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By Root 2306 0

his arms against him, the thick warm coat keeping away the cold. They can make a damned coat that works. Why not boots? He rapped his feet against the sides of the cockpit, flexed his ankles. No use. If I’m lucky, I’ll still have feet when I land. They might break off inside these damned boots. He tried to distract himself from the one source of misery, found the patrol again, saw that nothing was happening to change their formation. His mind began to drift, and he thought of the lion cub, smiled. When the train brought the bleary-eyed pilots to Luxeuil, they had expected to hear some grief from Thenault, some restriction about animals in the hangars. Dogs and cats were everywhere, and Thaw had already rehearsed his speech that they had earned the right to whatever mascot they chose. But Thenault had surprised them, ordered only that the cub be kept outdoors. Lufbery had seen the look of resignation on Thenault’s face, and DeLaage had agreed with him that these pilots had already demonstrated such an odd variety of personal habits, the young lion’s presence was just another American quirk.

Whiskey had begun to follow Lufbery around like the gentle pet no one else had expected it to be. The lion’s devotion to Lufbery had created a good-natured jealousy among its rescuers, particularly Nimmie Prince, who seemed offended by the cub’s indifference to him. Lufbery had no good explanation for Whiskey’s behavior. He had never owned a cat, had never lived anywhere long enough to have a pet at all. It didn’t take long for Lufbery to realize that the lion asked for little or nothing in return. Lufbery’s guard had begun to come down, and very quickly, the affection was mutual. Now, when Whiskey wanted to play, Lufbery obliged him. The cub was particularly adept at surprise attacks, something that visitors to the airfield found unnerving. It had become Lufbery’s favorite sport, luring the annoying newspaperman or highbrow visitor into the hangar, knowing Whiskey was lurking in expectation of the game. The cub would always respond to the short command, leaping out suddenly to terrify the various stuffed-shirted visitors. As much as everyone in the hangar enjoyed the spectacle, it was the one part of the cub’s behavior they thought necessary to hide from Captain Thenault. Lufbery wondered about taking Whiskey aloft with him, whether the big cat might actually help to keep his feet warm. But the space was far too confined, and Whiskey was, after all, a cat. It would not do for some act of feline unpredictability to occur at fifteen thousand feet.

The planes beneath him disappeared beneath another cloud, and Lufbery guided the Nieuport through a narrow gap, the sun in his eyes now. It was the wrong tactical position to be in, but he was unconcerned, thought, A few seconds, just ease around to the left—

He caught the flash behind him, heard the hard thump, saw a rip in the wing. He turned in the seat, said aloud, “What the hell . . . ?”

He saw the plane moving up close to his tail, and he jerked at the stick, twisted and dove straight into the cloud. His heart was racing now, and he stared into white fog, thought, Who would be up here?

He emerged from the far side of the cloud, banked hard around, waited, searched every inch of the sky. Now he saw the plane, but it had turned as well, had climbed above him, and he thought, Damn! Smart fellow.

He banked, aimed again for the cloud, saw the other plane turning as well, could see the plane’s white belly, and on the wings, the two distinct black crosses. The Nieuport plunged into the cloud again, and his mind raced. Should I climb? No, drop, come around the other way. He pulled hard on the stick, emerged again from the cloud, spun the plane over on its back, pulled back on the stick, the plane now facing back into the cloud. Where are you, you Boche bastard?

He saw the other plane now, flying the opposite direction, a hundred yards away, and he could see the distinct shape of the Albatros. The pilot was staring at him, the Albatros dipping down, turning to move underneath him. No you don