Chapter Text
Act 1 - Volpo Rosso
Porcelain sand and cerulean waves met in a soft, cascading crash beneath my feet in the mid-afternoon glare. The stifling heat of the Mediterranean softened around the edges by the imposing, rough hewn walls that created the natural colosseum I had claimed as my home, sprinkled by vegetation on its near-inaccessible parapets.
The beauty is unparalleled, sure, even in the Elysian outcrops Adriatic, but I never could get used to the sight… It felt like I was inhabiting a museum exhibit or a secret landscape, abandoned by most of humanity. The crumbling outpost of the stray colonial or military designs of Venice sitting on the ring of rock reminded me of this as I saw it from above, but it could also not protect me from the roving bands of air pirates who had sworn me their most mortal enemy.
Until a bigger target comes along, that is.
I was supposed to only have one connection to the outside world here, and the telephone in question earnt the scalding spotlight of my glare, but even within my home I was reminded how small the world was becoming. The skies freed, but sometimes I felt as Atlas beneath the weight of a world speeding up beneath my wings.
I turned my attention back to the highly-illegal magazine of American debauchery that somehow made its way to every corner store in the country that tried to ban it, and dutifully ignored the men that were scattered throughout the pages, interacting with the pearls before my eyes and reminding me of my place.
I moved to recline my chair, to lean back and appreciate the sight properly, when the phone began ringing, shaking free my grip.
“Gah! Porca miseria!” The chair had entirely fell away from me, sending me tumbling to the ground to regain my bearings with the fluttering pages of the magazine – and the very close sight of my favourite model’s figure – settling over my face. I scrambled to answer the phone. “What!?”
“Volpo Rosso, get flying!” It was my contact, ordering me around. Again. “Mama Auito is on the move.”
“Mama Auito? Really, Fons? You bother me for them?”
“They’re attacking a charter ship from Venice; An entire company’s payroll… And their kids.”
“Hostages cost extra.”
“We know.”
“Fine!” I slammed the handset into the receiver and stood up properly. “Merda. God, I hate kids.”
Fortunately, there wasn’t anything I needed that wasn’t already in the M. 33, and I had untied the mooring and hopped in my seat before thirty seconds had passed. My shoulders tensed and strained as I turned the crank on the prop shaft, hearing the tumbling, sputtering breaths of a promised 300 horsepower waking up in the morning.
“Come on, come on- temperamentale…”
A magic angle was struck, one well practiced by muscle memory, and the engine purred to life, immediately engaging the propeller and threatening to steal my feet from under me.
“Oh, you beauty, there you go. I’ll give you the attention you need soon enough.”
Patting the gorgeous red siding of the M. 33, I fell into my seat, clipping myself in with the ease of well-worked hands, and as soon as I was able, I drew the sleek body through the waterlogged crack of the cliff faces and out into open waters.
The deafening din of a twin-centreline engine pierced through the pleasant afternoon, a roar heard through the valleys and mountains of vast clouds that populated the skies of a Mediterranean summer.
Passengers dropped what they were doing, rushing to the side of the boat closest to the sound, eager to see the source of the unique sound that reached their ears. Gasps and excited coos soon turned to scared cries as the ship recognised the markings of the Mama Auitos.
Beyond the warning shots, not a bullet was spent, the crew and civilians far outmatched by the burly and heavily armed pirates that began gathering hostages.
Fourteen primary-school-aged girls were loaded onto their retrofitted and refurbished WWI waterplane bomber, unusually excited at the prospect of flying in a pirate plane. Mostly because they would be flying.
They flew off towards the horizon in the south-west, beelining towards the coast of the Italian mainland.
“I’m too late.” I flew into a low, tight circle around the charter ship, utterly alone in the sky, without a hint of contrail to show me where to go. A flickering morse torch caught my eye, and the important details were shared with me.
They headed exactly towards Bologna.
“Heh. Cheapskates. Not a bad idea though.”
I began flying due north, to the anguished cries I could barely hear above the well-behaved purr of the prototype Macchi engine above me. I knew what they were doing… There was a tiny archipelago nearby, small but still big enough to camp out on and have methods of communication. They’d set up with their hostages there, hoping the ransom would come faster than the air force.
They just needed to hand me, or whoever came after them first, a red herring.
Cra-bamb-bubu… The engine hitched, forty odd horsepower lost in an instant, and oil began leaking from the seams in the aluminium plating.
“Fuck! No, no no, hey don’t give out on me yet!”
The drop in power forced the engine into a stall, and I fell the hundred-odd feet I was cruising at above the waves with a violent and bone-rattling shake. But as I stretched up to the manual fuel injector, and began pumping furiously – the engine sputtered back into life, and I was off again, cruising off the waves that would threaten to drown my engine. This time I went higher, to give myself time to react.
The oil drip didn’t stop, though, a slow trickle of black liquid falling onto my face, my fur and my windscreen.
“Not much time…”
The minutes dragged on as I soared through the clouds, ducking around columns of pristine clouds and gliding through patches of turbulence that would make any lesser plane shake. Take-offs and landings were tough with the Macchi, but nothing could touch her in the sky. Zeus would be jealous.
I smiled at my own hubris, confident in the knowledge there were no storm clouds nearby that could hold a sparking bolt of karma, but as I scanned the horizon a flashing of orange metal caught my eye.
“So predictable…”
Getting closer, however, it just turned out to be a passenger plane. All the way out here? This wasn’t even a popular route. I could see the passengers within staring out of their porthole windows at me, and I brought myself closer.
I began to make out the words of the women within as I passed within a dozen metres. “Look at that!” “A fox!” “Ms. Fox! Ms. Fooox!” “You’re so beautiful…” “A female pilot? Wow!”
“This area isn’t safe, watch out for pirates!”
“We will, Ms. Fox!” “Thank you, pilot fox!” “So cool!”
I blew a kiss as I turned away once more, searching for the plane that was beginning to worry me, and I didn’t let myself believe I saw any returning gestures.
More minutes passed, and I grew anxious. Had I anticipated a move too smart for pirates? It was getting to the point I wouldn’t be able to catch even an old bomber if I flew towards Bologna, but…
There! Camo-green and littered with skulls, peeking out from the cyan waves, far below me. Choosing to stay low; a good plan, but it wouldn’t help them. Luck granted me the sun behind me, and I waited to make my descent until they passed on the other side of one of the small islands that littered this part of the ocean. I was risking another engine failure that close to the water, but it was the only way.
It seemed they hadn’t noticed me, and I felt my luck running thin. A break in the island revealed me to the gunner, who whirled around and pointed his automatic rifle towards me, immediately getting blocked off by the encroaching cliff face.
Well, cover blown, time to get loud.
Whirling around to cross their path at an angle with the falling silhouette of the island, the brief moment I was left open was taken advantage of by the gunner, who turned his gun to face me and then… turned it back? I’d be paying for the karmic snap for months, but I wasn’t going to waste the shot.
Flicking the lever down on my control stick, a half-second ‘chunkchunkchunk’ of large calibre rounds found their way into the delicate interior of the rear propeller engine, but the plane still had another to push them onwards. It would limp along, but it would limp forever.
My flight course was too fast to adjust the aim of my forward gun, so I resorted to a wide, taunting circle around the bomber, which finally got the aft gunner to open fire. The water around and behind me began exploding with vapour splashes of lead, missing me and my M. 33 by hair-widths at most, and I sent a prayer of thanks into the ether, unsure of who would receive it. The rounds were far heavier and dangerous than my own, but awfully difficult to manage. I was just thankful it wasn’t AA.
Circling around the front brought the crew members within the cockpit into the fight, leaning out of gunner holes and open windows to fire at me with semiautos, far less concerning, and a single-shot sniper that looked like it could be mounted on a German fighter and still be too destructive, which sent an uneasy swirling of fear and anger into my stomach.
That thing definitely shot anti-air, but it was hand-fired and not mounted. The captain was a lousy shot, and even with him firing I decided to bring up my morse torch to taunt/beg the pirates to not make me fire upon them again. Even the three, carefully aimed shots into their engine was risky, with so many hostages within.
“You lost already. Surrender. You can keep half the money.”
They answered with another volley of AA. I shot around and behind in another wide arc that brought me beneath the bomber. A slow rise drew one of the rear rudders into my line of fire, with nothing but empty space behind it, and I opened fire.
The rudder was instantly torn to shreds, and I could see the careening curve of the bomber begin as it suddenly felt asymmetrical steering, but the pilot quickly adapted.
Not well enough, however, as it simply meant the plane didn’t get submerged as it crashed into the waves. I continued my wide, casual turn, and found myself staring directly down the centreline of the plane resting on the water.
Time for a game of chicken.
I kept steady as the distance collapsed, as the captain heaved his AA gun again, even as he pulled the trigger, and the gun jammed. I smiled as they rushed to wave any scrap of white fabric in the air, and basked in a gamble that paid off. There were two options for the firearm; either it was the infamous Italian model, and the overheating from the repeating fire would cause it to seize, or it was German, and they looked too broke for that kind of weaponry.
The full-crew abandonment of ship I expected was undercut by the fact only the girls were jumping into the water, while the pirates scrambled to rescue their loot that had been tumbling out of the massive hole in the rear fuselage that had torn open in the crash.
“Idiots… The lot of them.” I once again reminded them of my generous offer.
“Half the money and the hostages, or your lives.”
This time they agreed.
“Hey! Don’t touch that!” I swiped a screwdriver out of one of the girls’ hands as she tried to copy me repairing the engine. I put up with it only as long as it was harmless, and she was about to remove a section of loosened panelling that I had yet to replace.
It came loose along with a carbon-burnt scar along the siding a few years ago.
“I really haven’t been looking after you, huh…?” I whispered to the Macchi.
“Ma’am… Are you a fox?”
“Hm?” One of the girls had come up to the other side of the plane, resting along the beach of the nearest island while I got her moving again. “Oh, yeah. What about it?”
“Can I touch your fur?”
“No. I’m covered in oil, and I’m working.”
“You’re kinda mean.”
“What!? I just saved you from pirates!
“But I liked the pirate men.”
“Marmocchio insolente… Look, I just need to repair my plane, and then I can bring you back to your ship, okay?”
“Will you come play with us when you’re done?”
“No.”
“’New Song of Triumph for the Crimson Fox’? Cazzate, I’m going to wring that puttana’s neck when I see her!” Even through the din of the Hotel Adriano I could hear the angry cries of the pirate as he scrunched up the newspaper in front of him, dropping into a low murmur to match his partners in crime around the table.
I stuck to the entrance, heart aching for company and isolation in equal measure, a half-burnt cigarette in my mouth. It was always hardest to withstand the stares of people when I had done my job that day, whether it be the fires of revenge or the smouldering embers of misplaced envy, I could barely stand the stink of attention.
There was a new man at the table, though, and he grabbed my attention. Tall and stocky, the build of a person fit for either the government or organised crime, and the cocky attitude of both but the iconic lack of self-control that spoke to the latter. He looked around the room, practically lazing in his polite posture, with half-lidded eyes as he took in the sight of the warmly lit bar like a content predator.
The image of a writhing snake on the tail of an R3C-2 came to mind, the plane of foreign design even within the Mediterranean sticking in my mind, and I took the final pull on my disappointing cig and entered the room to the calming alto tones of Gina.
Familiar stress washed away under the encroaching waves of music, replaced with a long-worn anxiety at the sight of my childhood friend, serenading the room with a gorgeous rendition of ‘Les Temps des Cerises.’
Which meant it had to be ruined.
“Ms. Volpo Rosso! I’m a reporter for the Neptune, would you have a minute to talk?” I moved to say no, but he carried on anyway, the blinding flash of photography stunning me out of speaking. “You did another great job. Again! I don’t think the Mama Auito will appear again for a while. We’ve already run a piece on it, but in terms of your estimated bounty this year, what do you expect? People are already expecting it to be more than last-”
The reporter and their lackey were grabbed by the scruffs of their necks, clothes bunching up uncomfortably around their shoulders as the tall man from earlier began dragging them to a spare table. Half-constructed shouts of protest rose from the pair, but they were cut off by the man speaking.
“Sit. And be quiet.”
Gina nodded towards the strange man, who straightened up and stared adoringly at Gina with the same raptured admiration of the rest of the room while she finished the last verse of her performance to politely quiet and enthusiastic applause. The man turned back to me just as I was served my drink.
“Strange to see, a woman drinking whiskey.” I heard the American accent in his tone, somewhere that would create a musical drawl that fit so fantastically badly into the Italian language.
“Would you expect an Americano, instead?”
He shook his head, sending me a sly grin that marked the start of a conversation I was eager to avoid.
“Most of the women here drink wines, it’s a pleasant surprise to meet two interesting ladies in the same place.”
“Oh, so I’m only the second?”
“Well, all the seaplane pilots have heard about Madame Gina of the Hotel Adriano! Around here… Even air pirates and bounty hunters are well behaved in the presence of such famed beauty, and then who comes waltzing in but the figure of legendary skill herself! It seems like the airborne world revolves around you two.”
Gina had begun her rounds around the tables, gifting easy smiles and polite compliments to all the customers, regulars or not. Her open-back satin dress gliding over her figure in lines of indistinguishable grace within the black expanse. She hinted at the beauty beneath, but her eyes were tired under the mask.
“Does the Curtiss outside belong to you?” The question fell from my lips as I watched Gina, not entirely interested or disinterested in the man next to me. He laughed.
“Yes! My namesake brings me fame and fortune! My lucky rattlesnake has never let me down.”
“It’s the plane that beat an Italian boat at the Scheider cup, right? Flown by a ‘Curtis.’”
“Yep, two years running.” He looked proud and full of himself, like he had designed the plane and flown it. “Not only that, it’s incredible at aerial combat. I hear a certain sly fox has quite a reputation around her. Reckon I could give her a run for her money.”
“Here’s some advice, aviere. If you make a deal with the air pirates, watch your tail. They’re a cesspit of penniless mercenaries who will rip apart a young and successful guy like you in no time. You don’t even have to be airborne for it either.”
“I’ll take the advice of a legend to heart, then, even if you look too pretty for wisdom.”
“Well, you’ve got the intelligence to fit in...” I murmured against my glass, avoiding eye contact. “But at least you bathe.”
“Yeah, I definitely noticed that bit.” Curtis chuckled, and I felt a twinge of embarrassment at being heard, but not enough to care.
The table of air pirates noticed me at the bar and began writhing like an ant nest that uncovered an invader, but they were settled from their anger by Gina wandering over to greet them.
“I think you’d better go back… Keep the peace of this ‘sacred ground,’ so to speak.”
“That’s an excellent idea. It was lovely meeting you, Volpo.”
Curtis thankfully walked off, and I made my escape to the restaurant upstairs, dead silent and empty, with all the patrons collected around Gina, I was able to make my order and relax. I caught the eye of an old ‘friend’ in the crowd as I left, but we could both only spare nods and sad smiles for each other. The sight of her husband made my heart seize, and I knew I had failed my promises to her.
My linguine arrabbiata arrived just a few minutes before Gina, but I was always happy to place my love of food aside for her, letting my fidgeting nose spike in the sharp scent of garlic and tomato while I paid all my attention towards my friend.
“The American… he’s so funny.”
“How so?”
“He took one look at me and asked for my hand in marriage.” My heartrate spiked, the tale I had heard too often beginning once again, but it truly sank at the words that followed. “I said that I had married three pilots in my time, and each failed to return to me alive.”
I placed my fork down, removing my napkin from my stained jumpsuit, and tried to speak through a constricting throat.
“They found him?”
Gina nodded, “The wreckage was found somewhere in Bengal.”
“Gina…” I reached over, taking her hand in mine, comforting as much as I could. Her eyes were fixed on my fingers, gently clawed and soft in her hand.
“My tears dried up three years or three husbands ago. I can’t remember which.”
I poured a glass of wine for both of us from the bottle on the table, and I raised mine in a grieving toast or a proud, farewell salute.
“To the ones who left too soon.” Gina’s hand tightened in mine, but we both drank.
She managed to look even sadder as the bottle drained.
“Marie… Thankyou for staying with me all these years.” She had been hesitant to let go of my hand, and I hadn’t wished to remove mine either, but her grip felt weak and flighty between my fingers. “You’re the only one of my old friends still around.”
My heart screamed in pain, the reminder of how lonely Gina was, and that we were no closer than friends, tore me in two directions. I retreated within myself, pulling my hand back to my lap.
“The only thing I don’t like about this place is that photograph.” On the wall, a bare couple metres from the table, hung a photo of young – way too young – adults sitting on the fuselage of an extremely early prototype seaplane. One of the two girls had her face obscured by scribbled black ink, while the other looked like how Gina always appeared in my mind.
“Please don’t take it down. It’s the only picture we have of you as a human.”
She sounded so hurt and desperate, I couldn’t refuse. “I won’t.”
“How can we free you from that curse…?” I looked up at her, my habitual answer of ‘we don’t’ almost falling off my tongue, interrupted by a gathering of will within Gina. She straightened, and looked down at my meal. “Mmm, that looks good, I’m going to order it myself.”
We spent the meal together, making failing attempts at light-hearted small talk as the food turned to ash on my tongue and the wine felt like vinegar. I pretended to enjoy the evening, laden by heavy topics and unspoken strain on our friendship, because I was damned if I was going to make the night worse for her.
Gina was eventually called back into the main room for an encore, and I was left to stare at the picture that hung lopsided on the wall. With an ink-stained thumb, I left my face uncovered for Gina to find in the morning, and returned to my Macchi just in time to see the rapid and graceful take-off of Curtis.
“Damn. That Yank sure can fly.”
The streets of Dubrovnik were crowded with a military parade and the patriotic crowds of people filling the footpaths. Platoons of troops and squads of tanks flowed over the old, cobbled streets of the city, rained on by trumpet fanfare and confetti, and blocking my entrance to the bank. It took too long, and gave too much opportunity for stray men to ask what a stray woman was doing on ‘today of all days’ for my liking, but eventually the streets were freed, and I could slip through the crowds enough to reach the entrance I had spent the last half an hour thirty metres from.
The stack of cash I got in reward for my bounty on the Mama Auito felt small, especially after a third of it went right back to the bank clerk.
“That’s for my debt.” The man snatched it up.
“Right you are, madam. That covers the last of your plane’s loan. I envy the amount of money you make, especially as a woman.” I gave him an irritated look, but it bounced off his contractually obligated optimism. “And how about some patriotic bonds to contribute to our troops?”
I let out a barking laugh that sounded more like a ‘yip.’
“I’ll leave that to the ‘humans,’ I think.”
Taking the rest of my money, I wandered the streets, avoiding the alleys and main streets alike, not wanting to risk an encounter with the patrolling military officers or the men hiding from their attention in the shadows. I kept to the middle ground I felt so comfortable in.
Eventually my feet brought me to the place I knew the rest of my money would be drained in, and I entered through the low-ceilinged doorway into the basement workshop of the Gunsmith. He was sequestered in one corner of the basement, entirely absorbed in his current task, while the walls were lined in every piece of gunpowder-fuelled weaponry imaginable - that could fit in a basement - and his apprentice stood in the centre of the room.
It was the most reliable arms dealer in the city, but that wasn’t saying much.
“Ah! Ms. Rosso!” The apprentice called to me as I entered the dingy basement, my nose cringing at the must and mould that clung around the corners of the ever present grease and oil I had become accustomed to with a life of firearms and fighters. “Your order is ready.”
The MG08 Maxim sat on the workbench; custom grooves cut into the silver-polished heat casing that surrounded the barrel, the firing mechanism showing signs of tinkering that would either help with jams or fire rate – I wouldn’t know until I used it – and mounting points that were rebalanced along the changed centre of gravity. Pretty much exactly as I ordered it.
I hefted the massive aircraft gun into my hands, inspecting every part up close so I knew how it was supposed to look when it inevitably broke, and then grunted in approval.
“I’ll get some ammo, too. 60 rounds.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
As the apprentice ran off, I turned to the Gunsmith, whirring away at his mill at a mangled mechanism that was in dire need of the repair it was receiving.
“Things are getting wild out there. Reaching a fever pitch.”
“MMmmhrn, yeah…” He spoke in a whining gravel that spoke of age and decades of inhaled metal chips and oil smoke. “Looks like we’re in for a change of government again. Maybe people like you will be outlaws! Hah! As if that would stop you.”
“Hmm, no, foxes aren’t held down by ‘laws’ or ‘countries.’”
“Same goes for moles, hehehehe!” He did look rather like a mole, with his squirrely moustache and shock of greying hair that framed failing eyes.
The apprentice returned, looking far too young to be involved in the business, with a single box of ammunition.
“Just this, miss? We have a new supply of high capacity incendiary and armour piercing-”
“I’m not going to war, kid. Save the spiel for the secret police.” I grabbed the bundled, barely concealed gun and slid the ammo into my coat before heading off towards the front door, leaving the rest of my cash behind. “See ya.”
Before the door closed, I heard the beginnings of an almost-hypocritical philosophy debate between master and apprentice.
"Seems like war to me..."
“Kid, war profiteers are evil, but bounty hunters are just stupid. They don’t need to make something big explode, just the one guy-”
Waist-deep into the belly of my Macchi, I was trying to follow the source of the oil leak back to the root problem, and kept coming across issue after issue. The Maxim was a breeze to install, considering the gun bay had sat empty anyway, but trying to do any comprehensive repairs created an endless cycle of problem after problem in a gordian knot of mechanical failures and chemical weak points.
If I could just fix one, the rest would fall in line, but there wasn’t just one I could fix without ruining another.
“Porca eva… You’ve finally had it. I’m gonna have to take a visit to Milan, by the looks of it. Shit… May as well patch up the worst of it though…”
I began working, doing the best I could with the tools I had, and listening to the buzzing drawl that came from my shitty portable radio resting on the chine-hull beside me.
“…the two planes were shot out of the sky, and the pilots, Bulkar and Visconti, were unable to parachute to safety after shots were exchanged. The captain survived the fall, however, sustaining minor injuries.
"The undefended vessel was boarded by pirates, running through any passengers who provided resistance and claiming all money and valuables for themselves. Before they escaped, they left the following message with the remaining passengers:
“You’re next, sneaky fox! No point hiding.”
I stilled in my repairs, unsure of what I heard.
“I say again: You’re next, sneaky fox! No point hiding.”
“Nothing stopping you! Come get me, you flying trash! Hihihiyhi.” I stared into the sky, expecting a half dozen pirate planes to come cresting over the cliff, and sighed. “Welp, guess I’m taking that trip to Milan sooner rather than later.”
I packed my bags with everything I’d need, plus my one, pristine white sundress that I saved for special occasions, and let myself daydream of Milan as I began to get the tired old Macchi ready for another trip.
Silk sheets, good food, old friends, beautiful women I’d never have the strength to talk to…
I chittered to the engine, in high spirits as I escaped the trap without having to gnaw a limb off. “Hold out to Milan, please, my piccolo motore. Just until Milan.”
The take-off was beautiful, I would never have guessed she was being held together with string and jury-rigged gaskets as she glid through the air like usual. Even the oil leak had been patched away, and I felt at home within the flowing eddies of the air. This was my home.
It didn’t last, of course.
Just before I reached the Italian mainland, a cold front of storm cloud and rain barred my way, and I had to descend beneath the cloud level to save my Macchi from a rattling, salt-shaker death of nuts and rivets falling to the water far below.
Bitter, cold rain sleeted over the crimson wingspan of my plane and, unfortunately, onto my face. Pools of water slid off my goggles, and within moments my usually insulating layer of fur that covered my soft body was soaked, only helping to keep the frigid water close to my skin to leech the heat from my fragile bones. Not even my jumpsuit was good enough at keeping the weather out, and the worst days of my time in the air force began to tease at the corners of my attention.
My one solace was that no one would be stupid enough to follow me through this.
The rain ceased in a sudden flash of released pressure as I broke through the curtain of water and into a waterfall of dappled god rays that basked me and my Macchi in the warmth of sunlight through the uneven cloud cover. A glittering emerald jewel of an island coasted far beneath me, equally enjoying the warm respite from the stolen heat of the storm, but I was distracted once more when I noticed the uneven pops of my engine’s synchronisation.
Hand-operated cranks and creative uses of gliding and climbing kept my little machine limping along, the elbow grease seemingly holding it together just as much as any of the repairs I made. But I knew I could make it like this. I knew her well enough to know how far she could go.
She wouldn’t survive a dog-fight but-
I just had to think too loud, didn’t I? This was my karma coming to bite me.
I swerved out of the way as Curtis’ rattlesnake dove towards me, leading him on a chase that would hopefully make it impossible to line my crimson beauty up with his crosshairs.
“Fucking stronzo! Not now!! How'd you even find me?!”
My wide, avoidant curve and his incessant chase brought us into a tight circle where we were directly opposite each other, and I saw an opportunity to escape into the not-quite raining storm clouds that still scattered the sky.
Pulling up as hard as I could, barely avoiding a stall, I dove into the clouds and made an immediate turn in a (hopefully) random direction. I could hear the low roar of his engine close behind me as he flew entirely on sound, but the obscured vision and second wind of the Macchi still meant he was falling behind. The cold front was brutal, so I could rely on the dense cloud cover to create some distance-
Why do I keep thinking shit?
Breaking through the cloud and into empty space, I knew my gorgeous red paint would immediately give me away in the brilliant white backdrop of the storm clouds, but there was nothing I could do at that point.
Spinning in the air, I prayed that I would be difficult enough to predict that Curtis wouldn’t be able to fire at me, but the added strain of my desperate twirls with the scream of an intimidating engine right on my tail, caused my little Macchi to finally give out with a wet ‘phuurt’ and I fell from the sky.
I was a sitting duck, manoeuvring entirely on momentum and gravity, and my dreams were crushed as a couple dozen of Curtis’ rounds buried themselves into my plane’s wings, fuselage, and engine.
I plummeted.
Barely enough control, with wind and terror whipping at my concentration, the distance to the water blurred. I recovered my senses as I skidded along the glass-flat waters of a post-storm calm, my gorgeous plane falling to pieces along the surface. Momentum carried me onto the beach of a stray island, barely big enough for three houses but still with enough foliage to hide a crashed plane within, and my Macchi launched up the shore. The jungle swallowed me, and I barely had enough energy get out of my pilot’s seat if I wanted to. I decided it was better to just wait and hope he didn’t spot me.
He descended, swirling my island like a vulture above a dying man, and touched down on water so close I could hear his voice.
“Aaah, the stupid red colour, no doubt about it. Proof enough I shot her down, and a good souvenir for the family back home. You're going to make me famous, Volpo. I just wish you could have lived to see it.”
The reliable purr of a well-maintained engine began, and he rose into the air once more, leaving me alone and stranded.
I let out a half-sob of relief and began thinking of how to leave again.