Oath Bound - Book V of The Order of the Air by Melissa Scott & Jo Graham

Author:Melissa Scott & Jo Graham [Scott, Melissa]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: historical fiction, thriller
Publisher: Crossroad Press
Published: 2015-12-11T08:00:00+00:00

Alexandria, Egypt

January 3, 1936

It was past midnight, but Jerry was still awake, watching the curtains shiver in the night breeze. The air was cold, and he was glad of Willi sleeping next to him, extra warmth against the winter chill. The waxing moon cast faint shadows: the night was clear, and he hoped the good weather would continue for the next few days. Alma was going to need all the breaks if this was going to work out.

Next to him, Willi shifted, starting awake from a dream, and Jerry moved to accommodate him. They lay for a moment in silence as Willi’s breathing slowed, and then he said, “You wish you were going.”

It wasn’t a question, but Jerry answered anyway. “I wish I was. I wish I could.”

“And if you could, of course you would.”

There was bitterness in Willi’s voice. It made Jerry glance sideways at him. “’.I told you, Iskinder is my oldest friend. I’d do it for that alone.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“What’s wrong?”

Willi shook his head. “A dream. Nothing.”

“I’m worried, too,” Jerry said. “Did you think I wasn’t?”

Willi shook his head again. “No.”

“I want to go with them.” Jerry rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling where a band of moonlight swept like a clock’s hand across the cracked plaster. His stump rubbed against the sheet, and what felt like a jolt of electricity lanced through his missing ankle, real pain for a phantom foot. He winced, shifting his other foot to press against the tingling bone, but as always there was nothing there, and nothing to do but ride it out. “I know I can’t, I’d only be in the way, but —”

“What would you do? Even if you were whole? You’re not a pilot. Or a gun-runner.”

“This is my Lodge,” Jerry said, and wished he could swallow the words as soon as they were spoken. He felt Willi tense, his muscles tight with the effort not to pull away. They lay in silence for a moment, and another bolt of pain shot through his missing foot. He jerked and swore, and Willi touched his shoulder, silent apology.

“Do you need anything?”

Jerry shook his head. “It’s just my leg.”

“A glass of bourbon?” Willi propped himself up on one elbow.

It might be a distraction, but it wouldn’t really help. “Thanks, but no.”

“They’ll be all right,” Willi said, after a moment. “Alma is very good — as are the others — and the Catalina is a quite remarkable airplane.”

“I know.” Jerry drew up his leg, rubbing the stump against the sheet as though that might help. The pain eased for a heartbeat, then bit again, and he deliberately ground the sorest spot against the linen. Sometimes it helped to fight fire with fire.

“The Italians won’t shoot at them. The plane is well marked, and America is not involved. The last thing the Italians want is an international incident. And besides, from what Ras Iskinder said, they’ll be landing well behind the front lines.”

“If the Italians shoot them down, all they have to do is deny it ever happened,” Jerry said.

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