Chapter 8 #2
He leaned all his weight into it, and the crank very slowly began to turn.
Bit by bit, the crank turned more easily and faster as the engine started to turn over and gained momentum.
When the engine hummed in front of her, the mechanic pulled out the start crank and stepped back from the plane and its deadly propeller.
She pushed the ignition switch.
The same thrill that always went through her when she started a plane passed through her now. The propeller made one slow revolution and then caught, spinning up with breathtaking speed until it was invisible to the naked eye.
The six airplanes competing in the light division of planes, with less than 510-cubic-inch displacement, formed the front row of planes.
One by one, they taxied out of their parking spaces in a colorful line with Phoebe leading the way.
The rest of the planes followed, parading over to the flat, grassy field where they would take off and lining up in rows again, with the light airplanes forming the front rank. Phoebe would be the first into the air.
As Pancho waited her turn near the end of the starting order, she spied two passenger planes waiting to ferry the race officials to the next stop.
Pancho glared at the line of men standing there, smiling and posing, while the press snapped pictures of them.
It was a sure bet their planes wouldn’t suffer any sabotage.
Beyond the officials’ planes, she saw fellow racer Claire Fahy give her husband a hug and a kiss before climbing up to the cockpit of her plane.
Herbert Fahy was a test pilot and top-notch aviation mechanic himself, and he would drive the route of the race behind his wife in a truck loaded with tools and spare parts.
Rankin sure wouldn’t do anything like that for me.
Nope.
Thinking about her husband was unexpected.
Their marriage had been arranged by her parents, and she’d always considered it more of a business arrangement, with her and Rankin as its reluctant partners.
She also knew she wasn’t as attentive to her home life as she could be.
Rankin had a right to point that out. But there just wasn’t enough time in the day for all the things she felt a burning desire to do.
Thrill seeker? It was a fair label, but one that she was proud of.
Hopefully, her son would be proud of her for not taking the easy road her wealth and womanhood offered her.
Not that raising children was easy, of course.
But raising kids was a whole lot less likely to result in a fiery crash and early death.
Pullman had called that one right. If she wanted to be out in the world, she was going to collect some bruises. Or worse.
This might be my last day alive. My final flight. So, enjoy it.
That thought sobered her up mightily and yanked her wandering thoughts back sharply to the task at hand.
This could very well be the flight that killed her if she didn’t get her head in the game and pay attention.
Flying demanded 100 percent of a pilot’s concentration, and she owed herself and her son no less.
As she followed Marvel’s sleek plane to the starting line, Pancho cleared her mind. She drew in a deep breath, acknowledging the gift that each day was. She exhaled, grateful for the opportunity to escape the earth and soar above it like a bird.
Even so, a tiny chill of fear bounced around inside her belly, but that was normal.
Every pilot felt it. Good pilots used it to keep themselves sharp and focused.
Her grandfather had told her once that the day she stopped being a little afraid of flying was the day she should stop doing it forever.
How had he put it? “A pilot without fear is a pilot without caution. And a pilot without caution is an accident waiting to happen. Embrace your fear, Florence. Don’t ever lose it. ”
As she assumed her position in the row of heavy aircraft waiting to take off, she pulled her leather flight cap down more firmly, securing it tighter beneath her chin.
Flying was not for the faint of heart. That’s why you do it.
She’d spent her whole life chasing the next adventure, each one bigger and wilder than the last. She really was just like her grandfather.
Not only was aviation in their blood, but so was a thirst for risk.
Grandpa Thaddeus had taken her up in hot-air balloons for as long as she could remember and had brought her to see her first airplane when she was nine years old.
Enthralled at the sight of a human being rising up into the sky like a bird, she still recalled crying out, “Someday, I’m going to fly, Grandpa! ”
Thaddeus hadn’t hesitated for a second. He’d never cared that she was a girl. No, he’d hoisted her on his shoulders to see better and pointed his finger at the Wright Flyer. “You bet you’re going to fly, Florence!”
The first of the heavy planes at the far-left end of the line ran its engine up to full power.
The starter approached it and raised his flag.
The green square dropped, and a Travel Air 4000 similar to Pancho’s roared off down the runway.
It practically leaped off the ground. Its wings wobbled slightly, then stabilized.
She watched it climb away from the airfield rapidly.
All the planes were carrying light fuel loads for the short leg to San Bernardino. They would take off quickly and fly at top speed. She couldn’t wait to see how fast her plane would go when she pushed it to its limit. And this was the leg to do it.
There were definitely faster planes in the race. Amelia’s big Lockheed Vega was a beast that could really haul along, and Marvel’s modified racing Travel Air was said to be a full twelve knots faster than any other plane in the race.
But air racing was about more than just what plane a pilot flew, particularly in a long cross-country race like this, where navigation skill was possibly more important than speed. This race would come down to the skill of the pilots more than the planes they flew.
Which meant it wouldn’t be an easy victory for her.
The pilots she was up against were the finest female aviators in the world.
And she wouldn’t have it any other way. What was the point of winning a race if she didn’t beat the best of the best while she was at it?
All the better to brag about afterward, by golly.
And you’re one of them, she reminded herself firmly.
In fact, she was one of the top five prerace favorites in the betting on this race, which wasn’t legal and wasn’t technically happening in gambling halls and betting parlors that didn’t technically exist all across America.
Yep, she had as good a chance of winning this race as any of her fellow competitors.
Maybe a better chance, given how well she’d prepared for it.
And if wanting to win the most counted for anything, then she was a shoo-in to collect the trophy and $8,000 prize check in Cleveland.
The starter stepped up to Marvel’s plane on her left.
Her insides tightened. She felt herself break into a grin.
The starter signaled thirty seconds until Marvel’s takeoff, and Pancho watched her new friend give him a thumbs-up to indicate she was ready.
She wouldn’t trade this rush of excitement for anything, and definitely not for a dull, boring life of safety.
It irked her to agree with Agent Pullman, but he was right about one thing.
The world was a hard place. If she didn’t want to deal with that harshness, she could go back home and never fly again.
She looked down the long stretch of green grass to the bright-blue sky beyond, beckoning her irresistibly. I could never stand that sort of life. I would wither away and die if I couldn’t fly.
The starter raised the green flag, signaling ten seconds until Marvel went.
An image of William’s precious face flashed through Pancho’s mind.
She loved him so much. But even a heart full of love for her child wasn’t enough to make her give this up.
Her need to leave the ground, to soar through the halls of heaven and look down on earth from an angel’s point of view, was in her very bones.
To deny it, to give up flying, would be a thousand times worse torment than perishing in a fiery crash.
Sometimes, like this moment, Pancho was certain she felt her grandfather smiling down from heaven and cheering her on. She was helping build a better world for her son to live in. A world where all the little girls who dreamed of flying one day would get that chance.
Planes could do so many things that would transform how people lived and traveled, from greatly shortening long trips to transporting medicine so much faster than trains—
Focus, for crying out loud.
She tucked her map a little farther beneath her left thigh as the starter’s flag dropped for Marvel.
Sixty seconds until your race into the history books begins.
Pancho waggled her upraised hand beside her right ear to indicate to the ground crew that she was pushing up the throttle to full power.
The starter’s assistant nodded and gave her a thumbs-up.
Her plane’s engine roared to full power, and its whole frame vibrated around her like a living thing, as eager to break free of the earth as she was.
A quick check of the engine temperature gauge showed her engine was warmed up but not overheating. Her plane was ready to go.
A minute could sure move slowly when she was racing. Normally, she never held the brakes this long, and her legs began to tire. But she continued to stand on the tops of the rudder pedals and wiped her palms on her jodhpurs one last time.
The starter raised his flag, indicating ten seconds until she went.
All the distracting thoughts and images drained away, leaving only her and the airplane strapped to her like an extension of her body. The sky above and the race ahead beckoned her.