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.If it weren’t for the patch where his left eye had been, William would certainly be a chasseur right now—a heavier-than-air fighter pilot whose job was to protect the skies of Burgundy, Albion’s ally nation, from the predations of the Boche.William felt as though he spent every day of his life cursing the stupid decision he’d made when he was only seven years old.He’d been making a model glider with real metal ribs, and rather than glue it together, he’d decided it would be more durable if he welded it.He’d snuck into his mother’s workshop and messed around with her tools.Hot sparks flew, and the next thing he knew was a kind of pain he’d never felt before… or since.His left eye had been beyond saving.Since then, his life had been all about settling for the next best thing.He couldn’t get a job as a dirigible pilot, or even a crewer, thanks to his eye, but his mama had taught him to fly heavier-than-air gliders and, later, the petrol-powered aeroplanes.When the war broke out, he’d joined the Royal Albion Flying Corps as an aeroplane mechanic and came overseas to Burgundy—with the war fliers but not one of them.Someday, he thought, he’d like to meet someone special and have a home of his own, perhaps even a family… but for now, he contented himself with admiring the handsome pilots while hiding behind the wings of the aeroplanes and taking whatever opportunity he could to slip into a cockpit and take off into the clouds, leaving his inadequacies on the ground below.William loved to point his plane’s nose toward the heavens and watch the world shrink into insignificance below him.Up in the skies, he could do anything, be anyone.Here on the ground, he was always a little bit less than good enough.Eager to escape for just a few minutes, William clambered up into the Pegasus’s cockpit.“I promise,” he said as he flipped the magneto switches on.“Give me a swing.”William wrapped his hand around the control column and leaned his toes forward, pressing down on the Pegasus’s brakes.When Prospere swung the prop, the crankshaft would start turning and the fuel inside the engine would be sparked by the magnetos.William wanted to be sure he had the brakes held down long enough for Prospere to get out of the way of the wings when the Pegasus started to move.Unfortunately, just as Prospere was getting into position, a towheaded figure in the uniform of a batman—a soldier-servant who acted as assistant to a flying officer—darted out in front of the Pegasus.William muttered a curse under his breath and turned the mag switches off again.The last thing he needed was to hit another Albian with his aeroplane.Even an Albian like Alex McKinnon.“New pilots,” Alex cried, his eyes lit up with excitement.“New pilots arriving in new aircraft at two o’clock this afternoon.I overheard it walking past the major’s office.”William stretched his arms over his head and leaned back as though he’d been intending nothing more exciting than a nap.“So?” he drawled, trying his best to appear nonchalant—to hide the flutter of anticipation in his stomach.“So,” Prospere said with a scowl, “our bold batman here loves to keep abreast of squadron gossip.And I suspect he’s hoping one or two of them will be interested in his very special services.”William felt his excitement transform into a slow sinking feeling.That was the difference between him and Alex: Alex had the courage to act on his feelings.Alex had more notches on his bedpost than most of the pilots had kill markings on their aeroplanes.William, for his entire life, had done nothing more than look and wish.He hid his feelings so well that not even Prospere knew Alex wasn’t the only non-commissioned officer in No.2 Heavier-than-Air Squadron with an inclination for men.Was it jealousy that riled him so whenever Alex came around the hangars?Alex crossed his arms in an exaggerated pout.“You know that in this war, the average lifespan of a heavier-than-air pilot is less than a month,” he retorted.“I’m just making sure their final days are happy ones.”“That’s a disgusting thing to say.” The words were out of William’s mouth before he could take them back, driven by the tide of bile rising up his throat.Alex stared at him, shocked, but no more so than William himself.No, it wasn’t jealousy.It was Alex’s unutterable selfishness.“The mouse finds its tongue,” Alex said tauntingly.“My advice to you, Pettigrew, is don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.”William just sat there, searching for the words to explain that his objection was to Alex’s cavalier attitude and failing to find anything at all.Alex winked, smirked, then turned on his heel and began a slow saunter back toward the officers’ barracks.It was Prospere who finally broke the silence.“For all the rolls in the hay that young man takes,” he said, “I don’t think Alex has the slightest clue what love really means.”William nodded his assent, and Prospere, mercifully, returned his attention to the Pegasus’s propeller.When William didn’t see any other aircrew in range of the aircraft, he turned the magneto switches back on and yelled “Clear!” as a signal to Prospere.The flight sergeant swung the propeller, and with a throaty growl, the rotary engine came to life.William pushed the throttle forward, feeding more fuel to the engine.The Pegasus trundled forward, slowly at first, then faster over the rutted ground.William used a bit of left brake to turn her nose into the wind; then he gave her full throttle and her engine roared its glory song.The Pegasus skipped once, twice, and then the air was under her wings and she was flying, carrying William into the clouds.The Pegasus flew like a dream.Hand raised to block the sun, William searched the blue vault above.A dirigible formation was limping home above the eastern horizon; William could see the hindmost of four skyboats trailing a plume of smoke from its left maneuvering fan.His gaze probed the brilliant blue sky, and he blinked hard against the dazzling glare.Was that—yes, a formation of three single-winged aircraft, coming in high from the north.The pilots were arriving in the new Sopwith Gryphons—the first monoplane aircraft to ever serve in combat.William pulled his ocugoggles over his head and rapidly flicked through the lenses until the distant aircraft popped into sharp relief.He admired the distinctive silhouettes of the monoplanes and the brilliant purple streamers attached to the head aircraft, marking it as the formation leader.Fresh from the factory, the Gryphons were painted in standard Royal Albion Flying Corps colors: khaki green on top, pale blue underneath.That would change.William looked at the colorful yellow-and-black checkered wings of his Pegasus and grinned.On closer examination, it seemed as though the flight leader was already aware of the tradition of customizing aeroplanes: he had already added a violet stripe painted around each wing and down the length of the Gryphon’s fuselage.Violet stripe.The thought tugged at some half-forgotten memory in William’s mind.The aircraft overhead cut power to their engines and glided on the breeze like hunting hawks.William felt a stab of scorn for those stuffed-shirted officers back in Albion who called heavier-than-air flying machines “toys for the idle rich.” What gasbag, tossed about at the mercy of the winds, could ever chart so swift and straight a course? What skyboat could swoop down out of nowhere to strike a threat below and vanish just as suddenly into the clouds?William rocked his wings to signal a greeting to the Gryphons.The squadron leader dipped his wing in return.Grinning, William sent the Pegasus into a climb topped off with a half roll
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