Still, he lingered for a moment, watching as the mechanic poked and prodded, whistling through his teeth. He was shivering, right enough, the rapidly evaporating petrol wicking his body heat away like candlesmoke. “I’ll see what the canteen’s got in the way of leftover dripping. “Aye, the left wing-gun trigger sticks sometimes. You’ll maybe have her back up tomorrow, if the fuel line’s the only engine trouble. Greg shrugged, eyes squinted against the cold wind as he surveyed Dolly’s guts. “Aye, tell me something I don’t know.” He held his soaked sleeve gingerly away from his body. “Not flying her today, mate,” Greg said, squatting down to look up into the engine, and shaking his head at what he saw. He rolled out from under the plane, sneezing, and Gregory the mechanic stepped over him.
Good job the mechanic hadn’t come loping up with a lit cigarette in his mouth. Well, thank Christ he hadn’t got into the air with it, that was one thing, but he grabbed the line to see how bad the puncture was, and it came apart in his hands and soaked his sleeve nearly to the shoulder with high-test petrol. There was a strong smell of petrol, and Jerry popped the Spitfire’s hood and hopped out in panic, envisioning imminent incineration, just as the last plane of Green flight roared past him and took wing, its engine fading to a buzz within seconds.Ī mechanic was pelting down from the hangar to see what the trouble was, but Jerry’d already opened Dolly’s belly and the trouble was plain: the fuel line was punctured. It hadn’t been a bullet, though the off tire had blown, and a sickening tilt looped them off the runway, bumping and jolting into the grass. Alarmed, he eased back, but before he could try again, there was a bang that made him jerk by reflex, smacking his head against the perspex. Jerry MacKenzie turned Dolly II onto the runway–full-throttle, shoulder-hunched, blood-thumping, already halfway up Green leader’s arse–pulled back on the stick and got a choking shudder instead of the giddy lift of takeoff. It was two weeks yet to Hallowe’en, but the gremlins were already at work. This includes a story of mine titled “A Leaf on the Wind of All Hallows.” It’s a little unusual, in that it’s about Roger MacKenzie’s parents–but it does fill the interesting hole regarding Roger’s father that I opened up in AN ECHO IN THE BONE. Martin and Gardner Dozois) is coming out on November 16th (i.e., in a little over two weeks). A new anthology titled SONGS OF LOVE AND DEATH (edited by George R.R.
However, I do have a suggestion to offer. So I’ve been working on both Book Eight _and_ LORD JOHN AND THE SCOTTISH PRISONER). It does take me 2-3 years to write one of the big OUTLANDER novels, and about a year to write a Lord John novel (and I do work on more than one project at once keeps me from having writer’s block, and makes me much more productive. For those of you who’ve already read THE EXILE several times (and _thank_ you, btw! The editor tells me that the book is still hovering around the top of the NYT list–at #2 next week–and we’re still beating the author of Captain Underpants, which gratifies me deeply), and are beginning to write me, wanting to know When Is The Next Book Coming Out….
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