lower wing, then to the ground, and lumbered away as fast as the weight of the parachute and the fleece-lined leather flight suit would let him.
“Motherfucking son of a bitch!” he shouted, throwing the leather helmet and goggles to the ground, followed by the parachute.
“You all right?”
That was one of the Wong brothers. Jeffery rounded on him. “The interrupter gear still isn’t working right,” he said as the crew from the crash truck swarmed over the Hawk, fire extinguishers at the ready.
“My guns both jammed. Which left me a sitting duck. And the fuel lines are still leaking into the pilot’s compartment when the integral tank gets cut—do you have any fucking idea how good that is for pilot morale?”
Wong made soothing motions with his hands. “As soon as we can get more rubber, we can make the tanks self-sealing,” he said.
Jeffrey snorted. The Land had all the natural rubber on Visager—the only places that could grow it were the Land itself and the northernmost peninsula of what had once been the Empire. John’s factories were just beginning to produce a trickle of synthetic rubber from oil, but it was fiendishly expensive and the Land would cut off the natural type the minute their extremely efficient spies caught Santander using it for military purposes.
Crazy war, he thought. We’re fighting here in the Union, but it’s all “volunteers” and normal trade goes on.
“And the latest Land fighter is still better than ours.”
“The triplane?” Wong said with interest.
“Yes, the Skyshark. It’s almost as fast as our Mark II and it’s got a better turning radius in starboard turns.”
Wong took out a notepad and began to scribble as they walked back towards the squadron HQ; behind them the crew hitched up the plane and pulled it away towards the hangar and revetments, half a dozen walking behind with a grip on its wings to steady it. A group was waiting for Jeffrey.
“You should not risk yourself so, General Farr,” General Pierre Gerard said.
“You must be really pissed, Pierre; you never call me that otherwise.”
The loyalist officer shrugged, a very Unionaise gesture. “Still, it is true. And someone must tell you.”
You, John, my wife, and my two invisible friends, Jeffrey thought. And I can never get away from those two.
“I have to have hands-on experience to work effectively with the designers,” he said, looking over his shoulder for Wong. The little engineer and ex-bicycle manufacturer was trotting off to take a look at the shot-up Mark II. “Also to help refine our tactics for the pilot schools. We’re sending them up with less than thirty hours’ flight time, so at least we should be teaching them the right things.”
They walked into the HQ, a spare temporary structure of boards and two-by-fours. John stripped out of the flight suit, shivering slightly as the chill spring air of the central plateau hit the sweat-damp fabric of his summer-weight uniform.
“What is your appraisal?” Gerard said.
“The enemy have more and better planes than we do,” Jeffrey said, sitting down and accepting the coffee an orderly brought. Coffee was another thing they were going to miss if—when—all trade with the Land was cut off. “And better pilots, more experienced. If it’s any consolation, we’re improving faster than they are, but we’re starting from a lower base.”
Gerard frowned, looking down at his hands on the rough table. “My friend, this is bad news. Although perhaps the government will listen now when I tell them the offensive on the eastern front is a bad idea.”
Jeffrey halted the coffee cup halfway to his mouth. “They’re still going ahead with that?” he asked incredulously.
“And they will strip men, guns, aircraft from every other front for it,” he said. “The Committee talks of recapturing Marsai and splitting the rebel zone in half.”