Mitla Pass - Leon Uris [166]
“Me too,” he said shakily.
“Then, to hell with it,” she said, “let’s go flying. There’s something I have to share with you before we split up.”
“Okay, ma’am.”
IT HAD JUST turned twilight when the Granby Street trolley stopped at the cemetery near Dead Man’s Corner and Gideon jumped off. He took in a deep breath to reinforce his courage and trotted over to the airstrip. It was a small three-hangar affair with a dirt runway, mostly used for barnstorming shows and air races. On the other side of the field the Navy had a facility.
Miss Abigail greeted him wearing a leather hat with goggles, a fleece-lined leather jacket, and knee-high boots. “Come meet my dad and brother.” The older fellow, Clarence, was her father, the famous war ace. He was attired in mechanic’s overalls. Another man, in his late twenties, was her brother, Jeremy, the famous stunt pilot on the southern barnstorming circuit. As he was introduced, Gideon wore an immediate expression of hero worship.
Clarence tousled Gideon’s hair. “So you’re the culprit who’s stolen my daughter from me,” he said.
“Not really, Mr. Winters.”
Clarence turned to his son. “Jeremy, is that goddam cockpit heater working?”
“It tested out fine, Dad.”
“Well, what the hell was it?”
“Just a wiring connection in the blower.”
“Goldurn thing. Kid, there’s some clothing your size in locker number twenty. Andy’s kid’s stuff should fit you.”
As Gideon dressed, Abigail and her father and brother went over the flight plans.
“New moon. Should be like silk up there tonight,” Clarence said.
The two men put their backs into opening the hangar door and were greeted by the outstretched arms of the most magnificent flying machine one could envision. They unlocked the wheels and each got behind a wing and pushed her onto the tarmac. The craft was a monowing Consolidated P-30, a two-seater pursuit fighter.
The Army had tested a number of prototypes and made a number of modifications, until it abandoned the craft. The test planes were sold off to former fliers like Clarence Winters. New, the plane had cost the taxpayers the staggering sum of over fifty thousand dollars.
Clarence, Jeremy, and Miss Abigail got the plane for a pittance and tinkered endlessly with it. They named her Jenny after Miss Abigail’s mom. Jenny was one of the hottest barnstormers on the southern circuit. She had everything, a turbocharger that could push her to the lightning speed of 275 miles an hour, at over twenty thousand feet.
They turned the tail gunner’s seat around and set it under a sleek sliding canopy and added a variable-pitched three-bladed propeller.
“Well, what do you think of her, son?” Clarence asked.
“Nifty,” he replied with a voice that suddenly shot up to falsetto.
“Then let’s go flying, pardner.”
Clarence stood on the wing and leaned into the rear cockpit, which had all but swallowed Gideon up, and he explained the gadgetry, use of the oxygen mask, and how to speak over the radio.
Gideon did a white-knuckled clutch as the plane zipped down the runway. He caught a fleeting glance of Jeremy and Clarence waving to them. Off the ground they went! After a stunning loop around Norfolk and the grand flotilla of warships at anchor, he could see the amusement park at Ocean View and make out the cars shooting around the roller coaster and even see the flagpole sitter! They flew parallel to the beach for a while, then banked out over the ocean, straightened out, and climbed. Higher ... higher ... to infinity and a blanket of enveloping darkness.
“Gideon, can you hear me?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Everything okay with you?”
“It’s wonderful, Miss Abigail, wonderful!”
“Are you scared?”
“No, ma’am.”
“All right. Put on your oxygen mask. We’re going to climb. Got that?”
“Got it.”
She opened the throttle. “Hang on, pardner, we’re shooting for the moon.” Higher and faster Miss Abigail pushed the craft until the coastline and Norfolk were but tiny toys. Two great arms of darkness wrapped about them. Gideon could see the back of Miss Abigail’s head and her