Will’s BE2 stutters and spits over Belgium, his heart hammering with every cough the biplane makes. He’s flying furiously after an Eindecker, a beautiful plane, he thinks, even as he’s forced close to tearing his wings in two to corner the bastard. He’s too close to the line as it is, he’ll never catch him, not and survive.
Will remembers the evening he proposed to Christina, how they flew, their spirits soaring with the prospect of escape, hands outstretched, racing through the ballroom; playing follow my leader, Christina’s tiny handbag whirring like a propeller.
He remembers, and turns for home.