The Mercenaries by John Harris

even stand up to the sort of ill-treatment Fagan gave ‘em.’
    ‘Shove the engine cover on,’ Ira said switching off. ‘I’ll fly her.’
    As he went with Sammy to the tent to fetch his helmet, Ellie climbed into the cockpit and sat for a second, jiggling the controls.
    Those guys sure know motors,’ she said grudgingly. ‘She doesn’t sound like a load of scrap iron any more.’
    Fagan watched her, shrewdly assessing the histrionic possibilities of the situation ‘Take her up, Ellie,’ he urged. ‘Show ‘em what you can do.’
    She stared at him for a moment, then she nodded. ‘Swing her,’ she said. ‘He wanted to know if I could fly. I’ll show him I can.’
    As the B.M.W. fired, Ira’s head appeared immediately from the tent. Ellie was wearing neither coat nor helmet, but she was waving the chocks away and, as he ran out, followed by Sammy, the little machine sped across the field, dust and scraps of chaff flying upwards in the propeller wash, one of the coolies running after it, trying vainly to lasso the tail with a rope and screaming, ‘Mastah! Peng Ah-Lun! Fly machine escape! ‘
    As Ira came to a stop, she pulled the machine up in a steep turn, the ace-of-clubs tail wagging, and began to climb sharply, the wings shimmering and translucent in the sun. until she was about three thousand feet up, then she stalled, the wings glinting, fell off in a dive and turned towards the tent. The engine buzzed like a hornet as she came over them, pulling up so low it set the tent flapping and heaving against its guys.
    For a quarter of an hour she treated them to a display which proved without any doubt her ability to fly an aeroplane, then she set the Fokker gently down again and taxied towards the tent. Fagan was grinning all over his face, enjoying the fury in Ira’s eyes. Sammy, knowing better, watched cautiously and kept out of the way.
    Ellie jumped briskly out of the cockpit and walked towards them, then her smile died as she saw Ira’s expression.
    ‘Well,’ she said, suddenly hostile again. ‘Wasn’t it good enough?’
    ‘What the hell did it prove?’ Ira demanded.
    ‘That I can fly a goddam ship,’ she snapped back. ‘That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?’
    ‘We’d accepted that,’ Ira snorted. ‘You didn’t have to pull the wings off it to prove it.’
    She stared back at him, and abruptly the arrogance went from her eyes.
    ‘I’m sorry,’ she said shortly. ‘I guess I shouldn’t have.’
    There’s a roster board in the tent,’ Ira growled, his temper subsiding. ‘In future we stick to it.’
    As he turned away, she stood watching him for a moment, her eyes hurt, then Fagan laughed his shrill laugh.
    ‘Steady, the Buffs,’ he said. ‘Don’t let it get you down, old girl. It’s only the old Service working itself out of his system.’ She was still staring after Ira and she turned on him like a tiger. ‘Shut up,’ she snapped.
    Fagan’s face fell and he gave a wild gesture. ‘Listen, all I said...’
    Ellie stared at him with contempt. ‘You say too goddam much,’ she said. ‘You always did!‘
     
    Before the next week was out, all three machines were serviceable and Ira took them up in turn to satisfy himself they were properly rigged and the engines firing firmly.
    Fagan, restless and lacking in concentration, seemed bewildered by the precautions he was taking. ‘Will you, for the love of God, give over?’ he complained. ‘We all know how to make emergency landings. We can set ‘em down if the engine cuts. It’s just that they’re heavy on the controls, that’s all. You have to use a bit of strength with ‘em.’
    To prove his point, he insisted on taking up the Albatros, but his taxying was wild and almost removed the tail of the Avro; and his take-off, while it was as spectacular as Ellie’s, was not nearly as skilled. Clearly not intending to be outdone by her, he stalled, dived and spun the old machine until Ira’s hair stood on end and finally