“All right, sir.” Billy swallowed hard. “Good-by—until—until⸺”
“Get going, son. Get going. You’ve lost too much time already. And catch them, catch them if it takes the last drop of gas! I’m taking other measures but I’m counting on you.”
It was five o’clock when Hansen cleared the blocks frantically from Billy’s DH. Other ships had started in pursuit already. But Cobb discounted them. They would fail one way and another. This was his show. His last show, he thought grimly. Strangely, it wasn’t proving so hard, now that his mind was set to it.
If it weren’t for Jennie⸺ Even Jennie worried him less than he could have believed. Gradually, as he checked the DH over minutely, supervised the fueling, tested the lights on the instrument board, and gave the engine a brief run on the blocks, a mood of exaltation took possession of him. Jennie would approve. She would have something to remember him by—something worth remembering. And he was going to fly again! Going back to the air! It would never be said of him that he had not stuck to the last crash!
Hansen broke in on his thoughts.
“Here you are, sir,” panted the mechanic, and handed him a light wheel filched from his own silver scout—the ship he loved and had not flown for weeks. Hansen was gasping, dripping wet from the feverish exertion of getting the deserted DH in flying trim for the long route ahead. Billy tucked the wheel beside him in the cockpit.
“Engine O. K., sir?” queried Hansen.
“O. K.,” confirmed Billy, his heart beginning to race as the moment for the take-off loomed.
“Shall I clear away?” said Hansen.
A last violent misgiving assailed Billy. He saw Jennie again, as he had left her a few hours since, feeble, pale, her face a wistful wraith against the pillow. He would not see that face again! A paroxysm of yearning seized him. To leap from the ship, to race to her, to kiss her once more, to lift her and hold her in his arms!