## Chapter 1 — Morning in France The rain had stopped sometime during the night. It had left everything else behind. Mud. Water gathered in wheel ruts. Canvas darkened along its lower edges. Guy ropes heavy with droplets. Boot prints layered over older boot prints until the ground between the tents had become less a path than a record of everyone who had already lost an argument with France that morning. Ace woke when somebody outside swore at an engine. Not delicately. Not creatively, either. The mechanic involved appeared to have reached the stage of the relationship where only repetition remained. The engine coughed. Stopped. The mechanic swore again. Ace opened one eye. Gray light pressed through the tent canvas. Cold air found the side of her face above the blanket. The engine turned over once more. A few cylinders caught, fought among themselves, then surrendered. Ace closed her eye again. “Kill it.” From the cot beyond the canvas divider, Mai answered without visible sympathy. “That would make flying difficult.” “It started this.” “The engine?” “Yes.” A pause. Then Shammy, somewhere farther toward the back of the tent: “It does sound angry.” Ace opened both eyes. “Thank you.” “That was not agreement.” “I heard agreement.” “You hear many things that are not present.” Mai's voice carried the unmistakable sound of someone already sitting upright and therefore morally compromised. Ace stared at the roof. “This is why nobody trusts analysts before breakfast.” Mai pulled back the divider. She was already dressed. Of course she was. Trousers. Shirt. Boots. Hair secured out of the way. Flying coat still hanging open. Ace looked at her. Then at the dim morning. Then back at Mai. “You're offensive.” “I have done nothing.” “You're ready.” “That is generally considered useful.” “Not at this hour.” Shammy appeared behind her with a scarf looped loosely around her neck and one glove held between her teeth while she fastened the other. Her pale hair was mostly contained, though several strands had already escaped. Ace pointed. “Hair.” Shammy removed the glove from her mouth. “I know.” “You say that now.” Mai turned. “Ace, get dressed.” Ace looked down at herself. “I am dressed.” “You are wearing a shirt and one sock.” “That is technically clothing.” Mai simply looked at her. Ace sighed. “Fine.” The cot creaked as she sat up. Cold found the rest of her immediately. “Fuck France.” Shammy sat on the edge of the opposite cot to tighten one boot. “You said that yesterday.” Ace pulled on the second sock. “It remained true.” Mai reached for her gloves. “It may remain true tomorrow.” “Then I am establishing continuity.” “That is not what continuity means.” “It is now.” Outside, the engine finally caught. The sudden rotary roar shook the tent walls. A mug rattled against a wooden crate. Ace paused halfway into one boot. “See?” Mai glanced toward the canvas. “It is running.” “It is celebrating victory.” Shammy listened for a moment. “No.” Ace looked at her. “No?” “It sounds pleased with itself.” Ace pointed toward the tent flap. “Exactly.” Mai closed her coat. “Neither of you is allowed to diagnose machinery emotionally before breakfast.” Ace stood. “That seems authoritarian.” “Yes.” “Good. At least we're clear.” They stepped outside together. Morning over the flying field had the washed-out color of something that had not yet decided whether it wanted to become day. Low cloud stretched from horizon to horizon. The air was wet and sharp. Beyond the tents, aircraft sat in uneven lines on the field. Camels. Some with covers still partly attached. Some already surrounded by mechanics. Some with engines being turned through by hand. Their upper wings caught the weak light first. Wood. Wire. Fabric. Roundels. Twin guns mounted ahead of the cockpit. Machines built with enough elegance to be beautiful and enough visible fragility to make beauty feel like a questionable design priority. Ace walked past them without staring. She knew them. Everyone did. The field had its own morning order. Mechanics first. Pilots shortly after. Clerks appearing from places no one remembered seeing them enter. Fuel tins moving in one direction. Empty tins returning in another. A corporal carrying ammunition belts across both shoulders like a man regretting every professional decision that had brought him to this exact patch of mud. Somebody shouted for a spanner. Somebody else shouted that the spanner had already been stolen. A third voice accused the first two of being idiots. The argument continued behind them. Shammy stopped for half a second and looked up. Mai noticed. “Wind?” “Changed.” “How much?” “Not much.” Ace glanced upward. The clouds were moving slowly. “Rain?” “Later.” Mai followed Shammyn gaze. “Before noon?” Shammy considered. “No.” Ace nodded. “Good.” Mai looked at her. “You dislike rain only when flying.” “I dislike rain categorically. Flying just gives it access to my face at greater speed.” “That is not how weather works.” “Tell weather.” Shammy smiled. The mess tent was already crowded. Warmth hit them first. Then food. Then noise. Someone had managed bacon. This immediately improved Ace's opinion of the British war effort. She took a plate. Mai watched the quantity of food accumulating on it. “You intend to fly after eating that?” Ace added another piece of bacon. “Yes.” “You complained about your stomach yesterday.” “The turn was unnecessary.” “You made the turn.” “The German made me make it.” “That is an impressive redistribution of responsibility.” Ace pointed her fork at her. “War is complicated.” Shammy sat across from them with tea. Ace looked at the cup. “That looks better than mine.” “You chose coffee.” “I chose something labeled coffee.” Mai took one careful drink from her own mug. Ace watched. “Well?” Mai waited another second. “It resembles coffee.” “Coward.” “It contains caffeine.” “That isn't the same thing.” Around them, breakfast moved through half a dozen conversations at once. Weather. Patrols. Engines. A lieutenant who had apparently landed yesterday with thirty-seven holes in his machine and then complained primarily about the quality of dinner. Someone from C Flight was telling a story about a German Albatros that became less plausible each time he reached the end. Ace listened just long enough to hear the number of enemy aircraft increase from three to five. She leaned toward Mai. “By lunch he'll have fought the Kaiser personally.” Mai continued eating. “By dinner he will have won.” “Good for him.” Shammy looked toward the storyteller. “He believes most of it.” Ace turned. “How can you tell?” “He pauses differently before the parts he knows are lies.” Mai looked up. “That is disturbingly useful.” Shammy took another drink. “Yes.” Ace grinned. A pilot farther down the table suddenly laughed hard enough to spill tea. For a while, nothing mattered beyond food, warmth, and the field waking around them. It was an ordinary morning. Cold. Wet. Busy. Annoying. Ace liked ordinary mornings more than she admitted. They usually meant everyone had survived the night. --- Their aircraft stood near the western side of the field. Three Camels in the same row. Ace reached hers first. She knew the machine by shape before she reached the cockpit. A darker patch of fabric beneath the upper wing. A repaired section near the port side where a bullet had gone through two weeks earlier. A faint oil stain that never quite washed out. Mud dried around the wheel hubs from yesterday. Her Camel. A mechanic was kneeling beside the fuselage with one panel open. Ace stopped beside him. “What did you break?” He did not turn. “Morning to you too.” “What did you break?” “Nothing.” “That answer usually precedes disaster.” He reached deeper into the compartment. “You complained about the engine.” “I was correct.” “You said it sounded wrong.” “It did.” “You say everything sounds wrong.” “Most things are.” The mechanic withdrew one oily hand. “You flew it for two hours.” “And survived despite adversity.” “You shot down two Germans.” “That does not prove the engine was happy.” He stared at her. Ace stared back. He returned to his work. “Impossible woman.” “Excellent mechanic.” “That almost sounded like praise.” “Don't get sentimental.” She stepped closer to the cockpit. Painted on the left side of the fuselage beside it was a small white dog in a flying helmet and scarf. Snoopy sat proudly on top of his doghouse, the red roof transformed into his own imaginary Sopwith Camel. A few painted lines represented machine-gun fire ahead of him. The scarf streamed dramatically behind. Ace glanced at the image automatically. There was mud near the lower corner. She wiped it away with two fingers. The mechanic noticed. “You clean the dog more often than the aircraft.” “The dog has standards.” “The aircraft keeps you alive.” “So does morale.” “That dog has never done anything.” Ace looked at Ressu. “He's watching you.” The mechanic sighed. “God help me.” “He's busy.” Mai approached her own Camel two machines down. “Talking to the painting again?” Ace turned. “I was discussing maintenance standards.” “With Snoopy.” “He has relevant experience.” Mai looked at the little painted dog. Then at Ace. “Obviously.” Shammy had already begun walking around her aircraft. She ran one gloved hand lightly beneath the lower wing. Checked a wire. Looked over the tail. Bent to inspect the wheel. No hurry. No ceremony. Just habit. Ace followed her example. Control surfaces. Rigging. Fabric. Struts. Wheel. Fuel. Ammunition access. Connections. Every check arrived in the correct order without being consciously assembled. Mai did the same beside her own machine. Ground crew worked around them without needing instruction. Ace climbed onto the lower wing and leaned into the cockpit. Twin Vickers guns waited forward. She checked them. One. Two. Belts seated. Controls clear. Instruments where they belonged. Her hand rested briefly on the stick. Familiar. Everything familiar. She climbed back down. The mechanic closed the panel. “Try it.” Ace looked at him. “You say that like you've finished.” “I have.” “That remains unproven.” He pointed toward the propeller. “Would you like to inspect my work personally?” “Yes.” “No.” “Then why ask?” He shook his head. “Because someday you'll become reasonable.” Mai called across the row. “No.” The mechanic laughed. Ace looked offended. “You're supposed to be on my side.” “I am on the side of observable evidence.” “Hostile institution.” Shammy looked toward the eastern sky. Ace noticed this time before Mai did. “What?” Shammy remained still. “Nothing yet.” Mai turned. “Yet?” Shammy's eyes stayed on the horizon. “The field changed.” Ace looked around. At first she saw nothing. Then she heard it. Not one sound. Several. A runner moving quickly between the tents. Someone calling for a flight commander. A mechanic abandoning one aircraft and crossing toward another. Two men outside operations standing much closer together than they had been a minute earlier. The rhythm. That was what Shammy had noticed. The morning had changed tempo. Mai saw it now too. “Something came in.” Ace looked toward the command tents. A runner emerged. He was moving directly toward their row. “There we go.” He reached them breathing harder than he wanted anyone to notice. “Briefing.” Mai was already removing one glove. “When?” “Now.” Ace glanced toward her Camel. “Patrol?” The runner shook his head. “Large formation sighted east.” “How large?” “Captain has the report.” Shammy looked toward the horizon again. The cloud remained low and pale. Nothing visible beneath it. Yet. Mai nodded once. “We're coming.” The runner moved on toward the next group. The field accelerated another degree. One engine started. Then another. A mechanic shouted for ammunition. Somewhere behind the hangars, someone rang a bell twice. Ace looked back at her Camel. Ressu stared cheerfully ahead from the fuselage. She tapped two fingers against the painted doghouse. “Don't go anywhere.” Mai passed her. “It is painted on.” “Exactly.” Shammy joined them. “You know it cannot leave.” Ace started toward operations. “You're both determined to destroy morale today.” Mai walked beside her. “We are going to a briefing.” “That does not disprove my accusation.” Behind them, mechanics were already moving around the three Camels again. Fuel. Belts. Propellers. Chocks. The ordinary rituals that came before men and machines left the ground. Ahead stood the command tent. Ace pulled her gloves tighter as they crossed the mud. Whatever had been sighted to the east had been important enough to turn breakfast into readiness in less than five minutes. That happened. It was war. Sometimes mornings changed quickly. She did not think about the painted dog behind her. She did not think about how naturally her hands had moved through the checks. She did not think about why any of this should require thought at all. There was nothing unusual about the morning. Not yet. --- ## Chapter 2 — Two Jastas The command tent had acquired three additional maps since breakfast. Ace knew this because one of them covered the place where someone normally left the tea. She noticed that before anything else. “War crime,” she muttered. Mai glanced at her. “What?” “The tea.” “What about it?” “Gone.” “We are being briefed on an incoming German formation.” “And morale infrastructure has already collapsed.” Shammy looked toward the map table. “There is still a kettle.” Ace followed her gaze. A dented metal kettle sat near the back wall beside a stack of enamel mugs. She nodded. “Civilization survives.” Mai closed her eyes for half a second. They joined the gathering pilots around the long table. The atmosphere inside was different from the mess tent. Conversation remained, but it came in low pieces. Questions. Guesses. Numbers repeated between men who had heard only half of them. “Twenty at least.” “Recon said more.” “From where?” “East.” “Obviously east.” “Could be passing south.” “They called every flight in. They're not passing south.” Wet flying coats brushed shoulders. Boots brought mud inside. A lieutenant leaned over the map with both palms planted on the wood, tracing something with one finger while another pilot argued about cloud height. Ace squeezed into a space beside Mai. Shammy settled on her other side. The map showed fields, roads, villages, rivers, lines, and enough pencil markings to make France look personally offended. Ace found their field automatically. Then the eastern approach. Several red pencil marks had been added recently. Mai was already reading them. “Recon track?” The lieutenant looked up. “Likely.” “Time?” “Report came in twenty-six minutes ago.” Mai's attention moved across the map. “Assuming their heading holds—” The tent flap opened. Conversation stopped. Not gradually. It simply ended. Ace looked toward the entrance. The captain stepped inside. For one second, something about him caught incorrectly in her mind. Not wrong. Incorrectly. As though her eyes had delivered two perfectly ordinary details and somewhere deeper a part of her had objected to the combination. He was bald. That was not unusual. His coat was dark, practical, correctly worn. Mud marked his boots. Nothing decorative. Nothing theatrical. Nearly black sunglasses covered his eyes. Inside the command tent. Ace stared at them. The morning outside was gray enough that half the field had probably forgotten the sun existed. Yet the glasses looked completely natural on him. They always had. Hadn't they? Her gaze shifted slightly. There. At the right edge of his forehead. A spider. Dark. Distinct. Its legs spread cleanly against his skin. Ace stopped breathing for half a beat. A sensation moved behind her sternum. Recognition without an object. She knew that tattoo. Obviously she knew it. She had seen it— Where? The answer should have been immediate. It was the captain's tattoo. That was where she had seen it. Every day. Why had she even— Beside her, Mai had gone still. Not dramatically. Mai rarely did anything dramatically when silence would accomplish more. But Ace knew her posture. Something had caught. On Ace's other side, Shammy was staring at the captain's forehead. Then at his glasses. Then back at the tattoo. Her brow furrowed. The captain removed his gloves one finger at a time. Calmly. Too calmly, Ace thought. Then immediately wondered why that mattered. The man had always been calm. It was one of the most irritating things about him. Always? The captain reached the table. His gaze moved across the assembled pilots behind the dark lenses. It paused on Ace. Only briefly. Then Mai. Then Shammy. Ace felt the unfinished thought again. Something trying to connect. Sunglasses. Spider. A burgundy— No. There was no burgundy anything. The captain wore an officer's coat. Obviously. Ace blinked. The thought disappeared as quickly as it had arrived. “Morning,” the captain said. No one answered. He looked toward the lieutenant beside the table. “Latest?” “Nothing newer than the reconnaissance report, sir.” “Good.” Ace almost laughed. Good? Twenty or thirty Germans were somewhere east of them and apparently getting closer. The captain seemed to register the collective reaction. “Good means the information has not become worse in the last four minutes.” One pilot near the end of the table muttered, “Comforting.” “Wasn't intended to be.” Ace's mouth twitched. That sounded— Familiar. Again. Not his voice. Something about the placement. She glanced sideways at Mai. Mai was already looking at her. Their eyes met. Ace gave the tiniest questioning tilt of her head. Mai's answer was equally small. I know. Know what? Neither of them had the answer. Shammy leaned a fraction closer. Ace could feel the question sitting among all three of them now. The captain unfolded a reconnaissance sheet and placed it on the map. “Twenty-six minutes ago, one of our two-seaters crossed a German formation here.” His finger touched a point east-northeast of the field. “Heading west.” He moved along the estimated track. “They remained in visual contact for approximately three minutes before deciding continued curiosity would probably shorten their lives.” A few men smiled. The captain didn't. “Initial estimate placed the formation above twenty aircraft.” Someone near the back asked, “One Jasta?” The captain looked up. “No.” That single word changed the tent. Ace felt it. Men straightened. Someone shifted behind her. Mai's attention sharpened. The captain touched the report again. “Two.” Silence. Ace looked at the red marks on the map. Two Jastas. That was not a patrol. That was not a chance encounter. That was enough aircraft to turn a piece of sky into a private argument. A pilot opposite Ace spoke first. “How many?” “Reconnaissance estimate was between twenty-four and thirty-two.” Someone swore quietly. Another voice: “Types?” “Mixed.” The captain pointed toward the lieutenant. “Give them what we know.” The lieutenant looked down at the sheet. “Albatros types confirmed. Several Fokkers. At least three triplanes identified.” Ace leaned forward slightly. “Three?” “Minimum.” “Any Pfalz?” “Possibly. Observer couldn't confirm.” Mai asked, “Altitude distribution?” “Lead group approximately eleven thousand. Main formation between nine and ten. Several aircraft above.” “High cover?” “Probably.” Mai looked down at the map. Her finger hovered over the projected track without touching it. Ace recognized that look. The world had become geometry. Distance. Time. Altitude. Wind. Mai's mind was already placing aircraft where none of them could yet see them. Shammy asked, “Wind at their altitude?” The lieutenant glanced toward her. “Southwest, moderate.” Shammy nodded. Ace watched her. Shammy was already thinking about the air differently. Not numbers. Movement. Pressure. The invisible structure around the machines. Ace's own thoughts were simpler. Twenty-four to thirty-two. Fine. Too many to count casually. Enough that running out of Germans was unlikely to become the immediate problem. The captain let the questions settle. Then said: “There is one additional identification.” The room changed again. Not because anyone knew what he was about to say. Because his tone had become even flatter. Ace hated when officers did that. The worse the information, the less interesting they tried to make it sound. The captain picked up a grease pencil. Drew a small mark beside the projected formation. Then: “Bright-red Fokker Dr.I.” Nobody moved. Ace heard the canvas shift in the wind outside. One of the engines on the field changed pitch. The sound came through the tent wall in a distant mechanical growl. A pilot near the back broke the silence. “Richthofen?” “Yes.” No drama. No pause for effect. Just: “Yes.” The name entered the tent anyway. Manfred von Richthofen. The Red Baron. Ace had never liked reputations. Reputations tended to make people stupid in two directions. Some became afraid of the person carrying one. Others became desperate to prove they weren't. Both got killed. Still, she looked down at the map differently now. A bright-red triplane. Somewhere east. Coming west. The captain continued. “Observer was confident.” “How confident?” someone asked. “He has seen Richthofen's aircraft twice before.” “Close?” “Close enough that he did not enjoy the third opportunity.” A low ripple of laughter. Short. Dry. Gone almost immediately. Ace glanced again at the captain. Black glasses. Spider tattoo. The thought scratched again. Why did she know— She knew him. Of course. Captain. Commanding officer. Briefings. Arguments. That time— What time? There should have been a memory attached. Instead there was only the certainty. Ace's fingers tightened once against the edge of the table. Mai noticed. “Problem?” she murmured. Ace kept her voice low. “His glasses.” Mai's eyes shifted toward the captain. “I noticed.” Shammy spoke without turning her head. “And the spider.” Ace looked at her. “Yes.” Mai's expression barely changed. “Familiar.” “Very.” “From where?” Ace opened her mouth. Nothing came. She frowned. “I don't know.” Shammy remained focused on the captain. “I almost do.” That was exactly it. Almost. The answer seemed one breath away. One movement. One— The captain struck the table once with the grease pencil. Not loudly. Enough. Attention returned immediately. “Whatever private philosophy is occurring on that side of the table can wait until after the Germans.” Ace stared at him. The captain's head tilted slightly. Half a degree. Maybe less. Ace's irritation sharpened. He couldn't possibly have heard them. Could he? Mai straightened. Shammy blinked once. The captain went on as though nothing had happened. “Recon estimates put them within interception range now.” He drew a line west from the last confirmed position. “You will not wait for them to arrive over the field.” Obvious. Nobody argued. “We intercept here.” Another mark. Several miles east. Away from the aerodrome. Away from tents. Fuel. Mechanics. Everyone currently standing outside pretending not to listen to the briefing. The captain began assigning flights. Numbers. Altitudes. Approach lanes. Ace followed automatically. The field's available aircraft would launch in staggered groups. Some lower. Some higher. Enough spread to avoid turning the departure into a collision with uniforms. One flight would stay back initially as reserve. Another would climb south. Ace, Mai, and Shammy would go up together. Ace expected that. They had flown together long enough that separating them usually created more problems than it solved. The captain looked toward them. “You three take the first climb.” Ace nodded. “Altitude?” “Twelve thousand initially.” Mai said, “Above their reported high group.” “Yes.” “Then dive through?” “If the geometry permits.” Mai gave the smallest nod. Not agreement exactly. Storage. Ace knew she would rebuild the whole fight in her head between now and the cockpit. The captain's attention moved to Shammy. “Cloud base?” “Seven thousand approximately. Maybe lower east.” “Useful?” “Possibly.” “Don't disappear into it unless you have to.” Shammy nodded. Then he looked at Ace. She waited. “Try not to begin the war by yourself before the rest of the formation arrives.” Ace stared at him. Several pilots laughed. She pointed toward the map. “I wasn't planning to begin it. It appears well established.” The captain's mouth moved. Barely. Not a smile. Something more irritating than a smile. “I stand corrected.” Ace narrowed her eyes. That. That was— No. Again the thought failed. She knew this exchange. Not this exact exchange. The shape of it. The sensation of being deliberately irritated by a man who knew exactly how far he could push before— Before what? Nothing. The answer vanished. The captain turned back to the map. “Primary priority is not individual scores.” A few expressions around the table became suspiciously innocent. “Break the formation. Keep them away from the field. Protect damaged aircraft returning west.” His finger moved to the red mark. “And if the red triplane presents itself…” He stopped. Looked around the tent. Then settled on Ace. “Bring it down.” Ace held his gaze through lenses so dark she couldn't see his eyes at all. Something inside her answered before thought. “Gladly.” Mai glanced at her. Not disagreement. Measurement. The captain looked toward Mai. “Richthofen is not worth losing formation discipline for.” “Understood.” Then Shammy. “If the fight breaks apart, don't chase east.” “I won't.” “Good.” Shammy's gaze remained on the spider tattoo. The captain noticed. This time there was no possibility that he hadn't. He turned his head slightly, presenting the tattoo almost more clearly. Shammy's eyes narrowed. The air inside the tent seemed to hold for half a second. Ace watched her. Shammy opened her mouth. Then stopped. The captain waited. Nothing. Whatever Shammy had almost asked simply failed to become words. The captain nodded once. As though that answered something. Ace didn't like that at all. She opened her own mouth. “Sir.” Mai looked at her. The captain turned. Ace had no idea what she intended to ask. Why are you wearing sunglasses? Stupid. Why do I know your tattoo? Worse. Have we met somewhere else? They had met here. Obviously. Every morning. Every briefing. Every— Ace felt irritation rise. Not fear. Just the profound annoyance of knowing a fact existed somewhere inside her own head and refusing to come when called. The captain waited patiently. Too patiently. Ace settled for: “How certain are we that it's really him?” The captain answered immediately. “Certain enough that I'd prefer you assume it is.” Not an answer. Also exactly the correct answer. Ace exhaled through her nose. “Fine.” “You sound disappointed.” “I was hoping to complain more efficiently.” “There will be time after you land.” “Promise?” The captain looked at her for one beat. “Probability favors it.” Ace froze. Mai's head turned sharply. Shammy went completely still. Probability. Something struck deep. Not memory. Closer. A word attached to something huge behind a locked door. Ace saw, for less than the length of a blink: Dark glasses. A long burgundy coat. A road where no road should— Gone. Her breath caught. The tent remained. France. Maps. Pilots. Mud. The captain. Officer's coat. No burgundy leather. Nothing strange. Mai whispered: “Ace?” Ace looked at her. “What?” Mai studied her face. “You…” She stopped. Her own expression changed. A fracture of confusion. Then it smoothed away. “We need to go.” Ace stared at her for another second. Right. They did. The Germans were coming. The captain checked his watch. “Eleven minutes.” The room exploded into motion. Pilots pushed away from the table. Questions became irrelevant. Coats closed. Gloves pulled tight. Goggles checked. Someone knocked a chair backward and didn't bother picking it up. Ace moved with Mai and Shammy toward the entrance. At the flap, the captain spoke again. “Ace.” She stopped. Turned. He stood beside the map table. Still impossibly calm. Still wearing nearly black sunglasses in a tent under a gray French morning. Still carrying that spider on his forehead like it meant nothing at all. Ace waited. He said: “Your left gun was binding yesterday.” She blinked. “Mechanic cleared it.” “I know.” “Then why tell me?” “Because you'll check it again.” Ace stared at him. “Yes.” “Good.” That irritating almost-smile again. Ace pointed two fingers at him. “I don't know why, but you're especially annoying today.” The room had nearly emptied. Mai stopped beside the entrance. Shammy turned back. The captain slipped his gloves on. “You say that most days.” Ace frowned. Did she? Of course she did. Probably. “Yes,” she decided. Then walked outside. Behind her, she thought she heard the captain make a quiet sound. Not laughter. Closer to satisfaction. By the time she looked back, the canvas flap had fallen closed. --- The airfield was alive. Not busy. Alive. Engines were starting in sequence across the field, rotary motors hammering the morning apart. Propellers became transparent circles. Mechanics ran between aircraft. Ground crew hauled chocks clear and then replaced them while pilots finished strapping in. The smell of castor oil and fuel had become thick enough to taste. Ace's Camel waited where she had left it. Snoopy still sat on his doghouse beside the cockpit, scarf streaming permanently backward into painted air. Ace approached. Her mechanic was already there. “Left gun.” He looked offended before she finished. “I fixed it.” “Check it.” “I did.” “Again.” He stared. Ace crossed her arms. “Captain said.” The mechanic's expression changed. “That bastard.” Ace paused. Something about the phrase struck strangely. Then the mechanic was already climbing onto the lower wing. “Fine.” He checked the feed. Worked the mechanism. Inspected the belt. Ace watched every movement. Mai was beside her own Camel, speaking to two ground crewmen. Shammy had one hand on her upper wing strut and was looking east again. Ace joined her briefly. “Anything?” Shammy listened. Not literally. At least Ace didn't think literally. “The wind is different higher up.” “Useful different?” “Maybe.” “That is becoming your favorite answer.” “It is an accurate answer.” Ace nodded. “Annoying.” “Yes.” Behind them, Mai said: “Everything appears annoying to you this morning.” Ace turned. “The captain is wearing sunglasses indoors.” Mai stopped. For a moment she simply looked at Ace. Then toward the command tent. “Yes.” “And the tattoo.” “Yes.” Shammy joined them. “The spider.” Ace lowered her voice. “Why does that bother me?” Mai frowned. “I don't know.” “Bothers you too.” “Yes.” Shammy said quietly: “I know him.” Ace looked at her. Mai did the same. Shammy immediately frowned harder. “No.” A pause. “I mean…” She looked toward the command tent. “Of course I know him.” Ace waited. Shammy's expression became almost frustrated. “I don't know what I meant.” Mai stared toward operations. The three of them stood together while engines thundered around them. Something passed between them. A shared recognition that there was a question. Nothing more. Then a mechanic shouted: “Three minutes!” The question ceased to matter. Ace looked at Mai. Mai's focus locked back into place. “Talk later.” “After we land.” Shammy nodded. “After.” Ace climbed onto the lower wing. The mechanic leaned out of her cockpit. “Gun's fine.” “Both?” He made a deeply wounded noise. “Both.” “Good.” She lowered herself into the seat. Everything closed around her. Wood. Canvas. Metal. Leather. Oil. The narrow forward view between guns and engine cowling. She strapped in. Goggles down. Scarf secured. Gloves. Controls. Fuel. Mixture. Switches. Magnetos. She checked the guns. Left. Right. Both moving freely. The mechanic climbed down. Ace looked left. Mai was already seated in her Camel. Their eyes met. Mai raised one hand. Five fingers. Then folded two down. Three. Ace nodded. Shammy's Camel sat beyond Mai's. She lifted her hand too. Three aircraft. Three pilots. One climb. Twenty-four to thirty-two Germans somewhere beyond the eastern horizon. And a red triplane. Ace looked ahead. The mechanic stepped toward the propeller. “Contact!” Ace moved her hand without thought. “Contact!” The propeller swung. The engine coughed. Again. Then the rotary caught. The whole machine came alive around her. Hard vibration through the frame. Sound filling everything. Oil scent becoming immediate. The propeller blurred. Ace adjusted mixture instinctively. Listened. Good. The mechanic pulled the chocks free but stayed clear of the wing. Ace looked toward Mai. Her engine came alive in a burst of smoke. Then Shammy's. Three Camels shook against the field. Signals moved near the departure line. Aircraft ahead began taxiing. Ace rested one hand on the stick. Her heart had accelerated. Not fear. Readiness. Excitement, maybe. She would never admit that out loud. She looked briefly down at the painted dog beside the cockpit. “Ready, Snoopy?” Ressu offered no objections. Ace smiled. Then the signal came. She opened the throttle. The Camel started rolling. Mud gave way beneath the wheels. Mai moved beside and slightly behind her. Shammy followed. The field stretched ahead. Ace corrected the aircraft automatically as the wind touched it. Tiny pressure. Tiny movement. Nothing conscious. They lined up. One after another. Ace's engine roared. The aircraft strained. The world became propeller, field, vibration, wind. She pushed forward. The Camel accelerated. Mud blurred. Tail lifting. More speed. The machine became lighter. Then the wheels stopped touching France. Ace climbed. Mai rose behind her. Shammy followed. The field fell away. Tents became shapes. Men became dots. Roads began appearing between fields. Cloud stretched ahead. Ace adjusted the climb. Her hands moved perfectly. Her feet moved perfectly. The Camel answered as though they had spent years learning one another. Nothing unusual about that. Nothing at all. They turned east. And climbed toward the Flying Circus. --- ## Chapter 3 — Why Do I Know This? France flattened beneath them. Fields became shapes before they became small. Brown rectangles. Green strips. Roads cutting pale lines between villages. Water gathered in flooded hollows and reflected the gray morning like broken pieces of sky left on the ground. Ace climbed. The Camel wanted things from her constantly. Nothing dramatic. Pressure. Correction. Attention. The rotary engine pulled the aircraft subtly in ways that would have punished anyone who forgot what sat spinning in front of them. Wind pressed differently against one wing than the other as they rose. The controls never stopped talking through her gloves. Ace answered without thought. Left rudder. A little forward pressure. Correct the bank. Watch the speed. Ease the climb. She did not think in words. She flew. Mai held position behind and to her left. Shammy stayed farther right and slightly lower. The three aircraft climbed through nine thousand feet. Then ten. The air became colder. Ace's scarf snapped relentlessly behind her. Wind forced itself around the edges of her goggles and found exactly the patch of skin it had not been invited to touch. She hated altitude. She liked flying. These facts had been at war for months. The flying usually won. Ace glanced left. Mai's Camel floated against the gray distance with a steadiness Ace would have described as irritatingly Mai even if nobody had asked. Tiny corrections. Clean line. No wasted movement. Shammy's aircraft was different. Not less precise. Less visible in its precision. She seemed to move with the air rather than correcting against it. A gust shifted the formation. Ace caught it. Mai adjusted. Shammy had already moved. Ace smiled behind her scarf. Of course. Ahead, low cloud formed an uneven ceiling. Not enough to hide the whole sky. Enough to make it complicated. Good. Complicated was useful when everyone involved had machine guns. Ace checked her altitude. Eleven thousand and climbing. She looked down. Their field had disappeared into the broader landscape. Other British aircraft were rising behind them in groups. Far enough away to look harmless. They weren't. Ace banked gently east. Mai followed. Shammy slid into position. The formation settled. And for perhaps thirty seconds there was nothing except engine noise, wind, and the huge open emptiness between earth and cloud. Ace liked that too. No officers. No mechanics telling her she imagined engine problems. No chairs with questionable intent. Just machine and sky. Her left wing dropped slightly. Ace corrected automatically. Rudder. Stick. A touch of throttle management. The Camel came back exactly where she wanted it. Ace frowned. Not at the aircraft. At her own hand. It rested on the stick. Her fingers were positioned comfortably around it. Correctly. She knew that. Ace looked forward again. Something brushed the inside of her thoughts. Small. Gone. She continued climbing. Eleven thousand five hundred. Mai moved slightly closer. Ace glanced at her. Mai pointed upward. Twelve. Ace nodded. They continued. The engine note changed fractionally. Ace adjusted mixture. The response improved. And the thought came back. This time it had words. **How did I know that?** Ace blinked. Wind hammered her scarf. Engine. Sky. France. Her hand moved again before the question could finish. A tiny change to compensate for the engine behavior at altitude. Natural. Practiced. Correct. Ace stared at her own fingers. How— The thought stopped. For the first time that morning, something inside the world failed to fit. Not visually. Nothing changed. The Camel continued flying. Mai remained beside her. Shammy remained on the right. Cloud. Fields. Other aircraft below. Everything looked exactly right. Ace knew how to fly a Sopwith Camel. Obviously. She had flown one yesterday. She had shot down two Germans. The mechanic had complained about her complaining about the engine. There were months of mornings just like this— Ace reached for one of those mornings. Nothing. Her stomach dropped harder than the aircraft ever could. She tried again. Yesterday. She remembered landing. Didn't she? Mud. A mechanic. Mai complaining about the turn. Shammy laughing. But what had happened before that? Ace's breath caught. The Camel drifted. Her body corrected it instantly. Her mind didn't. There was another life. The realization did not arrive gently. It detonated. Night City. Neon. Concrete. Safehouse. Katanas. Violet eyes reflected in a bathroom mirror. Coffee that actually deserved the name. Rogue. Reyes. Kiro. Brenda. Watson. Mai sleeping beside her. Shammy occupying half the bed through an unfair combination of height and weather. The Shadow Aura curled in familiar corners. Everything. Ace's head snapped left. Mai. Not Lieutenant Mai. Not some pilot she had flown beside for months in France. **Mai.** Her Mai. Ace's breath left her in one sharp burst. “What the fuck?” The engine swallowed the words. No radio. Of course there was no radio. Ace looked down into the cockpit as though the correct century might be hidden somewhere beneath her knees. Wood. Metal. Leather. Controls. A tiny cluster of instruments. Twin Vickers guns in front of her. Sopwith fucking Camel. Ace looked at her hands again. They were still flying it. Perfectly. “No.” The word vanished into wind. Her brain supplied an immediate practical fact: Don't release the controls. Ace almost laughed. That was not helpful. She looked left again. Mai's Camel had changed attitude. Only slightly. A tiny wobble. Then correction. Too sharp. Mai never corrected twice when once would do. Ace knew that. Really knew it. Mai turned her head. Even behind goggles, Ace saw the exact moment. Mai's entire body went rigid. The Camel continued straight. Her face did not. Ace pointed at her. Then pointed down at her own aircraft. Then spread one hand in the universal gesture for: **WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?** Mai stared at her. For one second. Two. Then Mai looked down into her own cockpit. Back at Ace. Her mouth formed two words clearly enough that Ace could read them despite the distance. **No idea.** Ace barked a laugh so abruptly it almost became hysteria. Excellent. Fantastic. Her wife also had no idea why either of them knew how to fly First World War fighters. Good start. Shammy's aircraft moved closer from the right. Too close for normal formation spacing. Ace turned. Shammy looked between them. Ace repeated the gesture. Aircraft. Sky. Question. Shammy stared. Then slowly raised both hands. For perhaps half a second. Both. Off. The. Controls. Ace's soul attempted to leave through her mouth. Shammy immediately took the stick again. The Camel had barely moved. Ace pointed violently at her. **DON'T DO THAT.** Shammy looked almost apologetic. Then pointed at her own head. At Ace. At Mai. And mouthed: **Safehouse?** Ace nodded so hard her goggles shifted. Mai nodded too. There. All three. Memory restored. Whatever had happened to them had not split them apart. That was something. Ace's thoughts began moving faster. Safehouse. They had been— Sleeping? Had they? What had happened before this? She remembered— Konrad. The thought arrived without context first. Just the name. Konrad. Ace's entire face tightened. Why Konrad? Then another image. Black sunglasses. Gray morning. A spider tattoo against the right edge of a bald man's forehead. The briefing tent. Ace went utterly still. The Camel did not. Her body continued flying. Her mind turned slowly toward rage. “Oh, you bastard.” Again the wind stole it. Ace pointed behind them. Toward the field now far beyond sight. Then touched the side of her forehead. Then mimed glasses. Mai stared. Her expression transformed. Recognition. Immediate. Violent. She pointed at Ace. Then at her own head. Yes. Shammy was already nodding. Ace could almost hear all three minds reaching the same conclusion. Black sunglasses. Spider. Captain. Konrad. Konrad had been standing in a fucking command tent in 1918 France telling them to shoot down the Red Baron. And none of them had recognized him. Ace made a very deliberate gesture with one hand. Middle finger. Pointed west. Konrad's general direction. Mai's shoulders shook. She was laughing. Ace could tell. Shammy covered her mouth briefly. Then her aircraft shifted. She corrected. Ace immediately pointed at the controls again. Shammy nodded solemnly. Right. Laugh later. Fly antique death machine now. Ace looked forward. Her humor lasted three seconds longer. Then reality finished arriving. They were flying east. Toward two Jastas. Twenty-four to thirty-two German fighters. Manfred von Richthofen. The Red Baron. In a bright-red Fokker triplane. Ace stared at the twin Vickers guns ahead of her. Then down at her hands. She knew how to use them. She knew exactly how to charge them. Clear stoppages. Read ammunition behavior. Lead a target. Compensate for relative movement. She knew what the Camel could do. She knew what it hated. She knew exactly how violently its rotary engine could punish a careless turn in one direction and reward an aggressive one in the other. She knew— Ace stopped. She knew all of it. And had absolutely no idea **why**. Another strange layer of the problem surfaced. She could remember knowing these things. But she could not remember learning them. There was no instructor. No first flight. No disastrous landing. No training field. No weeks of practice. No gradual progression from terrified idiot to combat pilot. The knowledge had no beginning. It simply existed. Ace looked toward Mai. Mai was staring straight ahead now. Too straight. Ace knew that expression. Mai had begun pulling at the problem. Trying to find edges. Ace shook her head vigorously. Mai saw it. Ace pointed east. Then made a cutting gesture. **Later.** Mai hesitated. Then nodded. Correct. Whatever Konrad had done, they could interrogate him after they survived. Assuming he had the courage to appear. Ace hoped he did. She had several questions. Most involved katanas. Shammy pointed upward. Ace followed. The cloud layer ahead had broken enough to expose blue-gray sky above. Shammy pointed again. Not cloud. Something else. Ace squinted. Nothing. Then— A speck. Another. More. High. Far. Moving. Ace's humor disappeared. She counted automatically. One. Three. Five. More forming behind them. No. Not forming. Resolving. There were already too many to count at that distance. Mai saw them. Her Camel moved slightly closer to Ace's left. Shammy tightened from the right. The three formed naturally. No discussion. Their bodies knew the spacing. Their minds had no idea why. Ace felt another brief spark of absurdity. This would have been hilarious in almost any other situation. **Why do I know how to fly this thing?** Because apparently she needed to. Right now. The German formation grew. Sunlight caught wings. Different silhouettes began separating from one another. Biplanes. Several triplanes. Aircraft above. Aircraft below. Two groups overlapping in depth. Two Jastas. Exactly as Konrad had said. Ace's eyes searched through them. Not consciously at first. Then with purpose. Red. Where are you? The distance closed. The formations had seen one another now. No possibility otherwise. German aircraft began changing position. High cover shifting. Lower machines spreading. The neat shapes were becoming combat geometry. Mai pointed upward and left. Three aircraft above the main formation. Ace nodded. Shammy pointed lower right. Another group. Ace stored it. Her hands moved. Check guns. Fuel. Altitude. Mixture. She did all of it automatically. Again the knowledge felt obscene. She knew this machine better than she knew how she knew it. Below them, additional British aircraft were climbing into the fight from farther west. Not enough yet. Ace looked at the Germans. Twenty-four? Thirty? Maybe more. Hard to tell with aircraft crossing. Then she saw it. At first only color. A slash of red moving between gray and earth tones. Ace leaned forward. There. Bright red. Impossible to mistake. Fokker Dr.I. The aircraft moved slightly beneath the German high group. Not hiding. Not advertising itself either. Simply there. Ace felt something cold move through her chest. Not fear exactly. Recognition. History had given the machine a weight. Konrad had apparently decided history needed to shoot back. Ace pointed. Mai followed the line. Her head turned. Shammy saw it a second later. All three watched the red triplane for perhaps two heartbeats. Then Ace looked toward Mai. Mai looked back. Ace pointed west again. Middle finger. Mai laughed despite herself. Shammy shook her head. The Red Baron was coming toward them. Ace was flying a Sopwith Camel she had never learned to fly. Konrad was somewhere behind them wearing sunglasses in 1918. And painted on the left side of Ace's aircraft was— Ace looked down. White dog. Flying helmet. Scarf. Doghouse. Ressu. Her mind touched the image. Something about it— No. The battle was too close. The thought slipped away. Ace looked forward. The German formation began descending toward them. Mai raised one hand. Three fingers. Two. One. They broke formation. The sky exploded into movement. A German fighter crossed high above Ace from right to left. Another dropped through behind Mai. Shammy banked away as two approached from above. Ace pulled into the turn. The Camel responded immediately. Hard. Fast. Her body knew what came next. Her brain was still shouting about 1918. There was no time to reconcile them. A dark Albatros flashed across her nose. Ace saw the pilot. Goggles. Leather helmet. Head turning toward her. Close. Too close. Ace's hands acted. She brought the nose ahead of him. Not at him. Ahead. Lead. Distance. Closure. The twin Vickers lined up with empty sky. The Albatros flew into it. Ace's thumb pressed the triggers. The guns hammered. The entire aircraft vibrated differently. A paired mechanical roar inside the engine roar. Rounds crossed the narrowing space. Fabric tore from the German's upper wing. Ace adjusted. Another burst. The pilot turned harder. Too late. Rounds struck the fuselage. Then the engine cowling. The Albatros rolled suddenly. Smoke appeared. Ace released the triggers. The German aircraft dropped away beneath her. She followed it for half a second. Too long. Something passed behind her. Instinct screamed. Ace kicked rudder and rolled. Tracer fire crossed the space her Camel had occupied. “FUCK!” She didn't hear herself. Her aircraft snapped through the maneuver. Another German fighter overshot. Ace came around behind him. Perfectly. Naturally. Impossible. She stared at the enemy aircraft ahead. Her mouth opened inside the scarf. “You have got to be kidding me.” The German pilot began turning. Ace followed. Somewhere above, aircraft crossed in every direction. Mai's Camel flashed through a gap, guns firing. Shammy disappeared behind two Germans and reappeared above one of them in a climbing turn Ace would have called insane if her body did not immediately understand exactly why it worked. The sky was filling. The fight had begun. Ace pulled tighter behind her target. The German tried to climb away. Wrong decision. Ace knew that too. Of course she did. She aligned the Vickers. Waited. Waited. The firing solution formed. Ace smiled without humor. “Fine.” Triggers. The guns answered. And whatever explanation Konrad owed them would have to survive until they did. --- ## Chapter 4 — The Sky Fills The second German did not smoke. He simply stopped being where he intended to be. Ace's burst struck along the left side of the fuselage and walked forward. Wood splintered. Fabric tore. Something metallic flashed away beneath the aircraft. The Albatros lurched. Its pilot tried to correct. Ace saw the rudder move. Saw the nose begin to answer. Then the machine rolled sharply left instead. Not controlled. The German fought it. For a moment the aircraft seemed almost to recover. Then one wing dropped past vertical and the Albatros fell away in a tightening spiral. Ace released the triggers. Two. The number appeared in her mind automatically. She hated that too. Not the number. The ease with which her mind categorized it. Target. Burst. Damage. Down. Next. There was no time to be disturbed. A shadow crossed her upper wing. Ace looked up. Fokker. Not red. Dark green and black. Dropping directly toward her. She pulled. The Camel climbed into the attack instead of away from it. The German pilot had expected avoidance. Ace saw the surprise only as geometry. His firing angle vanished faster than he had planned. The two aircraft crossed with barely enough space between them for Ace to see the black cross beneath his lower wing. Then he was behind her. Ace rolled hard. The Camel came around violently. Something in her stomach attempted to remain where the aircraft had been. She ignored it. The Fokker began a climbing turn. Ace followed. Too obvious. He wanted her to follow. Her borrowed instincts knew it before her conscious mind did. Ace broke away. A second German came through exactly where she would have been. Machine guns flashed. “Oh, clever.” She dropped beneath both. The sky disappeared. Earth filled the front of her vision. Ace let the Camel accelerate. Wind screamed harder around the cockpit. One German followed. The other stayed high. Good. Split them. She waited. The pursuing aircraft closed. Ace could not see him directly behind. She knew he was there. Not magically. The faintest shift of sound. A shadow where none had been. A glimpse at the edge of her vision. And something in that impossible pocket of supplied experience that screamed **now**. Ace hauled the Camel into a right turn. The rotary engine seemed to throw the aircraft around the corner. The maneuver hit her body like a fist. She grunted. The German overshot below. Ace came around above him. Not perfectly. Enough. The Vickers sight crossed his tail. She fired. Too late. Rounds passed behind. “Damn it.” The German dove. Ace started after him. Movement above. Mai. Her Camel sliced across Ace's path from left to right. Not randomly. Ace saw what Mai was doing half a heartbeat later. A German fighter was chasing her. Another was descending toward Mai from above. Mai had placed both on intersecting lines. Ace's eyes widened. “No.” Mai held course. The first German fired. Mai rolled away. The second German dropped through. The two enemy aircraft nearly collided. One broke upward. The other downward. Mai followed the one going down. Her guns fired. Short burst. Pause. Another. The German machine jerked. A section of fabric ripped from the upper wing. Mai stayed with him. Ace could almost hear her thinking. Not now. Not yet. Wait. The German pilot tried to turn across Mai's nose. That was the mistake. Mai fired once more. The fighter rolled onto its back and fell. Ace grinned. Three aircraft flashed between them before she could celebrate. The battle had stopped being formations. It had become fragments. Aircraft above. Below. Crossing. Climbing. Falling. Some firing. Some trying to find someone to fire at. Some desperately trying to leave a firing line they had entered half a second earlier. Ace could no longer tell where the original boundary between the two Jastas had been. She could barely tell where their own supporting flight was. A Camel passed far below trailing white smoke. British? Ace twisted around. Roundels. Yes. It was heading west. Still flying. Good. Another aircraft dropped past it vertically. German. Spinning. No time to watch. Ace looked for Mai. Found her. Then Shammy. Didn't. Her pulse changed. She scanned right. Nothing. Left. Two Germans. A Camel beneath them. Shammy. Ace exhaled. Shammy was climbing almost directly beneath one pursuer while the second tried to stay above her. Bad position. Ace turned toward them. Then saw Shammy's actual line. “Oh.” Shammy wasn't trapped. Not yet. She allowed the lower German to believe he was forcing her upward. Allowed the higher one to believe he had the top closed. Then she rolled through a narrow opening between their developing lines. The first German tried to follow. The second descended to cut her off. Shammy changed direction before either completed the adjustment. The Germans crossed each other's paths. Not dangerously close. Just enough to force both to hesitate. Shammy did not. Her Camel rose behind the lower machine. Guns fired. The German broke. Shammy matched him. Another burst. Smoke appeared. He dove. Shammy let him go. Ace approved immediately. A kill was not worth becoming someone else's kill. Shammy turned back toward the larger fight. Ace reached her just as another pair of Germans approached from above. Shammy saw Ace. Ace pointed left. Shammy nodded. They separated. The Germans had to choose. One followed Ace. One followed Shammy. Perfect. Ace dropped her left wing. The German followed. She tightened. He stayed. Competent. Ace tightened again. Still there. Very competent. She glanced back. Albatros. Dark fuselage. The pilot held the turn instead of trying to shoot too early. Ace felt the first small flicker of genuine appreciation. “All right.” He wanted patience. Ace could do patience. She hated it. But she could. The circle tightened. Earth and sky rotated around them. Ace felt pressure building through her body. The Camel shook faintly. Not stall. Warning. She eased a fraction. The German gained. Exactly what she wanted. He saw opportunity. Closed. Ace waited. Another second. He moved nearer. His nose began approaching the line he needed. Ace broke suddenly downward. The Albatros followed. Ace rolled. Changed direction. He stayed. Damn. Better than the first two. She climbed. He anticipated. Gunfire flashed past her left wing. Ace jerked instinctively. A hole appeared in the fabric. Then another. “Hey!” Personal now. She turned hard. The German overshot only slightly. Ace fired from a poor angle. Not expecting a kill. Forcing him. The Albatros broke away. Ace followed for two seconds. Then stopped. Something had changed. Not with him. The battle. She looked outward. There were more Germans around her than before. Not because reinforcements had arrived. Because the formation had fully collapsed into the fight. The two Jastas had spread across an enormous volume of air. Twenty-four to thirty-two had sounded like a number on a map. Here it was something else. Every direction offered another aircraft. Every aircraft created another possible threat. Ace found herself tracking three at once. Then four. One distant. Two close. One approaching Mai. She abandoned her opponent immediately. Mai had a German behind her. Not close enough to fire. Closing. Mai knew. She was maneuvering, but another enemy aircraft ahead limited where she could go. Ace came in from above. The German chasing Mai never saw her. Or saw her too late. Ace fired. The first burst went high. She corrected. Second burst crossed the German's wings. He broke right. Away from Mai. Ace stayed with him. He rolled. She followed. He dove. She followed. Then another German cut across Ace from below. She pulled out. The original target escaped. Fine. Mai was clear. That mattered more. Mai looked toward Ace as they crossed. One quick nod. Ace returned it. Then they separated again. No radios. No speech. They did not need either. The impossible pilot memories included years of formation habits that had never happened. Their real familiarity supplied the rest. Ace knew how Mai thought. Mai knew how Ace committed. Shammy read both of them with the irritating natural ease Shammy brought to almost everything involving motion and people. Konrad had apparently decided that combination needed machine guns. Ace intended to discuss his judgment later. At length. A Fokker attacked from above. Ace rolled beneath him. Another came from the opposite side. She pulled up. The first crossed behind. The second fired. Rounds passed beneath her. Ace felt rather than heard one strike somewhere behind the cockpit. The Camel continued responding normally. Probably fine. Probably. She hated that word. Ace broke downward. The second German followed. She looked for an escape route. Found Shammy instead. Shammy was below and ahead. Ace pointed toward her pursuer. Shammy saw. Changed course. Ace continued straight toward her. The German behind Ace remained committed. Closer. Closer. Ace saw flashes from his guns. Tracer passed wide. Shammy came head-on toward Ace. For one insane second the two Camels appeared to be on a collision course. Ace did not move. Neither did Shammy. The German fired again. Ace held. Shammy held. At the last moment both broke opposite directions. Ace right. Shammy left. The German pilot behind Ace suddenly found Shammy crossing directly through his forward view. He reacted. Too late. Not to hit her. To avoid following Ace into the wrong turn. That hesitation was enough. Shammy rolled behind him. Ace came around from the other side. The German was suddenly between them. Ace saw the pilot's head move. Left. Right. Choose. He chose Shammy. Wrong. Ace fired. The burst struck his engine area. The aircraft jerked. Smoke. Shammy immediately broke away rather than crossing Ace's fire. The German went nose-down. Ace followed just long enough to see the propeller slow. Three. Maybe. Did that count? The thought was insane. Ace pushed it away. Nothing counted until they were on the ground. If they reached the ground. She looked for Shammy. Shammy was already climbing back toward Mai. Ace followed. For perhaps ten seconds, the three Camels came together again. Not formal formation. Close enough. Ace looked left. Mai raised two fingers. Two kills. Ace raised three. Maybe. Shammy raised— Three. Ace stared. Shammy shrugged. Ace laughed inside her scarf. Of course. They had been in combat for what felt like an hour. It could not have been more than minutes. Mai pointed ahead. Ace looked. A cluster of German fighters was reforming above and east. Not retreating. Resetting. Several other aircraft were moving toward them. Ace counted quickly. Six. No. Eight. More behind. The Germans had noticed them. That was clear now. The first clashes had been chaos. This was intent. Mai saw it too. Her posture changed. Shammy looked from the approaching aircraft to Ace. Ace felt something tighten in her chest. They had hurt the formation. Enough that someone over there had decided the three Camels required attention. Good. Bad. Both. Mai pointed down and west. Reset. Ace nodded. Shammy followed. The Triad descended together. Not fleeing. Creating space. A German pair tried to cut them off. Mai broke toward them first. Ace immediately understood. Mai wasn't attacking. She was forcing the pair to react early. The Germans split. Shammy went through the gap. Ace followed. Mai rolled after them. Clean. The pursuing group had to reorganize again. A few precious seconds. Ace looked back. The red triplane was still there. Higher now. Farther east. Moving through the battle without ever seeming rushed. Ace watched it for one second too long. The Baron was not chasing them. Not yet. He was fighting somewhere else. A Camel dove past his position. The red Fokker turned. Smooth. Controlled. The Camel tried to escape downward. Richthofen followed. Ace saw only fragments through intervening aircraft. A flash of red. A turn. The Camel climbing desperately. The red aircraft still there. Then guns. The British machine rolled away trailing smoke. Ace's jaw tightened. History was one thing. Seeing the man work was another. Mai had seen it too. She looked toward Ace. No gesture. None required. That one was dangerous. Very. A German aircraft suddenly appeared between them. Everything broke apart again. Ace rolled left. Mai went right. Shammy climbed. The German followed Shammy. Another followed him. Then another. Ace saw three aircraft moving toward Shammyn Camel. “Shammy.” No one could hear her. She turned after them. A fourth German crossed above. Not pursuing Shammy. Yet. Ace fired at the nearest attacker from too far away. The German broke slightly. Enough to make him look back. Ace closed. He turned toward her. Good. One fewer on Shammy. She passed him head-on. Both fired. Ace saw flashes. Rounds went somewhere. Neither aircraft hit enough to matter. They crossed. Ace rolled. The German rolled too. Now they were fighting. Fine. She would deal with him. Then get back. The Albatros turned left. Ace followed. He reversed. Ace anticipated. Her nose came ahead. Burst. Too low. Correction. Burst again. The German broke downward. Ace started after him. Then stopped herself. Shammy. She looked. Two aircraft still behind Shammy. Mai was approaching from above. Good. Ace turned toward them. Then another German intercepted. And another. For the first time since the fight began, Ace felt the real scale of the problem settle into her bones. There were always more. Shoot one down. Another appeared. Force one away. Another entered. Save Mai. Someone attacked Shammy. Help Shammy. Someone came for Ace. The sky did not empty. It multiplied. The three of them were good. Absurdly good. Konrad-impossibly good. It might not matter. Ace ducked beneath gunfire. Pulled up. Rolled over the attacker. Fired as he crossed below. Missed. Another Camel flashed past from the west and attacked the German from behind. Ace did not recognize the pilot. Did not need to. She used the opening. Climbed. Found Mai. Mai was firing at a Fokker. Short controlled bursts. The enemy aircraft turned. Mai adjusted instead of chasing directly. Predicted. Cut across. Fired again. The Fokker's upper wing shattered near the center section. The machine rolled uncontrollably. Mai broke away before it fell through her path. Three. She raised no fingers this time. No one was counting anymore. Ace moved toward her. Shammy crossed beneath. Still clear. Still fighting. Still fluid. Still alive. Good. Ace breathed. Then saw the aircraft behind Shammy. One. Far. Another moving in from above. A third turning toward her from the east. Not yet a trap. Not yet. Shammy saw at least two. Changed direction. The first followed. The second adjusted. The third kept coming. Ace's stomach tightened. She turned toward them. Mai saw it. Turned too. Before either reached her, Shammy broke through the developing enclosure and came out the other side. Beautifully. The first German overshot. Shammy fired at him on the way past. He rolled away smoking. Ace laughed with relief. Shammy looked toward them. Even at distance, Ace could imagine the expression. **What?** Mai shook her head. Ace pointed at Shammy. Then three fingers. Then pointed behind her. Shammy looked back. The surviving Germans were already turning. She looked toward Ace again. Shrugged. Ace's amusement died. Because farther above them, another pair had noticed. And to the east, a fifth aircraft was changing course. Not all toward Shammy. Not yet. But attention had momentum. Shammy had made herself visible. Every time someone tried to close her down, she escaped. Every time they thought they had her, she turned the geometry against them. Every escape made another pilot want to be the one who finally caught her. Ace knew the pattern. Predators hated being made foolish. Pilots probably hated it more. She looked at Mai. Mai was already watching the same developing movement. Her face became very still. Not fear. Calculation. Ace pointed toward Shammy. Mai nodded. Stay close. Protect her. For as long as they could. A German fighter dove between them. The decision dissolved into immediate survival. Ace rolled away. Gunfire ripped across the sky. Mai disappeared behind an Albatros. Shammy climbed into a swarm of crossing machines. The red triplane flashed briefly in the distance. And everywhere Ace looked, the sky contained another enemy. The Flying Circus had stopped being a formation. It had become the sky itself. --- ## Chapter 5 — Attention Ace lost Mai. Not permanently. For perhaps seven seconds. Seven seconds was enough. One moment Mai's Camel was below and to the left, cutting across the wake of a German fighter. The next, three aircraft crossed between them. A Fokker climbed. An Albatros dove. Another Camel appeared from nowhere, firing as it passed beneath Ace. And Mai vanished. Ace rolled right. Nothing. Left. Two Germans. Neither Mai. Above— Gunfire. Ace pulled instinctively. Rounds crossed beneath her fuselage. She turned into the attacker before she had even found him properly. A dark Albatros passed overhead. Ace caught the underside of the aircraft. Black crosses. Mud-colored lower surfaces. Oil streak. Then it was behind her. She did not chase. Mai. Ace looked again. There. Farther down. Alive. Firing. Relief arrived so quickly it barely had time to become emotion. Ace stored the information and moved on. Shammy. Where— A flash of pale upper wing. Right. Lower. Moving fast. Three Germans around her. Again. Ace's jaw tightened. Not three attacking simultaneously. One directly behind. One above. One crossing from ahead. Still enough. Shammy turned. The first followed. The second began dropping. Ace banked toward them. A fourth German fighter crossed her path. She ignored it. Bad idea. Machine-gun fire flashed past the front of her Camel. Ace jerked upward. The German climbed with her. “Not now.” He seemed unimpressed by the request. Ace rolled. The Albatros followed. She turned hard. He stayed. Good pilot. Wrong morning. Ace let him close. Not much. Enough. Then snapped the Camel through a tighter change of direction than he expected. The rotary engine helped throw the machine around. The German tried to match. Could not. Ace gained just enough angle. The Vickers sight moved toward him. Not there. Not yet. He broke downward. Ace fired a short burst. Missed. She stopped immediately. No ammunition wasted on frustration. Her mind registered that behavior too. Another piece of competence with no history. Later. Konrad. Katanas. Extensive discussion. She pulled away. Shammy. Ace found her almost immediately. One German was gone. Smoking aircraft descending west of the fight. Shammy had apparently solved that problem herself. The second was trying to stay behind her. The third was circling for position. Ace moved toward the one circling. He saw her. Turned. Excellent. Attention transferred. Exactly what Ace wanted. She climbed toward him. He did not retreat. The two aircraft approached almost head-on. Ace felt the distance collapsing. Too fast. She held. The German held. Neither fired. Not yet. A thousand feet. Less. Ace could see the pilot's head. He could see hers. She had one irrational second to wonder what he made of the tiny woman in the Camel coming straight at him without moving. Then his guns flashed. Ace rolled. Rounds tore through empty sky. She passed beneath him close enough that the noise of his engine briefly added itself to hers. Ace pulled around. The German was already turning. Again. Good. She grinned. “Come on, then.” She went after him. --- Mai had four aircraft inside her immediate problem. Only two mattered. The others were too far away. For now. One Fokker below. One Albatros behind and above. The Fokker was trying to force Mai upward. The Albatros wanted exactly that. Mai understood the structure before either aircraft completed it. She did not climb. She descended. The Fokker reacted. Good. Expected. He turned to maintain pressure. Mai allowed him to. The Albatros above adjusted his dive. Also expected. Three moving lines. Three changing speeds. One intersection. Mai watched it form. The Fokker's pilot believed she was attempting to escape beneath him. He committed downward. Mai waited. The Albatros accelerated. Wait. Closer. Mai began turning left. The Fokker followed immediately. Too immediately. The Albatros changed angle. There. Mai rolled right instead. The Fokker had already spent too much of his position following the false turn. The Albatros descended through the space Mai had invited him to occupy. Neither collided. They did not need to. Both had to abandon their attacks. Mai came out behind the Fokker. Her guns fired. Short burst. The German broke. Mai corrected. Another burst. She saw fabric rip. Not enough. He dove. Mai started after him. Stopped. No. The Albatros was recovering. She climbed instead. The Albatros pilot looked for her where she should have followed the damaged Fokker. Mai was not there. She came down from above his left rear quarter. The pilot saw her late. He turned. Mai already knew where the turn would take him. She put the sight there. The German flew into it. Fire. Pause. Fire. The Albatros shuddered. Its nose dipped. Recovered. Mai stayed. The pilot tried to reverse. Too slow. Third burst. Something came away from the aircraft. A panel. Part of the cowling. Then smoke. Thick enough. Mai broke away. No need to watch him die. Another German was already coming. She climbed through his approach before he could settle. Gunfire followed. Too low. Mai turned. Found Ace above and west. Good. Shammy— Mai's eyes moved. Found her. Not good. Two aircraft directly behind. Another moving in from high right. A fourth climbing beneath. Mai's entire model of the local battle changed. She abandoned the German she had been preparing to attack. Turned toward Shammy. --- Shammy knew the air had become crowded before she counted the machines. The feeling changed. Not mystical. Nothing whispered. Nothing moved for her. The available spaces simply became smaller. Every maneuver created another relationship. Every relationship created a future problem. She could feel that accumulation. One German behind. He had been there too long. Competent. Patient. Not firing badly. Waiting. A second aircraft above right. Trying to remain outside her immediate attention. Shammy knew he was there. Third below. Not directly attacking yet. Fourth— No. The fourth was leaving. Ace had pulled him away. Shammy smiled despite herself. Of course. She banked left. The German behind followed. She changed the angle gradually. Not enough to trigger suspicion. The aircraft above continued descending. That was the one she wanted. The pilot thought he was closing a trap. He was. Just not his. Shammy tightened her turn. The German behind her tightened too. The higher aircraft committed. Shammy waited. Wind pressure shifted across her face. The Camel trembled faintly. Now. She rolled sharply right. The first German reacted late. The descending aircraft had already committed to the left side. Shammy passed between their intended lines. The higher German broke hard to avoid crossing directly through his own man's path. That cost him speed. Shammy climbed. For a second, the German appeared almost stationary ahead of her. Her Vickers fired. The first burst crossed behind. She adjusted. Second. Rounds struck the lower wing. Third. The German rolled away. Smoke trailed. Shammy released the triggers. One less. The patient aircraft was still there. Now farther behind. He had not followed the trap. Smart. Shammy looked for the third. Gone. No. Below. Climbing. She turned. The patient German closed. The lower one continued upward. Two. Manageable. Then something moved above. Another aircraft. Not one of the original group. Joining. Three. Shammy's expression tightened. Fine. She had handled three. She dropped. The lower fighter lost his firing angle immediately. The patient aircraft followed. The newcomer stayed high. Good. They were not coordinated perfectly. Use that. Shammy dove toward a larger knot of fighting aircraft. Dangerous. Also cluttered. Clutter was cover. A German Fokker crossed ahead. A British Camel passed beneath. Tracer stitched empty space between them. Shammy threaded through. The aircraft behind had to choose their paths more carefully. One broke away. Two remained. Shammy climbed through another gap. The patient German appeared again. Still there. Persistent. Shammy glanced back. He had earned irritation. She turned toward him. For the first time. The German seemed surprised. Good. He had spent too long believing he controlled the chase. Shammy closed head-on. He fired. She changed angle. Not much. Rounds passed wide. She fired once. His nose dropped. They crossed. Shammy rolled immediately. He expected her to continue away. She came back. The German was slower in the reversal. Not much. Enough. Shammy got behind him. He began a climbing turn. She stayed. He changed direction. She anticipated. Her guns fired. A burst struck somewhere around the cockpit and upper fuselage. The German aircraft rolled sharply. No recovery. It fell. Shammy watched only long enough to know it was no longer part of the fight. Then looked up. The newcomer was coming. And behind him— Another. Shammy stopped smiling. --- Ace saw the German pilot's mistake before he made it. Not because she predicted him like Mai would. Because she had spent the last thirty seconds making him angry. Every time he tried to establish a clean attack, Ace refused it. Every time he wanted patience, she changed the rhythm. When he closed, she broke away. When he expected distance, she came back at him. She had missed twice. He had missed once. Neither had gained anything. Until frustration changed his turn. A little too hard. A little too much speed sacrificed. Ace saw it. There. She climbed instead of following. The German continued through his turn. Ace came over. Nose down. He looked up. Too late. Ace fired. The burst walked across one wing and into the fuselage. He rolled. Ace followed. Fired again. The engine began smoking. He dove steeply toward the west. Ace let him go. Four? She had lost track. Good. Counting was becoming dangerous. She looked for Mai. Coming toward her. No. Coming past her. Mai pointed. Shammy. Ace turned. Her stomach tightened. Shammy had two fighters on her. Then a third entered from above. Ace began turning. Mai was already ahead of her. The third German opened fire. Shammy rolled. Rounds passed through the space beside her cockpit. Ace felt something cold. Too close. Mai went for the high attacker. Ace chose the nearest pursuer. No discussion. The three of them had done this before. Not in France. Not in Camels. But in every way that mattered. Ace attacked. The German behind Shammy saw her. He hesitated. That was enough. Shammy broke left. Ace fired. The German rolled out. Ace pursued. Mai forced the upper aircraft away. For three seconds Shammyn sky opened. Ace saw her turn back toward them. Good. Then two completely different German fighters entered from the east. Ace stared. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.” One went for Mai. One— Shammy. Again. Ace's irritation turned into concern. This wasn't random anymore. Maybe not organized. But visible. Shammy's Camel had become recognizable. The pale-haired pilot who kept slipping traps. The one who had already sent several German machines down. Pilots were noticing. Ace knew how that worked even without borrowed aviation memories. You hurt enough people, attention came looking for you. Shammy hurt another one. Right in front of Ace. The German attacked from above. Shammy rolled beneath. He followed. She let him. The two disappeared briefly below Ace's nose. Then Shammy's Camel came up in a climbing turn. The German crossed ahead of her. Guns. Short burst. The enemy fighter jerked. Another burst. Smoke. He broke away toward the east. Shammy did not follow. Smart. Then she looked around. Ace saw her head move. Left. Right. Up. She had noticed too. There were more eyes on her. Mai came alongside Ace for half a second. Close enough for Ace to see her expression. Mai pointed toward Shammy. Then held up four fingers. Ace frowned. Four what? Mai pointed around them. Aircraft. Four currently orienting toward Shammy. Ace looked. One directly behind. Two above. One farther east turning inward. Fuck. Ace held up her hand. Spread fingers. Then brought them together. **Stay together.** Mai nodded. They moved toward Shammy. --- The Flying Circus was adapting. Not as one enormous organism. Not through some impossible shared command. Through pilots. Individuals. Pairs. Small groups. They had been surprised by three Camels that behaved like veterans and worked together with unusual precision. Now the surprise was gone. German pilots began refusing obvious bait. They supported each other more carefully. They stopped chasing Ace too long into her aggressive turns. They gave Mai less clean geometry. And Shammy— They started giving Shammy company. Ace saw the pattern become clearer with each minute. Shammy broke one attack. Another German arrived. She forced him away. Two more appeared. Ace and Mai intervened. The pressure shifted elsewhere. Then returned. Never enough to trap her permanently. Always enough to keep her working. Ace pulled into a climbing turn beside Mai. Shammy was ahead. Three Camels together. Briefly. Ace looked at her. Shammy looked back. Ace raised four fingers. Pointed at her. Shammy shrugged. Ace shook her head violently. **Not funny.** Shammy's mouth moved. Ace could not read it. Probably something irritatingly calm. Mai pointed west and down. Space. Reset again. Ace agreed. They began descending together. This time the Germans followed immediately. Five aircraft. Not all aimed specifically at Shammy. Still too many. Mai looked back. Then forward. She pointed toward a break in the fighting below. Ace saw it. A corridor between two separate clusters. Narrow. Temporary. Use it. They dove. Shammy first. Mai second. Ace behind. The Germans came after them. Ace twisted around. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. A sixth joined from farther above. Ace felt her jaw tighten. Fine. Let them come. They wanted the three Camels? They could have them. Ace rolled out of the dive. Shammy turned left. Mai right. Ace continued straight. The German group split instinctively. Exactly what Mai had wanted. Two followed Ace. Two turned toward Mai. And— Ace looked. Two stayed with Shammy. Good. Only two. For now. Ace pulled hard. Her two pursuers followed. She smiled. Now this she understood. Make them choose. Make them commit. Make them regret it. The first German fired. Rounds snapped past. Ace turned tighter. The second moved outward to cut her exit. Good structure. She could almost hear Mai approving the idea despite being hundreds of feet away. Ace did something Mai probably would not approve. She attacked the gap between them. Both Germans reacted. One turned inward. The other hesitated. Ace drove straight through the collapsing space. Gunfire flashed. A round punched through her upper wing. Another struck somewhere near the fuselage. The Camel jolted. Ace held. The gap opened behind her. She rolled. Came around. One German was suddenly ahead. Ace fired. Longer burst than she liked. Rounds hit. The German rolled away. Not down. Ace went after him. The second came in behind her. She knew. Could not look. No time. Gunfire. Ace kicked rudder. Tracer passed right. She continued after the damaged target. Too long. The second German was still there. Ace knew she should break. She did not. Another half-second. The damaged Albatros filled her sight. Ace fired. The German's engine erupted in smoke. Now. Ace broke. The pursuing fighter fired exactly where she had been. Ace rolled away laughing once, sharply. Too close. Definitely too close. That was hers. Not Konrad's skill. Her choice. She knew the difference. Somehow that mattered. She climbed. Looked for Mai. Mai was still fighting both of hers. One damaged. One intact. Shammy— Ace looked farther left. Saw her. One German behind. One above. Another entering from— No. Three again. Ace's heart sank. How many times? They kept coming back to her. Shammy turned hard. The first followed. The second descended. The third stayed outside. Patient. Ace recognized the shape now. This was not one trap. It was attrition. Every time Shammy escaped, she spent something. Altitude. Position. Speed. Attention. Every time Ace or Mai came to help, their own fights came with them. And the Flying Circus had more aircraft to spend. Far more. Mai cleared one of her attackers with a burst that sent it diving away smoking. She turned toward Shammy immediately. Ace did the same. Three Camels began converging again. Then a red aircraft crossed far above. Ace caught it in the corner of her vision. Bright red. Triplane. The Baron. Not attacking them. Watching? No. Fighting. He passed behind a distant Camel and disappeared into the larger battle. Ace forced her attention away. Not him. Not yet. Shammy first. They reached her. Mai attacked one pursuer. Ace forced another to break. Shammy turned on the third. For a moment the three of them functioned exactly as they had at first contact. Clean. Mutual. Dangerous. Shammy fired. Her target rolled away. Mai climbed through. Ace came alongside. Safe. For one breath. Shammy looked at them. Raised one finger. Then pointed upward. Ace looked. Three more Germans. Coming down. Her entire expression changed. “Seriously?” Shammy spread one hand. What do you want me to do about it? Mai looked upward. Then around. Her head moved rapidly. The battle was thinning in some places. Not because fewer aircraft remained. Because the fight had stretched across miles. Their supporting Camels were scattered. German fighters too. But locally— Around them— Too many. Mai pointed west. Ace nodded. Break contact. They turned. The Germans descended. Shammy accelerated. Ace stayed near her. Mai slightly higher. The first German closed. Ace turned toward him. He broke away before she could establish an attack. Smart. He did not need to fight Ace. He only needed to keep her from staying beside Shammy. A second German came for Mai. Same thing. Divide. Pressure. Ace realized it at exactly the same moment Mai did. Their eyes met across the gap. The Germans were learning. Another fighter dropped between Ace and Shammy. Ace attacked him. He immediately turned away. Ace followed for one second. Stopped. No. That was what he wanted. She turned back. Shammy had moved farther away. Two Germans behind her. One above. Ace went after them. Another crossed her path. Again. “Fuck off!” The German did not. Ace pulled into him. The fight became personal for three seconds. That was enough. When Ace looked back, Shammy had four. Not all close. But four. Mai was trying to reach her from the opposite side. Ace broke off. Ignored the German behind her. Flew directly toward Shammy. Gunfire followed. One round struck her Camel. Something cracked. Ace did not look. Shammy rolled beneath two converging attackers. One overshot. She climbed. Another followed. The fourth stayed high. Ace opened fire at the nearest German from too far away. He turned. Good. One peeled off toward her. Three. Mai attacked another. Two. Shammy reversed on one. One. For a fleeting second Ace felt relief. Then she saw two more aircraft approaching from the east. The relief disappeared. This was going to keep happening. Again. Again. Again. Until— Ace refused to finish the thought. She reached Shammy. For a moment their wings were almost level. Ace looked over. Shammy looked back. Her face behind the goggles was calm. Too calm. Ace pointed west. Hard. **GO.** Shammy shook her head. Ace's eyes widened. Shammy pointed toward the larger fight behind Ace. A British Camel was under attack. Another was smoking. Mai was still engaged. Shammy pointed at Ace. Then Mai. Then herself. Together. Ace understood. Leaving alone would make it worse. Fine. Ace nodded. Together. They turned back. Mai joined them seconds later. The three Camels climbed. Below them, aircraft wheeled and crossed. Above, more Germans waited. Farther away, the red triplane moved through the battle like a bright wound against the sky. Ace looked at Mai. Then Shammy. Still here. Still together. Still fighting. The German aircraft above began descending. Ace wrapped her fingers tighter around the stick. She had no idea how long they had been in the air. No idea how much ammunition remained beyond what the impossible instincts told her. No idea how many enemy aircraft they had actually brought down. But she understood one thing perfectly now. The first part of the battle had been surprise. This wasn't. The Flying Circus knew who they were. And of the three of them, it had begun to pay particular attention to Shammy. --- ## Chapter 6 — Arithmetic The first three came down together. Not perfectly together. That would have been easier. One Fokker descended from directly above Shammy. An Albatros approached from behind and left. The third stayed higher, offset far enough to remain outside the immediate fight. Waiting. Ace saw the structure immediately. The first two were not the problem. The third was. “Mai.” The engine ate the name. Mai had already seen it. Her Camel climbed sharply toward the high aircraft. Ace went for the Albatros. Shammy kept the Fokker. Three against three. For approximately four seconds, the universe almost became reasonable. Ace crossed beneath the Albatros and pulled into him. The German pilot saw her. Broke right. Ace followed. He reversed left. Fast. Ace grinned. “Good.” She liked good opponents. Not because fighting them was sensible. Because bad ones did unpredictable things for stupid reasons. Good pilots usually had reasons. Reasons could be exploited. The Albatros climbed. Ace climbed with him. He wanted altitude. She wanted him looking at her instead of Shammy. Both got what they wanted. For now. Ace checked behind. Nothing close. She looked toward Shammy. The Fokker had attacked. Shammy slipped beneath the first firing line, rolled, and changed direction before the German could settle behind her. The aircraft crossed. Shammy immediately climbed. The Fokker turned after her. Exactly where she wanted him. Shammy reversed. The Fokker's pilot realized too late that he had spent too much speed. Her Camel came around behind. Ace looked back to her own target. The Albatros had gained separation. Fine. Let him. She did not need to kill him. She needed him occupied. Mai's opponent was farther above. The German had refused her first attack and was trying to keep height. Mai did not chase blindly. She moved beneath him instead. Positioning. Closing future options. Ace knew the shape of that too. She had no idea why. Konrad's temporary gift continued being offensive. A burst of machine-gun fire pulled her attention back. Shammy. Her Vickers hammered. The Fokker ahead of her rolled hard. Shammy followed. Fired again. Smoke appeared briefly. Not much. The German dove. Shammy let him. Good. One gone from the immediate fight. Ace looked for the waiting aircraft. The one Mai had gone after. Still there. No— Different one. Ace's stomach tightened. The original high German was engaged with Mai. Another aircraft had arrived above Shammy. Then another entered from the east. She counted. One. Two. Three. The damaged Fokker still diving away. Fine. Three active. Ace looked at her own Albatros. He was turning back toward Shammy. Four. “No.” Ace pulled into him. The German saw her attack and abandoned the turn. Good. Three. The numbers had started becoming the fight. Not kills. Not scores. Pressure. How many were looking at Shammy? How many were committed? How many could Ace pull away? How many could Mai disrupt? How many more were close enough to replace them? Ace had never needed arithmetic this badly. And she hated arithmetic. Her Albatros dove. Ace followed for half a second. Stopped. He wanted her away from Shammy. Not happening. She climbed back. The German did not follow. One problem removed. For now. Ace searched. Shammy was below. Two Germans closing. Third high. Mai coming down from above. Ace turned toward the nearest attacker. Then tracer crossed her path. Another German. Not attacking Shammy. Attacking Ace. She rolled instinctively. Rounds passed over her upper wing. The German came through fast. Ace turned after him. No. She stopped the impulse. Shammy. She looked back. The two lower attackers had converged. Shammy dropped between them. One fired. The other had to break to avoid crossing his line. Shammy rolled left. The first followed. The second climbed. Mai arrived. Her guns fired at the climbing aircraft. He broke away. Ace reached the first. Three Camels against one German. He understood his situation immediately and dove out. Good. Space. Ace came alongside Shammy. Mai joined from above. For perhaps five seconds they were together again. Ace looked at Shammy. Shammy looked entirely too calm. Ace held up three fingers. Then pointed behind her. Shammy glanced back. Three German aircraft were moving toward them. Ace changed to four fingers. A fourth farther above. Shammy looked back at Ace. Shrugged. Ace stared. Mai saw it. She pointed firmly west. Shammy nodded. This time there was no argument. They turned. --- The western sky was not empty. That would have been too easy. British aircraft were still scattered throughout it. Some fighting. Some damaged. Some trying to regroup. The clean supporting formation that had climbed behind the Triad no longer existed. Individual Camels and SE5s moved through separate fights across miles of sky. The Flying Circus had stretched with them. The battlefield had become enormous. Ace saw one German aircraft heading down trailing black smoke. Another British machine limping west with part of its upper wing fabric torn open. A distant pair circled each other almost lazily compared with the violence closer in. Everywhere: small wars. Shammy accelerated west. Mai stayed high left. Ace high right. Protective triangle. The pursuing Germans followed. Four. Ace looked back again. Five. “Of course.” She turned toward the nearest. The German broke away before she could attack. Ace did not follow. He turned back the instant she returned toward Shammy. Ace understood. “Oh, fuck you.” This was deliberate. Not centrally coordinated. Not some perfect German hive mind. But the pilot had learned the problem. He did not need to defeat Ace. He only needed to keep her away. Ace attacked again. He broke. She stopped. He returned. A second German did the same to Mai. Shammy continued west with two fighters maintaining pressure behind her. Ace saw the trap. Not a geometric trap. A resource trap. Separate Ace. Separate Mai. Keep Shammy moving. Add pressure whenever an opening appeared. Ace's anger rose. She pulled into her German again. This time she did follow. The pilot reacted immediately. Dive. Ace stayed. He expected her to break off. She did not. A little farther. He looked back. Ace closed. Closer. The Albatros turned. Ace matched. He tried to widen. She cut inward. The Vickers sight approached his tail. Not enough. He broke downward. Ace held. A voice in her borrowed experience told her she was committing too long. Her real mind answered: **I know.** She waited another second. The German expected her to disengage. He began turning back. There. Ace fired. Short burst. The rounds struck his upper wing. He jerked away. Ace fired again. Hits walked toward the fuselage. Smoke. Enough. Ace broke immediately. Turned back toward Shammy. How long? Ten seconds? Fifteen? Too long. She looked. Mai was farther away than before. Shammy— Ace found her. Three aircraft around her. No. Four. “Damn it.” Ace dove. --- Mai did not kill her opponent. She removed him. That mattered more. The German had kept inserting himself between Mai and Shammy every time she tried to close. Mai stopped treating him as a target. She treated him as a constraint. He broke away whenever she attacked. Therefore the attack itself was not useful. Predict his break. Mai approached from below. The German turned away. Exactly. Instead of following, Mai climbed into the space he had just surrendered. He looked back. Saw her still closing toward Shammy. Turned in again. Expected. Mai reversed toward him before he completed the move. The German immediately broke the other way. There. He had two preferred escape directions. Not infinite. Not random. Mai stored them. Third approach. He saw her. Broke. Mai anticipated the direction. Her nose was already moving toward where he would be. The German realized. Changed his break. Too late. Mai fired. Not a long burst. Enough to make the point. Rounds struck his lower wing. The aircraft rolled violently away. Mai did not follow. The German kept going. Removed. She turned toward Shammy. Four. Mai counted them immediately. One directly behind. One high left. One high right. One climbing from below. Shammy was not trapped yet. That word mattered. **Yet.** Mai accelerated toward the lower aircraft first. It was the one reducing Shammy's downward options. Remove it. Mai dove. The German pilot noticed. Turned toward her. Better. Now Shammy could descend. Mai did not continue the attack. She climbed away. The German followed her briefly. Exactly enough. Three on Shammy. Mai looked for Ace. Farther right. Coming back fast. Good. Shammy rolled beneath the nearest attacker. The high-left German descended. Mai saw the line. Shammy saw it too. She turned before the attack formed. The German followed. Second high aircraft began descending. Mai went after him. Ace came for the first. Again. Peeling layers. One at a time. It worked. It kept working. That was the problem. Because each time they finished, the Flying Circus still had another layer. --- Shammy stopped trying to count kills. She had stopped earlier than Ace. Maybe Mai too. The number had ceased meaning anything. She knew some of the aircraft she had hit had gone down. Some had left smoking. Some might have recovered. It no longer mattered. Only the aircraft still able to hurt someone mattered. Right now there were three. One was Ace's problem. One was becoming Mai's. One remained hers. Good. One she understood. The Albatros behind her was different from the others. Yellow tail. Dark fuselage. She had seen it before. He had attacked her twice already. Maybe three times. Patient pilot. He did not close recklessly. Did not fire whenever the sight crossed her. He waited. Shammy respected that. She turned left. He followed, but not tightly. Maintained energy. Maintained distance. He knew she liked reversals. Shammy smiled faintly. He had learned. So had she. She changed nothing. Kept turning. The German waited. Shammy tightened slightly. He did not take the bait. Good. She tightened again. Nothing. He wanted her to spend more. Fine. Shammy eased. The German began closing. There. Not much. But there. She continued. He closed farther. His nose approaching. Shammy watched. Not yet. He waited. Patient. Very patient. The first rounds came only when the angle became good. Shammy rolled as the guns fired. Not away. Under. The Albatros followed. Exactly what she had expected. But instead of reversing, Shammy continued down. The German stayed with her. He had adjusted. He knew the reversal was coming. So Shammy did not reverse. She descended. The German began gaining. Of course. Albatros faster in this line. Shammy waited. Closer. The pilot had been waiting all fight for her usual move. She gave him something else. A sharp climbing turn. Not efficient. Not elegant. Unexpected. The Camel rose. The German tried to follow. His first correction was wrong. Only slightly. Enough. Shammy came around. The Albatros crossed beneath. She fired. First burst missed. Second caught the rear fuselage. The German rolled away. Shammy followed. He dove. She stayed. This one she wanted gone. He had learned too much. The yellow tail moved beneath her. Shammy fired again. Hits. The German's aircraft shuddered. Then rolled hard. Shammy pulled away. The Albatros continued downward. No smoke. Still descending. Uncontrolled? Maybe. She could not watch. Movement above. Shammy looked. A German fighter coming down. Another behind it. Her smile vanished. The space the yellow-tailed Albatros had occupied had remained empty for less than three seconds. --- Ace saw Shammy bring the yellow-tail down. She also saw the replacement. Then the second replacement. And farther behind— another. The numbers stopped feeling annoying. They became frightening. Not because Shammy was losing. She wasn't. That was almost worse. Shammy was winning individual exchanges. Again. Again. Again. The Flying Circus could afford to continue asking the question. Shammy only had to answer wrong once. Ace pushed the Camel harder. A German crossed ahead. Ace ignored him. He turned toward her. Fine. She continued. Gunfire behind. Rounds passed left. Ace rolled slightly. Kept moving. The German followed. Now she had brought one with her. Bad. But leaving Shammy alone was worse. Mai approached from the other side. She had one behind her too. Ace saw it. Mai saw hers. Both understood. Every rescue imported another enemy into the local fight. The battlefield was becoming a knot around Shammy. Ace reached her first. One German descending directly at Shammy. Ace climbed into him. He fired. Ace fired. Both missed. They crossed. Ace did not turn after him. She continued to Shammy. The German behind Ace arrived. Shammy saw him. Turned toward him. Ace saw the exchange happen without words. **Mine.** Fine. Ace looked for the next. Mai's pursuer. Mai turned aggressively into him. Not to kill. Force away. The German broke. Mai returned. Three Camels close again. Too close. Shammy's attacker fired. Shammy rolled. Ace saw tracer pass through her previous position. Mai came around behind the German. Fired. The German fled downward. Space opened. For one breath. Then Ace looked up. Five German aircraft. Not all close. All oriented toward them. She felt the cold in her stomach become something heavier. Mai saw them too. Shammy followed their gaze. Ace held up five fingers. Nobody shrugged this time. Shammy looked west. Then down. Mai looked east. Then above. Ace could almost see both minds working. Escape route. Reset. Anything. The high Germans began descending. Ace pointed down and left. There. Cloud. A broken bank below them. Not thick enough to hide forever. Enough to disrupt pursuit. Mai nodded. Shammy went first. They dove. The Germans followed. Ace looked behind. Five. Then six. One joined from the right. “Fuck.” They accelerated. Cloud came closer. Wind changed. Visibility flattened near the top. Shammy entered first. Mai disappeared next. Ace followed. Gray swallowed the sky. Everything became wet cold air and reduced distance. Ace's world contracted. Instruments. Wing. Cloud. The impossible pilot instincts screamed about orientation. She trusted them because the alternative was dying. The Camel descended through gray. Ace could not see Mai. Could not see Shammy. Could not see Germans. Nothing. For three seconds. Four. Five. Too long. Ace hated this. Then the cloud thinned. Ground appeared far below. Ace emerged. Mai burst out fifty yards to her left. Ace's heart eased. Shammy— Nothing. Ace searched right. No. Ahead. No. “Shammy.” Nothing. Then a Camel dropped out of the cloud above them. Shammy. Ace exhaled so hard it hurt. Shammy leveled. Mai moved toward her. Ace joined. Three. Still three. Behind them, the first German emerged from cloud. Then second. Third. Different spacing now. Good. The cloud had broken their structure. Ace turned toward the nearest. Mai climbed. Shammy went low. They attacked. For a brief, vicious sequence, the advantage reversed. The first German came out of cloud already turning. Ace was waiting. She fired. The burst struck his engine. Smoke exploded backward. He dove. The second emerged directly into Mai's developing line. Mai fired once. The German rolled away. Shammy attacked from below. The third broke upward rather than face all three. The remaining pursuers hesitated inside the cloud. Ace grinned. “That's right.” They had bought space. Real space. Finally. The three Camels turned west. Not running. Repositioning. Ace looked at Shammy. Shammy gave a quick nod. Fine. Mai looked upward. Clear for the moment. Ace began to believe they had broken the cycle. Then Shammy pointed behind them. Ace turned. German aircraft were emerging from the cloud. One. Two. Three. Four. Not the same neat pursuit. Scattered. But coming. Another appeared higher. Fifth. Ace's jaw tightened. “Persistent bastards.” Mai pointed farther south. Two additional German aircraft were turning toward the disturbance. Seven. Ace stopped counting. They climbed. The Triad changed direction again. Shammy moved slightly ahead. Not because anyone had planned it. Because she had the best line. Ace held her right side. Mai left. The Germans spread behind. Nobody firing yet. Too far. Ace looked at Shammy. She was still moving beautifully. No damage visible. No smoke. No weakness. Nothing wrong. And Ace understood, suddenly and horribly, that none of that was the issue. The issue was that the Flying Circus did not need her to be wrong. It only needed her to remain under pressure long enough. Mai came closer. Her face was grim behind the goggles. She understood too. Ace pointed at Shammy. Then west. Mai nodded immediately. Get her out. Not all three. Her. Shammy saw the exchange. She shook her head. Ace pointed harder. Shammy shook her head again. Mai moved closer and pointed west too. Shammy looked from one to the other. Then behind. The Germans were closing. Ace saw the moment Shammy accepted the logic. She nodded. Fine. West. Ace felt relief. Tiny. Premature. Shammy pushed ahead. Ace and Mai turned outward. They would hold the pursuers. Give Shammy distance. Simple. Ace chose two Germans on the right. Mai took the left. Shammy continued west. Ace attacked. Her first German broke. She followed enough to force him farther away. Second came in. Ace turned toward him. Guns flashed. She rolled. Returned fire. No hits. The first German came back. Ace now had two. Good. Two not chasing Shammy. Mai had at least two. Four removed. Ace looked past them. Shammy was farther west. One German still behind her. Only one. Better. Shammy could handle one. Ace turned back to her own fight. The first Albatros came down. She avoided. Second crossed. Ace pulled behind. Possible shot. She fired. Missed. No matter. Keep them. Keep them interested. For several seconds Ace allowed herself to believe the plan was working. Then she looked west again. The one German behind Shammy had become two. Where had— A third appeared from above. Ace's heart stopped. “No.” Shammy turned. Three followed. Ace tried to disengage. Her two Germans immediately attacked. She rolled beneath fire. “Fuck off!” She turned hard. One followed. The other climbed to cut her route. They knew. Keep Ace here. Mai was farther left with her own fight. Shammy was alone. Ace pulled violently through the turn. The Camel shuddered. The German behind gained. Ace reversed. He followed. Too good. She fired from a bad angle just to force him away. He broke. Ace turned west. The second German came down. Rounds struck her upper wing. Fabric snapped. Ace ducked instinctively. The aircraft continued flying. She ignored the damage. West. Shammy. Four. There were four now. Ace stared. One close behind. Two above. One crossing from south. Shammy dove. The closest followed. The others adjusted. Ace pushed everything forward. She was too far. Mai appeared from the left. Also too far. Both converging. Shammy turned beneath the first attacker. The second descended. She rolled. Escaped. Third moved in. Shammy changed direction. Ace watched the geometry contract. Still openings. Still routes. Shammy found one. She slipped through. Ace almost shouted with relief. Then the fourth aircraft occupied the opening she had just used. Shammy turned again. A fifth German arrived. Ace felt cold spread through her chest. Five. How? It didn't matter. There were five. Shammy had space below. She dove. Two followed. One stayed above. Two moved outward. They were not all attacking at once. That made it worse. They were beginning to rotate. One pressured. Another waited. Shammy escaped. Next entered. No recovery. No reset. Ace saw it. Mai saw it. This was no longer a collection of angry pilots chasing an irritating Camel. It had become a system. Not perfect. Not planned from the ground. But enough. Ace fired at a German crossing her line. Too far. He ignored her. She closed. Fire again. He turned toward Ace. Good. Four on Shammy. Mai forced another away. Three. Shammy broke past one. Two. Ace's hope surged. Then another German entered from above. Three. Another approached from east. Four. “STOP COMING!” Ace knew the absurdity of shouting at an entire Jasta. Did it anyway. Her Vickers fired. The nearest German broke. Three. Mai attacked another. Two. Ace reached Shammy. Finally. Their aircraft crossed close. Ace looked at her. Shammy's face had changed. Not fear. Effort. For the first time, visible effort. Her movements remained fluid. Her eyes did not. They moved constantly. Left. Right. Up. Behind. Again. Again. Too many variables. Ace pointed west. Shammy nodded. No argument now. They turned together. Mai joined. Three Camels. Briefly. A German attacked from above. Mai broke to intercept. Another came from right. Ace turned. Shammy continued west. Ace saw the pattern repeating. Again. Pull Ace away. Pull Mai away. Leave Shammy with whatever remains. Ace refused. She let the German fire. Rounds passed behind. She stayed beside Shammy. The German attacked again. Closer. Ace rolled just enough. Still stayed. Another came in. Now two attacking Ace. She could not ignore both. Shammy looked at her. Pointed away. Ace shook her head. Shammy pointed again. **Go.** Ace's jaw tightened. No. Shammy banked suddenly toward the attacking Germans. Ace stared. Shammy was deliberately pulling them. Away from Ace. “Don't you fucking—” Shammy crossed beneath the first. The German turned. Second followed. Now both transferred to Shammy. Ace's stomach dropped. “No.” She turned after them. Mai came from above. Four German aircraft were already around Shammy. The two newcomers made six. Six. Ace stopped breathing. The number hung in her mind. Not impossible. Not instantly fatal. But different. Completely different. Shammy dove. Three followed. Two stayed high. One crossed ahead. Ace attacked the nearest high aircraft. Mai went for the crossing one. They peeled two away. Four. Shammy reversed. One overshot. Three. Ace's target broke toward her. She ignored him and turned back. He fired. Rounds struck somewhere behind Ace's cockpit. The Camel jolted. Still flying. Shammy climbed. Three Germans followed. A fourth, one Ace had thought removed, returned from above. Four. Mai forced one off. Three. Ace came in on another. He turned. Two. Shammy fired at one. The German broke smoking. One. For one glorious heartbeat: one. Ace laughed. Shammy could handle one. Then Ace looked above. Two more were descending. And another was coming from the east. Her laugh died. It was not six specific aircraft. That was the mistake. It was six positions. Six demands. Six threats that could be filled by whoever happened to be available. Pull one away. Another occupied the place. Shoot one down. Another arrived. Force one off. Another rotated in. Arithmetic. Nothing more. The Flying Circus had aircraft to spend. The Triad had attention. Energy. Ammunition. Time. All finite. Ace felt fear become certainty. Not that Shammy was going down. Not yet. But that this could not continue forever. Shammy knew it too. Ace saw it in her face when they crossed again. No panic. No surrender. Just understanding. There were too many. Mai came alongside for half a second. Ace looked at her. Mai's expression said the same thing. They had to break this now. Not in another minute. Now. Mai pointed down. Ace followed. A British pair was climbing from below. Potential support. Ace nodded. Get Shammy there. Three Camels turned. The Germans followed. Shammy in the middle. Ace right. Mai left. They descended toward the friendly aircraft. For the first time in several minutes, the path ahead looked usable. The British pair saw them. Turned upward. Ace felt hope. Actual hope. Then a red triplane crossed far above the entire formation. Bright. Controlled. Untouched by the chaos below. Ace saw it. The Red Baron. Only for a second. He turned his head as he passed. The leather flying helmet visible above the cockpit rim. Goggles catching light. Close enough this time for Ace to see the shape distinctly. Then the red Fokker banked away toward another fight. Ace's attention snapped back. Shammy. Friendly Camels below. Almost there. The first British pilot climbed toward the nearest German. Good. The second followed. Pressure shifted. One German broke away. Another turned toward the newcomers. Ace almost smiled. Then machine-gun fire flashed from behind Shammy. She rolled. Rounds passed beneath. Another German attacked from above. Shammy turned again. The British pair were there now. Ace went after one pursuer. Mai another. The battle exploded into a new knot. For a few seconds there were too many aircraft to separate visually. Roundels. Crosses. Wings. Propellers. Tracer. Ace rolled beneath one machine. Almost collided with another. Pulled. Saw Mai. Lost Mai. Saw Shammy. Lost Shammy. Found her again. A German behind. Another above. One approaching. Still. Still. Still. The additional Camels had not solved the problem. They had merely made the arithmetic larger. Ace felt the realization hit harder than any maneuver. There was no clean exit anymore. Not while the entire battle remained around them. They would have to fight through it. Shammy turned beneath a German attack. Rolled. Climbed. Fired. The enemy broke. Another took his place. Ace came toward her. Mai from the opposite side. Three women converging through a sky that had become almost completely hostile. Shammy looked at them. For the first time since the battle began, she did not smile. She simply nodded once. Ace understood. So did Mai. No more trying to escape one perfect trap. There wasn't one. No more looking for the moment when the pressure would stop. It wouldn't. They would keep pulling aircraft away. Shammy would keep finding openings. Mai would keep breaking structures. Ace would keep forcing people to choose her instead. And they would do it until something changed. Ace wrapped her hand harder around the stick. The Vickers sat ahead of her. She checked the ammunition instinctively. Less than she wanted. Of course. A German fighter descended. Ace turned into him. Mai broke toward another. Shammy rolled beneath a third. The sky filled again. And the arithmetic continued. --- ## Chapter 7 — Too Many The first British Camel went down without burning. Ace saw it happen. One moment it was climbing beneath the fight, nose high, trying to reach a German aircraft that had committed too far. The next, another Albatros crossed behind it. Gunfire. A brief spray of fabric. The Camel rolled. Not violently. Almost lazily. Then the nose dropped and the aircraft began descending east. Pilot alive? Controls damaged? Engine hit? Ace had no idea. She couldn't follow. She had her own problem. Two German aircraft ahead. One above. Mai somewhere left. Shammy below. Again. Always below now. Not because she was losing altitude carelessly. Because every route offered to her ended downward. One German fighter pressed from above. Shammy escaped beneath him. Another occupied the next layer. Down again. Then another. Pressure converting altitude into survival. Ace saw it. Mai saw it. The Germans saw it too. “Stop giving them the fucking idea.” Nobody could hear her. The nearest Albatros turned toward Ace. Good. Take me. Ace went straight at him. The German held course. Too long. Good pilot. Ace fired first. Not expecting a hit. Forcing movement. The Albatros broke. Ace followed. Behind him, another German turned toward Shammy. Ace cursed. Wrong one. She broke away immediately. The first German came after her. Fine. Now she had one. She turned toward the second. The first followed. Two. Better. Two interested in Ace meant two not interested in Shammy. She attacked the second. He saw her coming and broke upward. Ace climbed after him. The first German followed. Gunfire flashed behind. Ace rolled. Rounds passed through the gap between her upper and lower wing. Closer than she liked. She continued. The second German turned. Ace matched. The first remained behind. Three aircraft rotating around the same shrinking piece of sky. Ace had done this before. Apparently. Her hands knew it. Her mind hated it. The second German started a descending turn. Ace followed. The first gained behind. Wrong. Too much commitment. Ace knew. She stayed one heartbeat longer. The Vickers sight crossed the second German's tail. Not enough. Break. Ace rolled away. Machine-gun fire erupted behind. Rounds struck her Camel. Not one. Several. Fabric snapped. Something hit wood with a hard crack beneath her right elbow. Ace flinched. The controls remained responsive. Engine steady. Good enough. She turned violently. The pursuing German overshot. Ace came around. For half a second the pilot was directly ahead. She fired. The burst hit low. Fuselage. Maybe undercarriage. The German rolled away. Ace did not follow. Shammy. She looked. Five. No. Six. Her breath stopped. Two close behind. One high right. One high left. One low ahead. Another farther back entering. Six again. Shammy turned sharply. The nearest German fired. Tracer crossed behind her. Second fired. Shammy rolled. The Camel dropped through the two streams. Ace felt the impossible relief of seeing an opening. Shammy found it. She always found it. She dove toward the lower German. That pilot reacted. Climbed. Wrong. Shammy turned beneath him. The German behind followed. The two enemy aircraft crossed. One broke. Shammy came around. Guns. Short burst. The lower German rolled away smoking. Five. Ace counted despite herself. Five. Mai came from the left. Her guns fired at the high-right aircraft. He broke. Four. Ace attacked one from above. The German turned toward her. Three. Shammy had three. Still too many. But survivable. For the moment. Ace climbed into her new opponent. He refused the fight. Broke east. Ace let him. Returned immediately. Shammy. Four again. The one Mai had driven away had returned. Of course. Ace stopped counting. --- Mai had begun thinking in intervals. Not aircraft. Time. How long could Shammy continue without a clean reset? How long since she had been able to fly straight? How long since she had been able to climb without someone occupying the space above? How long since she had been able to look at anything except threats? Mai did not know the exact answer. Long enough. Too long. Shammy was still flying well. That was not reassurance anymore. It was evidence of how much she had already spent. Mai attacked a Fokker descending toward her. The German rolled away. Mai did not follow. She climbed through the vacated space. From there she could see the local geometry more clearly. Bad. Very bad. The fight had tightened around Shammy again. Not by accident. Three aircraft close. Two farther out. One above. Ace approaching from the right. Another German behind Ace. Mai scanned farther west. Friendly aircraft. Too far. Farther east. More Germans. Enough. Always enough. Could they climb? No. High aircraft. Dive? Shammy had already been pushed downward too often. West? Possible. For perhaps twenty seconds. Then someone would follow. Mai searched for a structure to break. There was no single structure. That was the problem. The enemy wasn't building one trap. They were applying continuous pressure. Each individual German only needed to do one thing reasonably well. Force Shammy to react. Pass the problem to the next pilot. Again. Again. Again. Mai felt something cold settle inside her. This was not how one defeated Shammy. This was how one exhausted the existence of choices. She pointed west. Ace saw. Nodded. Shammy saw too. No argument. Good. The three Camels began shifting together. A German attacked. Mai went to meet him. Another attacked Ace. Ace turned. Shammy continued. Exactly the problem. Every movement separated them. Mai fired. Her target broke. She returned. Shammy farther away. Two Germans behind her. Third above. Ace farther right with one enemy on her. Mai accelerated. The upper German began descending. Mai would not reach him in time. Shammy saw the attack. Turned beneath it. First pursuer followed. Second widened. Smart. Mai recognized the pattern. One forced the turn. One waited for the exit. Shammy recognized it too. She did not take the obvious exit. She reversed. The first German overshot. Second adjusted. Shammy climbed toward him. Aggressive. Unexpected. The German fired too early. Rounds went wide. Shammy fired back. The aircraft crossed. No hits. Now the first German was behind again. Third descending. Mai entered. She fired at the third. He broke. Two. Ace arrived. Forced one away. One. Space. Mai almost believed it. Then she looked up. Another pair coming down. Her stomach tightened. She pointed. Ace looked. Shammy looked. Nobody reacted with surprise anymore. That was worse. --- Shammy's shoulders hurt. She noticed because nothing else did. Not fear. Not panic. Not even cold anymore. Just tension running from both hands through her forearms into her shoulders. She adjusted her grip. The Camel responded. Still good. Engine still strong. Controls still clear. A few holes in the upper wing. Nothing serious. She was fine. The aircraft was fine. The sky was not. One German approached from high left. Another from behind. Ace was attacking one farther right. Mai climbing toward another. Shammy had room below. She used it. The high-left fighter fired. Tracer crossed above. Shammy rolled. The rear aircraft followed. She let him. Down. Faster. The German gained. Expected. Shammy looked back. Close. Patient? No. Different pilot. This one wanted the shot quickly. Good. Impatience was easier. He fired. Too early. Shammy changed direction. The burst missed. The German followed. Spent too much speed. Shammy reversed. The Camel came around. For one instant they were almost side by side. The German pilot looked at her. Young. That registered absurdly. Young. Then he was ahead. Shammy fired. Hits along the fuselage. The German rolled away. She did not know if he was going down. Did not care. Another aircraft arrived immediately. Shammy exhaled. Not frustration. Almost laughter. Of course. She turned. The new German attacked. Shammy slipped beneath. Another appeared. Two. Fine. She could manage two. Then gunfire from above. Third. She rolled. Ace crossed overhead. Her guns hammered. One German broke toward Ace. Two. Mai came through below. Forced another away. One. Shammy looked at both of them. For one second. Ace pointed west. Shammy nodded. Again. Try again. She pushed west. Ace and Mai spread behind her. Good. The space opened. Wind hammered her scarf. The engine's vibration settled into something almost soothing. Straight line. For the first time in— She had no idea. Five seconds. Maybe six. No one firing. No one crossing. No one forcing her to turn. Shammy breathed. One full breath. Then another. The relief was almost dangerous. She looked back. Ace behind-right. Mai behind-left. Two German aircraft approaching them. Ace turned toward one. Mai toward the other. Shammy continued. For another three seconds. Then shadow. She looked up. Fokker. Coming down almost vertically. Shammy rolled. Gunfire tore through the space beside her. The Fokker overshot. She recovered. Second aircraft from the right. Where had he— Doesn't matter. Turn. He fired. Missed. Third behind. Shammy felt the tiny space she'd gained vanish instantly. Again. Back into it. She turned left. First German returning. Second still right. Third behind. Ace farther away now. Mai farther away too. Three. Shammy focused. Three had been possible all morning. Three remained possible. The first German came in. She forced him high. Second attacked from right. She rolled beneath. Third closed behind. She changed direction. The rear fighter matched. Good pilot. Shammy tightened. He stayed. She loosened. He closed. She reversed. He anticipated. Very good. Shammy smiled faintly. All right. Then a fourth aircraft entered from above. The smile vanished. The good pilot stayed behind. The fourth descended. Shammy dove. The second German below was still there. No. That exit was closed. She turned right. First fighter returning. Right closing. Left? Open. She went left. Gunfire. Rounds passed close. Too close. Something struck her upper wing. The Camel jerked. Still responding. Fine. Left exit remained. She continued. Another German appeared there. Five. Shammy's eyes widened. Not fear. Calculation. No left. No down. High occupied. Behind active. Right— Maybe. She rolled right. One German followed. Another crossed ahead. Shammy pulled beneath him. Space. There. She found it. Again. She came out lower. Five became scattered. Not gone. Scattered. Good enough. Ace was coming. Mai too. Shammy breathed once. Then saw another Fokker turning toward her. Six. She closed her eyes for less than a heartbeat. Opened. Fine. --- Ace saw Shammy disappear inside six aircraft. Not literally. The Camel remained visible. Fragments of it. Upper wing. Tail. A flash of pale scarf. Then German machines crossing between. Ace drove toward them. One Albatros turned to meet her. “No.” She did not turn. The German fired. Ace rolled just enough. Stayed on course. He passed. Another crossed. Ace fired at him immediately. Not to kill. Move. The German broke. Space. Ace went through. Shammy. There. Three directly around her. Others outside. Ace came down on one. Fired. The burst struck the German's upper wing. He rolled away. Two. Mai attacked another. One. Ace felt savage relief. Then the outer aircraft rotated inward. Three again. It was obscene. Ace looked for a way to stay physically beside Shammy. No. Every time she tried, someone attacked her. A German came head-on. Ace fired. He fired. They crossed. A round struck her windshield frame. Ace flinched. Glass? No. No glass worth naming. Metal. The aircraft still flew. Turn. Back. Shammy. Four. Mai fighting one. Ace attacked another. Three. Shammy rolled beneath one. Two. Another came from above. Three. Numbers. Numbers. Numbers. Ace hated numbers. She pushed closer. Shammy turned toward her. Their aircraft passed perhaps twenty yards apart. Close enough for Ace to see Shammy's face clearly. Tired. There. Finally. Not afraid. Not panicking. But tired. Ace's chest tightened. She pointed west. Shammy shook her head. Not refusal. No route. Ace understood. Fuck. Mai appeared farther left. She pointed downward. Maybe. Shammy looked. A German aircraft occupied the lower path. Mai turned toward it. Ace went after another. Clear the lane. Now. Mai attacked. The German broke. Lane open. Shammy dove. Ace felt hope. Then tracer erupted from high right. A Fokker descended into the lane. Shammy rolled. The dive broke. Another German came behind. Lane closed. Ace shouted something incoherent. The engine swallowed it. She turned toward the Fokker. Too far. Mai tried from the other side. Another German intercepted her. The sky had answers for everything. Ace suddenly understood the end state. Not as a possibility. As a shape. This was what Mai had already seen. No single route had to remain closed forever. It only had to remain closed until another aircraft replaced the first. No single German had to beat Shammy. They only had to keep making her solve problems. Eventually— No. Ace refused. She attacked harder. The nearest German broke. She followed. Too long. Fired. Hits. The aircraft smoked. Ace turned back. Shammy had four. Mai forced one away. Three. Ace came in. Two. Shammy attacked one. Guns. The German rolled away. One. Ace's whole body loosened for half a second. One. Shammy turned west. Go. Go now. Mai moved beside her. Ace stayed behind. Then two Germans descended from above. Ace felt something inside her break loose. “NO!” One attacked Ace. The other went directly for Shammy. Ace ignored hers. The German fired. Rounds punched through Ace's upper wing. She stayed. Shammy rolled. Her attacker followed. Mai turned toward him. Another German came from below and forced Mai away. Shammy still had one. Ace closing. Her own attacker still behind. She could feel him. Shammy's German fired. Missed. Shammy reversed. Good. He overshot slightly. Ace saw the opening. She fired from distance. The German broke. Clear. Shammy looked toward Ace. Ace pointed west so hard her whole arm moved. Shammy nodded. She turned. Then gunfire came from behind Ace. This time the Camel took real hits. The aircraft lurched. Ace's head snapped forward. Engine? Still. Controls? Yes. She turned instinctively. The German behind was close. Too close to ignore. Ace pulled hard. The aircraft responded sluggishly for half a second. Damage. Fuck. She had to deal with him. Ace turned. The German followed. Shammy continued west. Mai still fighting another aircraft. For perhaps four seconds Shammy was alone again. Four seconds. Ace knew it. Felt it. Could do nothing. She forced her attacker into a turn. He stayed. Ace tightened. He stayed. She reversed. He anticipated. Good pilot. Bad timing. Ace fired from a poor line. The German broke. Ace turned away immediately. Looked west. One German behind Shammy. Then second. Third moving in from above. Ace pushed the Camel after them. Damage pulled slightly. She corrected automatically. Faster. Come on. Mai disengaged too. Both converging. Shammy turned. The first German followed. The second widened. The third descended. Same pattern. Again. Shammy changed direction early. The first overshot. Second came in. She rolled. Third fired. Rounds passed close. Ace nearly reached them. Then a fourth German crossed her nose. Ace fired without thinking. The aircraft broke. Ace continued. Shammy below. Three around her. Mai approaching from the left. Another German behind Mai. Ace's pulse was no longer fast. It was constant. A hammer. Shammy dove. One followed. Second stayed above. Third moved ahead. Ace saw the available escape. Right. Shammy saw it too. She turned right. Then a fourth aircraft arrived from the right. Closed. Shammy reversed left. One German there. Closed. Down? The pursuer below. Up? Two above. Ace stared. For the first time all morning— No opening. Shammy knew it. Ace saw the moment. Not panic. Not hesitation. Acceptance of the equation. No opening. So Shammy made one. She pulled sharply upward toward the two higher aircraft. Aggressive. The Germans had not expected it. One fired too late. The other broke. Shammy passed between them. There. Ace almost laughed. She had done it again. Created space where none existed. Then the German behind climbed after her. Another came from the side. The one who had broken turned back. Three. Shammy leveled. No speed. Too little. The Camel needed a moment. The Germans did not give it. First attacker fired. Shammy rolled. Second fired. Rounds struck the aircraft. Ace saw pieces come away. “No.” Shammy kept flying. The Camel dropped. Recovered. Third German fired. More hits. Smoke appeared. Thin. Gray. Ace's stomach turned to ice. Mai was closer. Ace closer still. Shammy dove. Smoke followed. Not fire. Not yet. Ace attacked the nearest German. Fired. He broke. Mai forced another away. The third stayed behind Shammy. Ace turned toward him. Too far. He fired again. The burst lasted perhaps one second. Ace saw the rounds reach Shammy's Camel. Saw fabric tear. Saw something burst near the engine. Then orange. Small. A flicker. Ace stopped breathing. “No.” The flame disappeared behind smoke. For half a heartbeat she convinced herself it had been sunlight. Then it came back. Larger. Bright orange along the forward fuselage. “No. No, no, no—” Shammy's Camel turned downward. Not uncontrolled. Not yet. She was still flying it. Still trying. Ace drove toward her. The German behind Shammy broke away. Maybe out of ammunition. Maybe satisfied. Ace did not care. The fire grew. Oil. Fuel. Fabric. The flame moved horrifyingly fast. Shammy's aircraft descended more steeply. Ace came alongside from above. Too far away to help. Close enough to see. Shammy. She was still in the cockpit. Still controlling the aircraft. Her head turned. Toward Ace. Ace saw her face behind goggles. For one impossible second the battle vanished. Just Shammy. Ace. Two aircraft. Fire. Shammy looked at her. No panic. Ace shook her head violently. As though that could stop gravity. As though that could stop fire. As though refusal had ever mattered to physics. Shammy lifted one hand from the controls. Briefly. Two fingers. The same gesture from the morning. Ace's chest tore open. Then Shammy's Camel dropped beneath her line of sight. Ace banked after it. Mai appeared on the other side. The burning aircraft descended through the fighting below. Flames streamed backward now. Black smoke. Ace tried to follow. A German fighter crossed directly in front of her. She pulled violently. Gunfire. Another aircraft attacked from above. Ace rolled. Lost sight of Shammy. “No!” She looked down. Smoke trail. There. Follow it. A German came in. Ace turned away from the attack. Looked again. The burning Camel was lower. Much lower. Heading toward the patchwork fields. Still descending. Could Shammy land it? Could she get out? There were no parachutes. Ace knew that too. Of course she fucking knew that. The German attacked again. Rounds crossed near Ace's cockpit. She turned instinctively. For three seconds she fought. Three seconds. When she looked down again— Smoke. Only smoke. The Camel had disappeared beneath another layer of aircraft and distance. Ace searched. Nothing. “SHAMMY!” The name vanished into the engine roar. Mai's Camel came alongside. Ace looked at her. Mai's face was white beneath the goggles. She had seen it. All of it. Ace pointed down. Mai looked. Nothing. They could not follow. Not now. German fighters were already returning. The battle had not stopped because Shammy was falling. The Flying Circus did not care that the world had just changed. Ace looked down one last time. Fields. Road. Smoke dissipating in the air. No aircraft. No impact. No landing. No Shammy. Nothing. She did not know. That was the worst part. Not dead. Not alive. Unknown. Ace's hands shook once on the controls. Then steadied. Not because she was calm. Because the Camel needed them steady. Mai moved closer. Two aircraft now. Only two. Ace looked at the empty space where Shammy should have been. Then at Mai. Mai looked back. Neither gestured. Neither needed to. The first German fighter came toward them. Ace turned into him. Her Vickers fired before she consciously decided to fire. The German broke. Ace followed. Hard. Too hard. Mai came with her. The three-Camel geometry was gone. The sky felt enormous. And somewhere below it, Shammy was either alive— or she wasn't. Ace had no answer. So she pointed the nose of her damaged Camel back toward the Flying Circus. And kept fighting. --- ## Chapter 8 — Two The first thing Ace noticed was the silence. Not real silence. There was no silence anywhere in the sky. Her rotary engine hammered ahead of her. Wind tore at her scarf. Machine guns fired somewhere to the left. Another aircraft passed beneath with enough proximity that she heard its engine briefly change the shape of her own. But inside the formation— silence. No Shammy. No pale scarf. No familiar Camel sliding through a gap that should not have existed. Just Mai. Ace looked left. Mai was still there. That mattered more than anything. For the moment. Ace forced herself to breathe. Then a German fighter crossed ahead. The moment ended. Mai turned first. Ace followed. The Albatros pilot saw two Camels moving toward him and immediately broke away. Smart. Ace started after him. Mai did not. Ace saw the difference. Corrected. Stayed with Mai. The urge to chase had arrived too fast. Too sharp. Mai glanced at her. Ace knew that look even through goggles. **Stay with me.** Ace nodded once. They turned together. Two. The formation felt wrong. Not weaker exactly. Incomplete. Ace had spent the entire morning judging space relative to two familiar aircraft. Mai left. Shammy right. Now every time she looked toward the right side of the sky, the absence registered like a missing tooth. Her eyes kept searching anyway. Maybe smoke below. Maybe a field. Maybe a damaged Camel. Maybe— Gunfire. Mai rolled. Ace moved with her. A Fokker came through from above. Mai turned beneath him. Ace went up. The German had to choose. He chose Ace. Fine. She climbed after him. Mai stayed below and behind. The Fokker turned sharply. Ace followed. The aircraft's engine torque helped pull her around. Her body knew exactly how much rudder to use. How much pressure to hold. How much speed she could afford to sacrifice. She hated every piece of that knowledge. The German leveled briefly. Ace fired. Short burst. Miss. He dropped away. Ace did not follow. Mai. There. Good. Another aircraft approaching from her left. Ace pointed. Mai saw it. Turned. Two Camels moved together. For the first time since Shammy fell, the fight started becoming structured again. Not safe. Never safe. But recognizable. Ace attacked threats that came close. Mai controlled the larger geometry. Neither had to compensate for protecting Shammy anymore. The thought hit Ace with immediate guilt. She rejected it. No. Not that. Shammy had not been a burden. The enemy had made her the center of the fight. That was different. Ace knew the difference. Still hated that her brain had produced the thought. She looked down. Fields. Nothing. No smoke now. Too far west? Too low? Gone? Ace looked forward again. Mai had already turned toward a new threat. Ace followed. --- Mai had reorganized the entire battle in her head the moment Shammy disappeared. Not emotionally. Emotion had no useful place in the next thirty seconds. That would come later. If there was a later. The operational problem had changed. Three aircraft had become two. Their spacing had to change. Their mutual support had to change. Their willingness to separate had to change. The enemy knew it too. Mai could see that almost immediately. German pilots who had previously spent effort peeling Ace and Mai away from Shammy no longer had a focal point. Pressure redistributed. Some stayed with nearby fights. Some broke away. Some turned toward the remaining pair. Mai watched the shift. They had lost one. But they had also lost the structure that had trapped them. That was useful. She hated that it was useful. A German aircraft approached from high right. Another low left. Mai pointed. Ace took the high. Mai took the low. The low fighter was an Albatros. Dark green fuselage. Yellow spinner. Competent line. He did not come directly at Mai. He angled to force her toward Ace's fight. Interesting. Mai turned away instead. The German followed. Expected. Mai held the turn. He tightened. She loosened. He gained slightly. Good. The geometry changed. Ace's fight moved farther right. Mai now had more space. The German believed he was pressing her outward. He was. But outward was where Mai wanted him. She watched his nose. Speed. Angle. Closing rate. He fired. Too early. Mai rolled beneath. The burst passed high. She reversed. The Albatros anticipated. Good pilot. Mai changed again. Not a full reversal. A half-commitment. The German reacted. There. Too much. He turned harder than necessary. Mai climbed. The German lost the direct line. She came over. For perhaps one second, his aircraft sat below and ahead. Mai fired. The burst struck the upper wing. Not enough. He rolled. Mai followed. Another burst. The German's aircraft shuddered. Then smoke. Mai broke away. No need to confirm. A different German was already attacking Ace. Mai turned toward her. Ace rolled beneath the Fokker. The enemy continued. Mai came in from the side. Her guns fired. The Fokker broke away. Ace looked at Mai. One quick nod. Two. It worked. Not as before. Different. But it worked. --- Ace's damage was getting worse. Not catastrophically. Annoyingly. The Camel pulled slightly in one direction under certain loads. One control response felt heavier than it had earlier. She knew what that meant. Of course she did. The borrowed pilot inside her mind supplied a list of possible causes. Rigging damage. Fabric damage. Control cable issue. Something bent. Ace wanted to scream. She could diagnose First World War aircraft damage by feel. She still had no idea how she had gotten into 1918. Excellent. Perfect. She looked at Mai. Mai's Camel looked cleaner. A few holes. No obvious smoke. Good. Ace pointed at her own upper wing. Then made a small wobbling gesture. Mai looked. Nodded. Understood. Stay aware. Ace pointed down. Mai's expression changed. Shammy. Ace searched again. Nothing. Mai shook her head once. No visual. Ace looked forward. The refusal to know was becoming unbearable. If Shammy had landed— if she had managed— if the fire— No. Fight. A German pair approached from east. Ace and Mai tightened. The pair split. One toward Ace. One toward Mai. Fine. Symmetry. Ace took hers head-on. He fired first. Ace rolled beneath. The Albatros continued through. Ace turned. He turned too. Circle. Ace hated circles. Mai liked circles. Circles were patient. Ace preferred decisions. So she changed the fight. Instead of tightening, she widened. The German followed. Good. She let him think he was gaining. Then cut sharply inward. He reacted late. Ace crossed his line. Guns. The Vickers hammered. Rounds struck somewhere near the engine. The Albatros jerked. Propeller still turning. Pilot still controlling. Ace fired again. The engine began smoking. He dove. Ace followed. Too long. Again. A voice in her head: **Break.** She stayed. Another second. The German continued downward. Ace's sight moved onto the fuselage. Fire. The aircraft rolled. Then the upper wing folded at one side. Ace flinched. The German dropped away. She broke. Hard. Look for Mai. There. Still fighting. Good. Ace breathed. Another German came from above. She turned toward him. Then saw movement farther east. Red. The triplane. Ace's whole attention tightened. Richthofen. He was closer than before. Not close enough to engage. Close enough to see the pilot's head turning inside the cockpit. Leather flying helmet. Goggles. The shape unmistakable now. The red machine banked. For perhaps two seconds, Ace and the Baron were moving on roughly opposite lines. Not fighting. Passing through the same huge battle. The distance closed frighteningly fast. Ace could see the helmet. Not details. Enough. A real person. Not a name in a history book. Not a silhouette. A man in an open cockpit. Watching the sky. Then his aircraft turned away. Ace felt an irrational urge to follow. Mission objective. Baron. Do it. Mai's Camel crossed her peripheral vision. Ace snapped back. No. Not now. Mai was still here. Ace stayed. The red triplane disappeared behind another fight. --- The next several minutes became almost calm by comparison. Almost. Ace and Mai fought. Together. Separated briefly. Rejoined. Neither allowed the other to disappear for more than seconds. They learned the two-Camel rhythm quickly. Mai created lines. Ace exploited them. Ace forced enemies into reactions. Mai predicted where those reactions would go. It was not planned. It emerged. A Fokker attacked Mai from above. Ace climbed directly into the German's path. He turned away. Mai came around behind. Fire. The German dove smoking. Another Albatros tried to approach Ace from below. Mai saw him first. Pointed. Ace turned down. The German fired. Ace rolled. Mai descended behind him. Her guns hammered. The Albatros broke. Ace came around from the opposite side. For one second the German pilot had two Camels in two different sectors. He chose Mai. Ace fired. The burst struck the rear fuselage. He rolled away. Mai stayed. Another burst. Smoke. Down. Ace looked at Mai. Mai lifted two fingers. Not a count. **Two of us.** Ace understood. Raised two back. Still here. Still two. --- They gained altitude. Not deliberately at first. The local fight had moved upward. Mai noticed before Ace. She pointed at the altimeter. Then east. Ace nodded. They were higher than they had been during Shammy's final fight. More space. Better visibility. The battlefield finally looked like a battlefield again instead of a collapsing room. Aircraft scattered across miles. Some pairs locked together. Small groups forming and breaking. Smoke trails descending toward the ground. One aircraft burning far to the south. Ace looked away immediately. Not Shammy. Couldn't be. Wrong place. Probably. The word hurt. Mai looked downward too. Then at Ace. Ace shook her head. Nothing. Mai nodded. No answer. They continued east. A German fighter passed below. Did not engage. Another moved across higher. The density had changed. The Flying Circus had lost aircraft. So had the British. The original twenty-four to thirty-two no longer surrounded them everywhere. But there were still enough. More than enough. Ace scanned. Red. Nothing. Mai pointed. Ace followed. There. The Baron. Farther east. And beside him— another aircraft. Close. Not touching formation. Wingman. Ace identified the relationship instantly. Again. Borrowed knowledge. Of course. The second aircraft stayed slightly offset from the Baron's red triplane. Not simply another German nearby. Working with him. Watching the spaces the Baron could not watch continuously. Mai saw it too. Her posture changed. Ace looked at her. Mai pointed toward the pair. Then toward herself. Ace frowned. No. Mai pointed again. Not attack. Observation. Ace understood. She nodded. Watch them. Good. A German aircraft attacked from behind. Ace turned. The moment disappeared. --- Mai kept the red triplane in peripheral awareness whenever possible. Not because of reputation. Because the pair's behavior was unusually clean. The Baron moved first. The wingman adjusted. Not mirrored. Complementary. When Richthofen engaged, the second aircraft remained positioned to discourage interference. When the Baron climbed, the wingman changed altitude differently. When another British aircraft approached from the wrong side, the wingman intercepted before the Baron needed to react. Effective. Mai stored the pattern. Not obsession. Information. A Camel attacked the red triplane. Richthofen turned beneath him. The British pilot followed. The wingman stayed out. For several seconds. Then another Camel approached from the rear-right. The wingman moved. Intercepted. Forced the second Camel away. Exactly. Mai understood. The wingman was not simply protecting the Baron's body. He was protecting the Baron's options. That made him dangerous. Also predictable. Eventually. Mai returned attention to her immediate fight. An Albatros was coming. She turned. --- Ace's aggression had changed. Mai noticed it before Ace did. Not dangerously. Not yet. But Ace was staying in attacks longer. Following damaged aircraft farther. Accepting worse angles before breaking. The difference was subtle. A fraction. One extra heartbeat. Another fifty yards. One tighter turn than necessary. Mai knew why. Shammy. Ace could not follow the burning Camel. Could not know. So everything she could follow now— she followed. Mai hated the logic. Understood it completely. She moved closer. Ace looked at her. Mai made a calming downward gesture. Ace stared. Then rolled her eyes. Good. Still Ace. Mai pointed at the next approaching German. Ace nodded. Focus. --- The German pilot came toward both of them aggressively. Fokker D.VII? No. Too early. The supplied knowledge rejected the thought instantly. Ace almost laughed. Even her impossible expertise could correct her historical stupidity. Albatros. Fine. The German came in high. Mai split left. Ace right. He chose Ace. Ace climbed. The German fired. Missed. Ace turned into him. Mai repositioned behind. The German noticed. Broke upward. Mai anticipated. Climbed before him. Now he had Ace below and Mai ahead. He rolled away. Ace followed. Mai dropped. The German reversed. Mai fired. Hits. He turned toward Ace. Ace fired. The Albatros crossed between them under fire from both directions. Smoke burst from the engine. The aircraft continued. Then flame. Ace recoiled. Orange. Forward fuselage. Same place. Different Camel? No. German. Not Shammy. Her stomach still twisted. The burning Albatros descended. Ace watched too long. Mai crossed her line. Ace snapped back. Right. Don't watch. They climbed. --- For the first time since Shammy fell, the Flying Circus stopped focusing on them. Not entirely. But enough. Other fights demanded attention. The Baron remained active farther east. His wingman remained with him. Ace and Mai had space. Real space. Ace looked west. No visible pursuit. Then down. She searched again. Fields. Roads. Smoke haze. Nothing identifiable. Mai moved alongside. Ace looked at her. Pointed down. Mai shook her head. Still nothing. Ace's jaw tightened. She pointed west. Then herself. Then down. **We go look.** Mai's answer came immediately. She shook her head. Ace stared. Mai pointed east. German aircraft. Then fuel. Then Ace's damaged wing. Then west. Not yet. Ace's anger flared. She pointed down again. Mai held her gaze. No. Ace looked away. She knew Mai was right. That made it worse. Going down now would mean leaving the battle while German aircraft were still between them and the field. They might not even find the smoke trail. They might get caught low. They might both die chasing a possibility. Ace knew all of it. Still hated it. She slapped one hand once against the cockpit rim. Then nodded. Fine. Mai nodded back. Later. If later existed. --- They turned east again. Two Camels. No third. The red triplane came into view. Closer now. The Baron was engaged with another British aircraft. His wingman remained above and behind. Mai watched. Ace watched too. The British pilot tried to dive away. Richthofen followed. The wingman stayed high. Another Camel approached from the side. The wingman moved immediately. Intercept. There it was again. Mai pointed. Ace looked. Mai made a small crossing gesture with two fingers. Then pointed at the wingman. Ace understood. He breaks interference. Mai nodded. Ace pointed toward herself. Then Baron. Mai shook her head. Not yet. Ace grinned. Of course Mai knew exactly what she was thinking. A German aircraft came in from below. The two Camels broke apart. Fight again. --- Ace finished her next opponent with a burst she did not like. Too long. Too much ammunition. The Albatros rolled away trailing smoke. Ace checked the guns. The knowledge arrived instantly. Less. A lot less. She swore. Mai came alongside. Ace pointed at the guns. Then pinched fingers close together. Mai nodded. She checked hers. Held up a little more. Not much. Excellent. Two damaged Camels. Reduced ammunition. One missing Shammy. Red Baron still flying. Konrad was going to die in several historically inventive ways. Ace looked east. The red triplane had broken from its previous fight. Wingman still there. They were moving toward another cluster. Ace and Mai climbed. Not chasing. Yet. The distance between the two pairs narrowed naturally. Ace could see the red machine clearly now. Bright paint across fuselage and wings. The triplane shape impossible to mistake. Richthofen's head visible above the cockpit. Helmet. Goggles. Again. Close. Closer than before. The wingman held position slightly behind. Mai's eyes fixed on him. Ace noticed. Mai was not looking at the Baron. She was looking at the system. Of course she was. Ace pointed toward her. Then wingman. Mai nodded once. Something had started forming in her head. Ace smiled. That was usually bad news for someone else. The two pairs continued closing. Then three German aircraft crossed between them and the whole sky changed again. Ace rolled. Mai turned. The Baron vanished behind the new fight. The wingman with him. Fine. Later. Ace fired at the nearest German. The Vickers answered with fewer rounds than she wanted. The fight stretched. Minutes. Maybe more. Time had stopped behaving usefully. Ace and Mai kept working. One attack. Another. A break. Reform. Climb. Dive. Fire. Avoid. Watch. Always watch. And between every fight, Ace looked down. Every single time. Nothing. No Shammy. No burning Camel. No answer. Eventually Mai came alongside again. Closer than usual. Ace looked at her. Mai pointed at Ace. Then at herself. Two fingers. Ace nodded. Mai held them there. Two. Not one. Not yet. Ace stared at the gesture. Then at Mai. Understood. She raised two fingers back. Still two. The grief could wait. The fear could wait. The question below them could wait. The war wouldn't. Ace looked east. The red triplane appeared again through the scattered aircraft. Wingman still beside it. Mai saw them. Her focus sharpened. Ace felt her own aggression rise. Mai looked at her immediately. One warning glance. Ace exhaled. Fine. Not yet. But the Baron was there. His wingman was there. And for the first time since Shammy had fallen, Ace felt the battle begin to narrow toward something new. --- ## Chapter 9 — The Wingman The red triplane did not come closer. Not immediately. It moved across the battle with the peculiar confidence of an aircraft that never seemed to be caught between decisions. Richthofen did not rush. He did not need to. His wingman remained offset behind and above, close enough to influence every approach without flying so close that either machine lost freedom. Mai watched them whenever the larger fight allowed. Ace watched Mai watching them. That was almost more interesting. The moment Mai began studying something instead of merely reacting to it, someone usually had a bad afternoon ahead. Ace hoped history was flexible. Konrad had already demonstrated that reality was not currently being consulted. A German Albatros forced them apart. Ace turned hard right. Mai left. The Albatros followed Ace. Wrong choice. Ace accepted the turn. The German tried to stay above her. Good. Patient. Ace hated patient pilots. They made her work. She widened the turn. He stayed outside. Not committing. Trying to preserve position. Ace changed direction. He anticipated. Again. Good. She smiled despite herself. “All right.” No one heard. The German pilot remained high. Waiting for Ace to spend speed. Ace refused. They circled without firing. A strange little private duel embedded inside the larger battle. Then Mai crossed far behind the German. Not attacking. Just visible. The Albatros pilot glanced toward her. One second. Ace used it. She pulled sharply into the climb. The German reacted late. Ace's nose came up. The sight moved toward him. He rolled away. Ace fired. Short burst. Hits across one wing. Not enough. He dove. Ace almost followed. Stopped. Mai. There. Good. She returned. The German escaped. Fine. Ace had learned something. She was no longer chasing every damaged aircraft. Mai noticed. Ace saw the tiny nod. “Don't look so pleased with yourself.” The engine absorbed the complaint. Mai probably would have been pleased anyway. --- They climbed again. The red triplane had moved farther north. Wingman still there. Mai pointed. Ace looked. The pair were engaged now. A British Camel had approached from below. Richthofen turned toward it. The wingman stayed high. Another British aircraft moved in from the rear. The wingman intercepted. Again. Exactly the same relationship. Mai's eyes narrowed. Ace watched. The second Camel broke away from the wingman. Richthofen continued after the first. The wingman returned to his offset position. Clean. Efficient. Mai stored it. Ace could almost see the model forming. She pointed at Mai. Then at her own temple. Mai rolled her eyes. Yes, thinking. Ace grinned. Another German fighter approached. The two separated again. --- The next fight lasted longer. Too long. Ace took one German. Mai another. Then a third joined. The two-Camel rhythm held. Ace forced one outward. Mai used the opening. Mai forced another low. Ace attacked from above. The third German tried to remain outside. Waiting. Smart. Ace saw him. Mai saw him too. They ignored him. That seemed to irritate him. Good. He came in. Exactly what Mai wanted. Mai turned toward him early. The German changed angle. Ace went after the first. For several seconds the three enemy aircraft became a moving structure around the two Camels. Not overwhelming. Manageable. Ace felt the difference from Shammyn fight immediately. Three here were not six around one. The geometry breathed. There were exits. There was space. It still hurt to think that. She pushed the thought away. Her German tried to climb. Ace stayed beneath. He expected her to follow upward. She did not. He looked back. Ace turned away. The German hesitated. That was enough. Mai crossed behind him. Her Vickers fired. The burst struck along the fuselage. The German rolled. Ace came around from the opposite side. He found himself between them. He chose Ace. Mai fired again. Smoke. The aircraft dropped away. Ace looked at Mai. Mai raised one finger. Ace shook her head. No counting. Mai shrugged. Not counting. Just confirming. Fine. Ace rolled her eyes. The third German had already left. The other one remained. He came in fast. Ace and Mai split. The German followed Mai. Ace turned behind. The pilot saw her. Too late. Ace fired. The first burst missed. She corrected. Second hit the rear fuselage. The Albatros broke right. Mai anticipated. She was already there. Her guns fired. The German aircraft jerked. A section of fabric tore away. He descended. Mai held one more second. Fired again. Smoke. Then she broke. Ace came alongside. Two fingers. Still two. Mai returned the gesture. Still two. --- The red triplane appeared again. Closer. Ace felt the entire battle subtly narrow. Not because other aircraft vanished. Because the eye found red too easily. Richthofen was impossible to ignore. His wingman remained with him. This time Mai did more than watch. She moved. Not toward them directly. Across. Ace saw the angle. Confused. Mai pointed. Then traced a line with two fingers. Not attack. Position. Ace nodded. Fine. Trust Mai. That had saved her life before. Probably not in 1918. Still counted. They moved south of the pair. The Baron was fighting another Camel. The wingman held above. Mai kept distance. No aggression. No obvious challenge. Just placing herself where she could see. Ace stayed slightly behind. She felt exposed. Too still. Too deliberate. She hated waiting. Mai waited. The British Camel below Richthofen tried to climb across him. The Baron rolled. The wingman shifted. There. Mai moved slightly. Ace saw it too. The wingman anticipated interference from one sector before it happened. Not because he had supernatural awareness. Because he was reading the likely supporting line around Richthofen. Good. Mai smiled. Tiny. That was dangerous. Ace pointed. **You have something?** Mai nodded once. Then broke away. Ace followed. Not yet. Fine. --- They fought another pair. Then another single German. Time continued becoming useless. Ace's damaged Camel grew less pleasant. Not worse quickly. Just heavier. A pull in certain maneuvers. A vibration that had not existed earlier. The engine still ran. Good enough. Ammunition lower. Much lower. Ace checked. Swore. Mai glanced over. Ace held up fingers. Not many. Mai checked her own. A little more. Still not much. They needed the mission to end before the guns did. Ace looked east. Red. There. Still flying. Of course. Mai saw him. Wingman still present. Ace pointed toward the pair. Then to her guns. Then made a small gesture. Not much left. Mai nodded. Her expression changed. Decision. Ace knew it. Now? Mai pointed toward the wingman. Then toward herself. Ace's stomach tightened. Mai had a plan. Ace pointed toward the Baron. Then herself. Mai hesitated. Then nodded. Not attack. Occupy. Ace understood. Keep the Baron busy. Mai takes the wingman. Simple. Terrible. Perfect. Ace grinned. Mai did not. That was probably appropriate. --- They approached from different angles. Not head-on. Not obviously together. Ace moved higher. Mai lower and farther west. Richthofen and the wingman were between fights. Not idle. Resetting. The Baron saw Ace first. Of course he did. The red triplane turned slightly. Not away. Toward. Ace felt the hair rise on her arms beneath the coat. “Hello.” The distance closed. The wingman saw Mai. He adjusted immediately. There. Exactly what Mai had expected. He moved to position himself between Mai and the Baron. Mai did not challenge directly. She shifted. The wingman mirrored enough to maintain the protective geometry. Ace moved closer to the Baron. The wingman had to decide. Stay with Mai. Or cover Richthofen. Mai changed angle again. The wingman adjusted. Ace understood the trap now. Mai was not trying to get behind him. She was making him repeatedly solve the Baron. Every correction revealed his preferred relationship. Where he wanted to sit. How far. At what angle. Ace smiled. “Show her everything.” The Baron turned toward Ace. This time clearly. Ace's grin faded. Oh. He was good. Not reputation-good. Actually good. The first turn told her almost nothing. The second told her more. He did not react to Ace's aggression by matching it. He let her spend the energy. She came in. He turned. Ace tried to cut. He changed plane. Clean. No wasted movement. Ace's first firing possibility vanished before it became real. Good. Very good. She stayed. Not to win. Keep him occupied. Mai. Where— Below. Wingman still with her. Mai changed course. The wingman followed. Ace and Richthofen crossed. Close. Very close. Ace saw him. Helmet. Goggles. Face partially visible. Leather flying helmet tight around his head. A man turning to look directly at her as they passed. For one heartbeat their eyes may have met. Ace felt it. Then they were past. She rolled. The Baron rolled too. No hesitation. He was already coming back. Ace's pulse surged. Later. This was not the duel. Not yet. She pulled him away from Mai. Exactly the point. --- Mai had the wingman. Not a firing position. Something better. Understanding. The pilot's entire task was built around Richthofen. He did not chase Mai for the sake of Mai. He moved because she threatened the Baron's space. That was the key. So Mai stopped threatening the Baron. The wingman relaxed outward slightly. Expected. Mai moved farther away. He held. Richthofen and Ace turned above. The wingman watched. Mai watched him. Wait. Ace crossed the Baron's line. Richthofen turned. The wingman shifted. There. His movement was early. He expected Ace to force the Baron west. Reasonable. Mai knew where that placed him. She climbed. Not toward the Baron. Toward the space the wingman had just chosen. The German pilot saw her. Turned. Good. Now he had to respond to Mai directly. That was what she wanted. He came around. Competent. Very. The first exchange produced no firing line. The second nearly gave him one. Mai broke early. No pride. Reset. The wingman stayed near Richthofen. Exactly. He would not follow far. Constraint. Useful. Mai approached again. This time from below. He intercepted. Again. She turned away before the fight developed. The wingman returned. Pattern. Mai stored it. Third approach. Different angle. Same response. The pilot moved to cut her off. Mai let him. She made herself predictable. The wingman settled into the interception. Then Mai changed the timing. Not direction. Timing. She committed later. The German began his usual move. Mai waited. Wait. Now. She cut inside. The wingman realized immediately. Good pilot. He corrected. Almost enough. Mai's guns came onto him. Not a perfect shot. Short. She fired. The burst crossed behind. No hit. The German broke. Mai did not chase. She returned to the larger structure. Richthofen was still with Ace. The wingman came back. Now he knew she was dangerous. Good. That changed the next response. Mai wanted that too. --- Ace was beginning to understand why Richthofen was alive. The Baron refused bad fights. That was the simplest version. Ace tried to force him into one. He would not accept. She came hard from above. He dropped rather than climbing into her. Ace followed. He changed direction. She anticipated. He changed again. Not reacting randomly. Reading her. Ace felt the irritation rise. “Stop being sensible.” No effect. She fired once from distance. The Baron broke before the rounds reached anything useful. Not panic. Information. He had seen the line. Ace stopped firing. Save ammunition. They crossed again. Helmet. Goggles. Red fuselage. Closer. Ace saw a darkened area of leather near one side of the helmet. Wear? Shadow? No time. The Baron looked at her. Then away. Already solving the next turn. Ace felt something unexpected. Respect. Annoying. She would kill him anyway. If Mai's plan worked. --- The wingman attacked Mai now. Good. The relationship had shifted. Before, he intercepted. Now he wanted her removed. Mai allowed the aggression. He closed. She turned. He followed. The first attack came clean. Mai avoided. The second was better. She had to give ground. The German stayed. He was trying to push her away from Richthofen permanently. That gave Mai more information. He preferred pressure from above-left. He tightened early when she turned right. He preserved altitude whenever possible. He did not overcommit downward. Excellent pilot. Mai needed one specific thing. A moment where protecting the Baron and pursuing Mai became mutually incompatible. She could create that. Maybe. Ace and Richthofen crossed again. Mai saw the red triplane move farther west. The wingman noticed too. His attention flickered. There. Small. Real. Mai turned inward. The German followed. Then realized Mai was moving toward the Baron again. He tightened. Exactly. Mai changed direction. The wingman corrected. Too much. Just slightly. Because the Baron's movement mattered. Mai had forced two problems into one decision. The German chose Richthofen. Of course. Mai came around behind. For the first time: a real firing line. The wingman saw her. He broke. Mai fired. Short burst. Hits. The German rolled. Still controlled. Mai stayed. Not too long. He dove. She anticipated. Cut lower. The wingman reversed. Mai followed. Ace flashed across the distance above with the red triplane. Still occupied. Good. Mai's entire world narrowed. Wingman. Speed. Angle. Altitude. Future line. The German climbed. Mai knew why. He wanted to return to Richthofen. She let him. The wingman believed he had escaped the immediate attack. That was the final piece. Mai did not chase his tail. She moved toward where his protective position would have to become. The German climbed back toward the Baron. Exactly. Mai arrived from the side. The wingman saw her. Too late to take the clean defensive option. He turned hard. Mai's sight moved ahead of him. Not at him. Where he would be. Her finger tightened. The Vickers fired. First burst. Hits across the forward fuselage. The wingman jerked. Tried to roll away. Mai corrected. Second burst. The German aircraft shuddered violently. Smoke burst from the engine. He began descending. Still controlled. Still trying. Mai followed. One more. She knew she should not need it. Took it anyway. Third burst. The engine area erupted in flame. The wingman's aircraft rolled. Then dropped steeply away. Mai broke immediately. No celebration. No watching. Done. --- Ace saw the wingman burn. Not all of it. Enough. Mai's Camel crossing behind him. Gunfire. Smoke. Then orange flame. The German aircraft falling away. Ace's whole face changed. “Yes!” The shout disappeared. Richthofen saw it too. Ace knew he did. The red triplane changed. Not dramatically. A slight shift. His head turned. The wingman descending. Burning. Then back toward Mai. Ace felt the Baron's attention change. Mai had just removed the man who had spent the battle protecting his options. And Ace felt something else in herself. Shammy. Burning Camel. Gone below. Now this German burned. Different. Enemy. Mission. Still, the image struck the same raw place. Ace turned harder into Richthofen. The Baron reacted. Ace pressed. Longer. Closer. He broke. Ace stayed. A little too long. Mai appeared below. Alive. Good. Ace saw her. That mattered. Her aggression sharpened anyway. The wingman was down. The Baron was exposed. This was the opening. Ace wanted him now. Mai looked toward her. Then shook her head. Not yet. Ace ignored it for one second. Followed the Baron. Richthofen turned. Ace followed. The Camel complained. Damage. Speed. Ammunition. All secondary. She almost had the line. Almost. Mai crossed toward her. Hard gesture. Break. Ace saw it. Hesitated. Then obeyed. Barely. She pulled away. The Baron did not chase. Interesting. He climbed. Ace looked back. The red triplane circled once above the place where the wingman's burning aircraft had disappeared. Not sentimentally. Assessment. Then Richthofen turned back into the battle. Alone. Ace stared. Mai came alongside. Ace pointed toward the wingman's descent. Then gave Mai a sharp thumbs-up. Mai's expression remained focused. No grin. No triumph. She pointed toward Ace. Then the damaged Camel. Then guns. Then made a cutting gesture. Enough. Ace nodded reluctantly. Mai had earned the right to be irritating for at least thirty seconds. They climbed away from the immediate fight. Two Camels. Still two. Ace looked at Mai. Mai looked back. For the first time since Shammy fell, something close to victory had happened. A meaningful one. The Red Baron's wingman was down. Mai had done it cleanly. Precisely. Exactly the way Mai did almost everything. Ace felt pride rise through the fear. Then she saw Mai's eyes move. Not toward her. Past her. A new German aircraft was descending from high right. Mai turned. Immediately. Ace followed. The moment was over. The battle was still alive. And somewhere inside Mai's next calculation, one assumption was going to be wrong. --- ## Chapter 10 — Wrong The new German aircraft came down fast. Too fast to be patient. Ace saw that immediately. The pilot had altitude and intended to spend it. Mai saw more. Angle. Closing rate. The location of another German fighter farther east. A third aircraft climbing below. The red triplane above and behind them. Not directly involved. Still present. Mai turned left. Ace followed. The diving Albatros adjusted. Mai watched the correction. Expected. The pilot wanted to drive them toward the lower aircraft. That was obvious. Too obvious. Mai changed direction before the structure completed. The Albatros followed. The lower German began climbing. Ace pointed. Mai nodded. She had him. Ace went for the climber. Two separate fights. Still close enough to support. Good. Mai tightened her turn. The Albatros stayed high. He was not chasing aggressively. Interesting. He had begun the attack aggressively. Now patience. Mai shifted the model. Not impatient, then. The dive had been positioning. He wanted energy. Altitude. Freedom to disengage. Competent. Mai liked competent. Competence was easier to model than desperation. The German moved above her. Mai declined the climb. He descended slightly. Testing. Mai held. He fired from distance. The rounds passed low. Not intended to hit. Force movement. Mai did not give him much. A small correction. Enough. The German turned. Mai watched. He wanted her right. Why? She scanned. Ace farther right, engaged. Another German aircraft beyond her. No. Not toward Ace. Below-right. Open space. Too open. Mai's eyes narrowed. The pilot wanted her to take it. Therefore she did not. She turned left instead. The Albatros followed. The right-hand space remained empty. Good. Correct decision. The German pressed. Mai let him. He closed. She turned tighter. He followed. She changed plane. He adjusted. Good. Very good. Mai's pulse remained steady. The fight became small. Not easy. Contained. She understood the pilot's preferences. He preserved altitude. Avoided deep downward commitment. Fired only with reasonable geometry. Did not chase reversals unnecessarily. A disciplined pilot. Mai began building the answer. --- Ace's opponent was annoying. Not dangerous enough to earn respect. Annoying enough to prevent her from watching Mai. Every time Ace tried to create separation, the German came back. Every time she turned toward Mai, he attacked from behind. Ace finally stopped trying to leave. “Fine.” She turned directly into him. The Albatros fired. Ace rolled through the burst. Came up beneath. The German climbed. Ace expected it. Stayed. Her damaged Camel resisted slightly. That old pull again. She compensated. The German looked back. Ace fired. Too far. He broke. Ace followed. Ammunition. Fuck. She released quickly. No waste. The German turned left. Ace cut inside. Her nose came up. The sight approached. He reversed. Ace almost smiled. Seen that. She anticipated. The Camel came around. The Albatros crossed directly ahead. Ace fired. Short burst. Hits. The German lurched. Rolled away. Ace did not follow. Finally. Mai. There. Still flying. Still with the same German. Good. Ace exhaled. Then looked higher. Red. Richthofen. Alone now. The Baron had seen the wingman go down. He was not attacking Mai. Not yet. Instead he remained above the larger fight. Watching. Ace felt something in her chest sharpen. Later. She looked back to Mai. --- Mai had forced the Albatros lower. Not much. Enough. His initial altitude advantage had been reduced. The German still refused wasteful maneuvers. Mai liked that less now. It meant he understood the same problem she did. This fight might become expensive. She checked ammunition. Enough. Not generous. Enough. The German began another high crossing attack. Mai watched his line. He would pass ahead. Then climb. Probably right. He had done it twice. Mai prepared. The Albatros descended. Mai waited. He fired. She rolled beneath. The German crossed. Mai turned right. He climbed— left. Mai's eyebrows rose. Change. Good. Stored. She did not chase. The German circled back. Now Mai knew he was adapting. That made the fight more interesting. And more dangerous. She looked briefly toward Ace. Ace was clear. Coming closer. Good. Mai pointed away. Ace stared. Mai pointed again. **Stay out.** Ace gave her an offended gesture. Mai almost smiled. This one was manageable. No need to spend Ace's limited ammunition. The Albatros returned. Mai refocused. --- Ace did not like being told to stay out. Which was precisely why she stayed out. Mai had earned the trust. Ace circled wider. Watched. Also watched everything around them. One German far left. Not interested. Another below. Damaged. Leaving. Baron high. Still there. The larger fight had spread enough that for the moment Mai genuinely had one opponent. One. After Shammy— Ace stopped the thought. One was fine. Mai could handle one. Ace knew that. The Albatros attacked. Mai moved. Clean. The German crossed. Mai turned. Ace watched the geometry. Even without Main mind, she could see it was becoming a chess match. The German changed something. Mai changed something. Neither fired. Another pass. No shot. Then Mai almost got behind. The German broke. Good. Ace relaxed slightly. Too slightly. Something at the edge of the fight bothered her. She looked east. A German aircraft. Farther out. Not involved. Turning. Toward them? Maybe. Ace watched. No. Its line would pass south. Fine. She looked back to Mai. --- Mai had found the pattern. Not a repeated maneuver. A priority. The German always protected his vertical exit before his lateral one. If pressured from below, he climbed early. If pressured from above, he rolled away before diving. He trusted altitude. That was the anchor. Mai could use it. She began shaping the next exchange around that assumption. Not immediately. First, confirm. She approached lower. The German saw. He climbed. Yes. Mai broke away. Again. Different angle. Pressure upward. The German climbed early. Yes. Third time unnecessary. Confirmed. Mai shifted. The next approach came from above. The Albatros rolled. Refused the dive. Exactly. Mai knew the future now. Not all of it. Enough. She moved to create a situation where the German's preferred high escape would place him across her guns. Simple. Not easy. But clean. She lowered herself slightly. Invited him. The Albatros came. Mai gave ground. The pilot pressed. She turned. He followed. She opened the angle deliberately. The German saw opportunity. Closed. Mai waited. Closer. Now. She turned sharply toward him. The Albatros reacted. Up. As expected. Mai had already begun climbing across his line. Perfect. Her sight moved. The German filled it. Mai fired. First burst. The Albatros rolled violently. The rounds passed through empty air. Mai stopped firing. Interesting. He had not climbed. He had rolled down. A reversal of his own priority. Adaptive. Good. Mai followed. Not committed yet. The German dropped. Mai anticipated a leveling turn. He did. She moved to cut across. The firing line began forming again. Then the German climbed. There. Back to pattern. Mai smiled faintly. He had only varied once. The anchor remained. Useful. She continued. --- Ace watched the German evade Main first shot. Good pilot. Then Mai recovered. Better. Ace looked around again. The distant aircraft east had changed course. Not south anymore. Closer. Ace frowned. Another German? Yes. Albatros. Not attacking yet. High enough to matter. Ace pointed toward it. Mai did not see. Busy. Ace turned toward the newcomer. Fine. She would take him. The aircraft remained far. Ace climbed. Her damaged Camel protested. She ignored it. The newcomer saw her. Did not turn toward her. Instead— continued toward Mai. Ace's pulse changed. “No.” She pushed harder. The distance was too large. Not impossible. Too large. Ace fired a warning burst from absurd range. The German did not react. Or did not care. Mai still had not seen him. Ace waved violently. No use. No radio. “MAI!” Nothing. Ace drove toward them. --- Mai had the first German exactly where she wanted him. The Albatros climbed. Again. Mai moved across. The pilot turned. She predicted. The line closed. A firing solution began to exist. This time strong. Mai waited. No waste. Closer. The German realized. He could not continue the climb. He would roll away. Likely left. His previous escape geometry favored— Mai saw him begin. Left. Exactly. She adjusted ahead. The world narrowed. The Albatros would cross her sight in less than a second. Fire. Then— something moved at the edge of her vision. High right. Too fast. Mai's mind incorporated it automatically. Second aircraft. Distance. Angle. Closure. Not enough. Not yet. It could not reach a firing position before she completed the burst and broke left. The calculation arrived cleanly. She had time. Mai fired. Rounds struck the first Albatros. Good hits. The German rolled harder. Mai continued the burst. Another half-second. Enough. Break left. The second aircraft descended. Mai began the turn. And immediately knew. Wrong. Not because the second German was faster than expected. Because he was not aiming for where she was. He had anticipated the break. The line was not converging on Main present position. It was converging on the **exit she had chosen before she chose it**. The new aircraft had watched the fight. Seen the pattern. Seen her preferred break after attack. Mai's calculation had treated him as a new arrival. He wasn't. He had been observing. The assumption collapsed. Everything after it collapsed with it. Mai's mouth opened. “No.” She changed direction. Too late. The German was already there. --- Ace saw it all from outside. Mai firing. First German taking hits. Second diving. Mai beginning left. The second German already cutting across. Ace understood one horrible heartbeat later. “He knows.” Mai changed direction. Ace saw the correction. Saw how immediate it was. Mai knew too. Too late. The German fired. Ace saw the muzzle flashes. Then rounds reached Mai's Camel. Small impacts along the upper wing. Fuselage. Mai rolled. The second burst followed. More hits. Ace's entire body went cold. “No.” She fired at the German from too far away. Nothing. The attacker continued. Mai dove. Good. Still flying. Get down. Break. Anything. The German followed. Ace closed. Her engine screamed. Damaged Camel vibrating. She did not care. Mai turned right. The attacker matched. Ace fired again. Closer. The German broke slightly. Enough? Mai gained space. Ace almost breathed. Then the first German—the one Mai had damaged—came back. Smoking. Still flying. He crossed beneath Mai. Not attacking. But he occupied the lower escape. Mai pulled up. The second German saw it. Turned back. Ace's stomach dropped. “No, no—” Mai knew. Ace could see the movement. She tried to climb away from both. The Camel responded. Then faltered. Damage. Something in the aircraft had been hit badly. Mai corrected. The machine rolled unevenly. Recovered. Ace was almost there. Almost. The second German fired. Hits walked across Mai's fuselage. Something burst near the engine. Smoke. Gray. Ace stopped breathing. Not again. Mai's Camel continued. Smoke thickened. Ace fired at the attacker. This time close enough. The German broke away. Ace did not follow. Mai. She came alongside. Too far to touch. Close enough to see. Mai looked at her. For one second. Her face behind the goggles was not afraid. Furious. At herself. Ace knew that expression. Mai had found the mistake. Understood it completely. Ace shook her head. No. Don't. Not now. Mai's aircraft dropped slightly. She corrected. Smoke poured backward. Then flame appeared. Orange. Forward fuselage. Ace felt the world split. “No.” The flame grew. Mai looked down. Then back at Ace. Her expression changed. Not fury anymore. Something softer. Ace refused it instantly. “No. Fuck you. No.” Mai lifted one hand. Palm outward. Ace shook her head harder. She pointed west. Down. Anything. Land. Do something. Mai looked toward the ground. The burning Camel began descending. Controlled. Still controlled. Ace followed. She would follow this time. She did not care about the Germans. She would— Tracer crossed between them. Ace jerked away. A German attacked from above. She rolled. Fired instinctively. Missed. Turned back. Mai lower. Fire larger. Ace dove. Another German crossed. She pulled around. Lost two seconds. Found Mai again. The Camel was descending steeply. Flames streaming backward. Ace saw Mai's head turn once more. Toward her. Then smoke obscured the cockpit. Ace screamed. No sound survived outside her own skull. She followed. A German fighter came behind. Gunfire. Rounds struck Ace's Camel. She ignored them. Another burst. One hit something hard near the engine. Ace felt the aircraft shudder. Still flying. Mai below. Keep going. She could reach— No. Reach what? Ace had no answer. The burning Camel dropped through another layer of battle. A German aircraft crossed between. Ace rolled around him. Looked down. Smoke trail. There. Follow. Mai's Camel appeared briefly through it. Still descending. Still burning. Then cloud edge. No. The lower broken cloud that had saved them earlier. Mai went into it. Fire vanished into gray. Ace drove toward the cloud. Gunfire behind. She ignored it. The damaged Camel pulled badly now. Ace corrected. Again. She reached the cloud top. Then movement ahead. Three German fighters. Not pursuing Mai. Blocking Ace. One came directly toward her. Ace fired. The Vickers coughed. Then stopped. Left gun. Empty? Jam? She didn't know. Right fired briefly. The German broke. Second attacked. Ace rolled. She could not enter cloud blind with enemies on her and a damaged aircraft. She knew that. She hated knowing it. “MAI!” Nothing. Gray cloud below. No fire visible. No Camel. No answer. Ace circled once. Too exposed. A German came in. She turned. Another. The first fired. Ace broke. The cloud disappeared beneath her wing. When she looked back again, the smoke trail had been swallowed completely. Mai was gone. Ace stared down. Shammy gone. Now Mai. Both burning. Both somewhere below. Neither confirmed alive. Her mind refused the information. No. There had been three. Then two. Now— one. Ace's breathing became ragged. Her hands remained steady. That offended her more than anything. How could they remain steady? Mai had just— No. Unknown. Same as Shammy. Unknown was not dead. Unknown was not alive. Unknown was a knife. Ace looked down again. Nothing. “Fuck.” Her voice broke. Then she looked up. The sky was still full of German aircraft. Several had seen her. One small damaged Camel. One pilot. Reduced ammunition. No formation. No support close enough to matter. Somewhere above and east— red. Ace found it instantly. The Baron. Richthofen was circling high. Alone. His wingman gone. Ace stared at the red triplane. Mai had taken the wingman. Then burned. Shammy had been overwhelmed. Then burned. Ace felt something inside her change. Not break. Set. The fear did not disappear. The grief did not disappear. They compressed into something narrower. Hotter. Useful. A German Albatros turned toward her. Ace turned toward him harder. He fired. She did not evade immediately. Closed instead. His second burst passed beside her cockpit. Ace stayed. The remaining Vickers fired. Short. Hits. The German broke. Ace followed. Too close. Too long. Exactly what Mai had warned her against. Ace knew. Did it anyway. The Albatros tried to escape downward. Ace followed until the firing line formed. She pressed the trigger. The right gun hammered. The left remained silent. Rounds struck the German. Smoke. Ace kept firing. Another burst. The Albatros rolled away. Ace finally broke. Not because it was safe. Because another target had entered. She turned into that one too. The German pilot expected avoidance. Ace gave him collision geometry instead. He broke first. Ace came around behind. Her damaged Camel complained. She forced it. The pilot tried to climb. Ace stayed. The sight crossed. Fire. The gun hammered briefly. Then silence. Ace pressed again. Nothing. Empty. Or jammed. Fuck. The German escaped. Ace looked down at the guns. Left dead. Right dead. Maybe ammunition gone. Maybe stoppages. Her impossible knowledge wanted to diagnose. Ace did not care. She had more belts? No. Not conveniently. Fine. She worked the right gun. Hands automatic. Clear. Try. The weapon fired again. Good. Not much ammunition. Enough. Ace looked up. The red triplane remained there. Farther away now. But Richthofen had changed direction. Toward her. Ace stared. Not accidentally. Not crossing. Coming. The Baron descended slightly. Ace saw the bright red wings. The pilot's helmet above the cockpit. He had watched his wingman fall. He had seen Mai disappear burning. He had seen Ace stay in the fight. Now his path was unmistakable. Direct. Ace's expression went still. “So.” The Baron continued. Around them, other German aircraft began shifting. Not attacking yet. Watching. Ace looked once toward the cloud below. Mai. Nothing. Then west. Shammy. Nothing. She closed her eyes for one heartbeat. Opened them. The red triplane was closer. Ace pushed the throttle. Her damaged Camel answered. Not happily. Enough. “Fine.” She turned toward Manfred von Richthofen. And this time, when the Red Baron came for her— Ace went to meet him. --- ## Chapter 11 — The Challenge The red triplane came down out of the higher sky without urgency. That was the first thing Ace noticed. Richthofen was not diving at her. Not trying to convert altitude into one brutal firing pass. Not rushing to exploit a damaged Camel flying alone. He descended just enough. Changed angle just enough. Placed himself where Ace could not pretend the approach was accidental. Ace watched him come. The rest of the battle continued around them. German aircraft still crossed at different altitudes. A British Camel fought an Albatros farther west. Two Fokkers climbed together beyond the Baron. Smoke marked at least three separate descents toward the ground. Nothing had stopped. But Ace felt the shape of the sky changing anyway. The Red Baron was coming specifically for her. Her damaged Camel pulled faintly right. Ace corrected. The movement came automatically. Her hands remained steady. She hated that. Mai had gone into cloud burning. Shammy had disappeared beneath smoke and fire. And her hands were steady. Fine. Let them be steady. She needed them. Ace looked once toward the cloud bank below. Nothing. No fire. No Camel. No Mai. Then farther west. Nothing for Shammy either. Unknown. Still unknown. The word cut. Ace looked back at the red triplane. Richthofen had closed. Not much. Enough. The other German aircraft nearest him were not converging with him. Interesting. One remained high. Another turned away toward a different fight. A third crossed behind the Baron, saw Ace, and continued. Ace noticed. Stored it. Not yet meaningful. Maybe. Richthofen turned slightly. Ace matched. The two aircraft began circling one another at distance. Not a fight. Assessment. Ace almost laughed. “So we're doing this.” The engine swallowed her voice. The Baron held the wider arc. Ace tightened. He did not. He was watching. Of course he was. Ace could feel it even without seeing his eyes behind the goggles. He had watched her earlier. Seen the aggression. Seen Mai remove his wingman. Seen Ace continue after Mai fell. Maybe he had seen Shammy too. Maybe not. Ace did not care. The red triplane turned. Ace turned harder. Richthofen refused the invitation. He climbed instead. Ace followed. Her Camel protested. Damage. Reduced performance. The pull became stronger under load. Ace corrected. Richthofen saw that. Had to. The Baron did not attack. He climbed just enough to make Ace choose. Follow and spend. Or refuse. Ace almost followed. Then heard Mai inside her head without needing memory. **Don't fight his fight.** Ace broke level. The Baron continued upward. For one second Ace thought he was leaving. Then the red triplane rolled and came back down. Her mouth curled. “Right.” Not leaving. Testing. Ace waited. Richthofen descended. She did not charge. That surprised her almost as much as it probably surprised him. The two aircraft approached obliquely. Ace saw the pilot's helmet again. Leather. Close-fitting. Dark goggles. The same familiar shape she had already seen several times at distances no museum case would ever reproduce. For one strange heartbeat the object itself registered. Helmet. Real. Worn. Creased at the edges. Then Richthofen moved. Ace reacted. The Baron cut inward. Ace rolled away. His guns fired. Not a long burst. Disciplined. Tracer passed behind Ace's tail. She reversed. Richthofen was already changing direction. Ace tried to come across his rear quarter. He denied it before the line formed. No wasted motion. No panic. Ace pushed harder. The damaged Camel resisted. She forced it. Richthofen climbed. Ace followed halfway. Stopped. Not again. The Baron rolled over the top of his movement and descended across her. Ace turned. His guns flashed. She kicked rudder. Rounds passed beside the cockpit. One struck somewhere aft. Hard. The Camel jolted. Ace ignored it. She pulled inside his path. For the first time, the red aircraft crossed her sight. Too fast. No shot. Ace fired anyway. One brief burst. The right Vickers hammered. The left gave two rounds and stopped. “Come on.” The Baron rolled away untouched. Ace worked the left gun automatically. Nothing. Jam. She tried again. Still dead. Fine. One gun. For now. Richthofen turned back. He had noticed. Of course he had. Ace could almost feel him recalculating. Damaged Camel. One reliable gun. Pilot still aggressive. The Baron came in again. This time from above-left. Ace did not move until later than instinct wanted. Wait. Richthofen descended. Wait. His line tightened. Now. Ace rolled toward him instead of away. The Baron adjusted. Good. He had expected avoidance. Ace forced the geometry closer. The two aircraft crossed almost head-on. Both fired. Ace felt the right gun kick. The Baron's twin guns flashed. Rounds tore through Ace's upper wing. Fabric snapped violently. One wooden rib showed through for an instant. Ace ducked reflexively. Then they passed. Too close. She rolled. Richthofen rolled too. Ace came around. So did he. Neither had gained. Ace grinned. Actually grinned. It was wrong. Everything was wrong. Mai burning. Shammy burning. Konrad somewhere in France being an impossible bastard. Ace flying a machine she had never learned to fly. And somehow, inside all of it, this part was simple. One pilot. Another pilot. Each trying to create one good second. Ace understood that. The Baron understood it too. They circled again. --- Far above, three German aircraft climbed. Ace noticed only because one crossed the pale sky directly above Richthofen. Then another followed. Not attacking. Climbing. A fourth joined from farther east. Ace frowned. The Baron continued watching her. Ace watched the aircraft above. They were separating into a wide orbit. Holding altitude. Why? Another German fighter disengaged from a nearby Camel. Instead of joining Ace's fight, it climbed too. Ace's eyes narrowed. The British Camel it had left turned west, perhaps damaged. The German did not follow. He went up. Now five. The pattern became visible. Ace looked back at Richthofen. The red triplane banked. Calm. Controlled. Waiting. “Oh.” Ace understood. Not completely. Enough. The others were leaving this to him. Not leaving the area. Not retreating. They were climbing above. Watching. Holding the sky. Ace looked around. Another Albatros approached from south. For a moment it seemed ready to attack her. Then its pilot saw the red triplane. The Albatros changed course. Climbed. Joined the others. Ace felt something cold and electric move through her. This was deliberate. Not hers. His. Richthofen had chosen. And the Flying Circus knew it. Ace looked toward the Baron. He turned his head. Even at distance, the gesture was clear. Watching her. Not the others. Her. Ace's grin disappeared. Replaced by something narrower. “Fine.” The Baron turned east. Not away. Creating space. Ace followed. Slowly. Neither attacked. The German aircraft above continued their climbing rotation. Six. Seven maybe. Some farther out. Not every surviving Flying Circus machine yet. But enough to make the intention obvious. Ace looked west. One British aircraft remained nearby. A Camel. It began turning toward Ace and the Baron. Ace saw it. So did the Germans above. Two of them moved slightly lower. Not attacking the British pilot. Warning. The Camel hesitated. Then turned away. Ace stared. There it was. No speech. No salute. No rule declared. Just behavior. This fight belonged to Richthofen now. And apparently to Ace. --- The Baron attacked first. Not aggressively. Precisely. He descended from slightly above and fired as Ace began turning. The burst was placed where she would have been if she completed the obvious line. Ace changed early. The rounds missed. Good. She rolled. Richthofen did not follow immediately. Instead he crossed above her. Preserved speed. Ace saw it. He wanted her to turn after him. She did. For half a second. Then stopped. The Baron turned back. Ace smiled faintly. Both learning. He had already noticed her tendency to chase. She had noticed his willingness to let an opponent waste energy. Fine. Ace changed the rhythm. She flew straight. That felt almost obscene. Richthofen circled wider. Ace held. The Baron moved to her left. Ace held. Closer. Still no attack. He was waiting for her impatience. Ace could practically hear Mai laughing at the situation. **Now you have to be patient.** “Shut up.” The words hurt immediately. Because Mai wasn't there. Ace's throat tightened. She looked down. Cloud. Nothing. Her attention slipped for perhaps one second. Richthofen moved. Ace caught it late. The red triplane came in from high left. Guns. Ace rolled hard. Rounds ripped along the edge of her lower wing. The Camel shuddered. Too close. Ace pulled through. The Baron crossed. Ace came around behind. Almost. Richthofen turned. Ace anticipated. He changed direction again. She stayed. The firing line began to form. Right Vickers. Wait. Closer. Richthofen rolled. Ace fired. The burst crossed behind him. Miss. The Baron dropped. Ace nearly followed. Stopped. He had done that before. Richthofen continued down. Then turned back upward. Exactly. Had Ace followed, she would have spent altitude into his climb. She laughed once. “Bastard.” The red triplane leveled. Maybe fifty yards away. Maybe more. Close enough to see Richthofen's head turn again. Helmet. Goggles. Face. Ace could not read expression. Did not need to. He had expected her to follow. She hadn't. Now he knew she was learning too. Good. --- The next exchange lasted longer. No firing for almost a minute. Just position. Ace hated it. Richthofen stayed outside her tighter turn. Ace refused to tighten farther. The Baron climbed. Ace remained level. He descended. Ace shifted. He approached from right. Ace moved left. Tiny decisions. Nothing dramatic. Everything mattered. The damaged Camel kept reminding her that she did not have the same machine she had started with. The controls were heavier. The rightward pull worse. The upper wing damage changed the feel in hard maneuvers. Ace adapted. Richthofen noticed. He attacked on the damaged side. Of course he did. The first time, Ace avoided. The second time, he forced her into a harder correction. The third— Ace prepared. The Baron came from right and above. Same preference. Ace began the expected evasive turn. Richthofen committed. Ace reversed earlier. The red triplane adjusted. Not enough. Ace came across the Baron's line. For one second— there. The right Vickers sight aligned. Ace fired. The gun hammered. Richthofen rolled. Rounds crossed his path. Ace saw one strike. Maybe. A tiny flick from the upper wing? Fabric? She couldn't tell. The Baron broke away. Not damaged visibly. But farther than before. Ace's heart surged. Hit? Maybe. Doesn't matter. She had forced him to move. Richthofen climbed. Ace did not follow. The German aircraft above shifted with him. Still there. Still watching. The whole Flying Circus orbit now looked almost unreal. Aircraft rotating at altitude. Some damaged. Some intact. None interfering. Ace realized something else. They weren't protecting Richthofen. Not directly. If she got the shot, they were not going to save him. The thought carried weight. The Baron had asked for this. Maybe not with words. But clearly enough. Ace looked at him. “You absolute lunatic.” Then almost laughed. Coming from her, unfair. --- Richthofen descended again. This time faster. Ace prepared for another high attack. Wrong. The Baron flattened early and came straight. Head-on. Ace's eyes widened. He had changed the rhythm. Good. She held. Too long? Maybe. The distance collapsed. Both aircraft stable. Both pilots waiting. Ace knew the terrible logic. Who fires first reveals first. Who moves first gives information. The Baron held. Ace held. Her pulse became enormous. The red aircraft grew. Helmet. Goggles. Propeller. Guns. Closer. Too close. Ace fired. Richthofen fired almost simultaneously. The right Vickers hammered. The left coughed once. The Baron's guns flashed. Ace saw holes appear in the red triplane's wing. One. Two. Then rounds struck her Camel. The world cracked. Wood splintered near her left side. Something struck the cockpit rim. Ace ducked. A piece of metal or wood hit her shoulder hard enough to spin her slightly. Then they crossed. Ace pulled. Pain flared. Not serious. Probably. She turned. The Camel responded badly. More damage. Richthofen turned too. His triplane— still flying. Ace looked. Holes visible in the upper wing. Maybe fuselage. No smoke. No instability. He had taken hits. Real ones. So had she. The Baron came around. Ace's grin returned. “There you are.” Now it was real. Not testing. Not just challenge. Blood in the water on both sides. Richthofen approached again. Ace checked the right gun. Some ammunition. Not much. Left? She worked it. Nothing. Again. A metallic movement. Then— free. Maybe. Ace pressed briefly. The left Vickers fired. She stared. “Oh, you beautiful bastard.” Both guns again. For now. She looked back at Richthofen. The red triplane was already turning toward her. Above them, the Flying Circus continued its silent rotation. Below, France waited. Somewhere down there were Mai and Shammy. Alive. Dead. Unknown. Ace's face hardened. No. Alive until proven otherwise. She would not grant Konrad anything else. The Baron closed. Ace turned toward him. This time she did not rush. Did not chase. Did not give him the impatience he had already learned. Richthofen noticed. Ace could tell. His line changed. He had to reconsider. Good. The two aircraft began circling again. One red. One damaged Camel with Snoopy painted beside the cockpit. Two pilots learning each other by the second. Ace tightened her grip. The duel had finally begun. --- ## Chapter 12 — Learning the Other Ace stopped chasing him. That changed everything. Richthofen noticed within seconds. The red triplane climbed. Earlier, Ace would have followed. Now she stayed level. The Baron continued upward for another moment, waiting for the commitment that did not come. Then he banked. Ace watched. Not the aircraft. The decision. He had expected her. Good. That meant he had built a picture of her. Which meant the picture could be wrong. Ace turned gently instead. Not toward him. Across. Richthofen adjusted. Small movement. Almost nothing. Enough. Ace smiled faintly. There. He was recalculating. The sky around them had become strangely spacious. Not empty. Never empty. German aircraft remained high above in broad arcs, sometimes crossing one another as they maintained the loose rotation. Farther west, isolated fights continued. A damaged Camel descended in the distance. One Albatros moved east trailing smoke. But around the red triplane and Ace's battered Camel, no one came close. The duel had its own air now. Ace hated the theatricality of it. She respected the clarity. Richthofen descended. Ace let him. He crossed her forward quarter. Still too far for a shot. He wanted her to turn. Ace did not. The Baron continued. Then reversed. Ace began turning only after he had committed. The difference was tiny. It forced him to alter his line. Good. He climbed slightly. Ace stayed below. The red triplane passed across her view. Helmet. Goggles. The pilot looking toward her. Ace could see him more clearly now than she wanted. A real face beneath the goggles. Jaw set. Head moving constantly. Not a legend. A man working. That made him more dangerous somehow. Legends could be ignored. Men could shoot back. Richthofen rolled. Ace followed only halfway. The Baron expected more. His turn opened. Ace cut across instead. For an instant his tail appeared ahead. Too far. No shot. Ace held. Richthofen looked back. Saw her. Adjusted. The line vanished. Good. No wasted rounds. The right Vickers was still reliable. The left had returned to intermittent cooperation. Ace had no idea how long either would continue. The answer lived somewhere inside the borrowed instincts, but even those could not manufacture ammunition. She checked the belts. Bad. Not empty. Bad. Richthofen came again. This approach was shallower. He had stopped trying to provoke Ace's vertical aggression. Now he came across her side and forced her to choose between turning toward him or allowing him behind. Ace turned. The Baron tightened. Expected. Ace loosened. Richthofen came closer. She let him. The red triplane moved toward her rear quarter. Still outside the firing line. Ace waited. One more second. Then she rolled hard and dropped beneath him. The Camel resisted. Too much damage. Ace felt it immediately. The response lagged. Richthofen saw it. He fired. Tracer crossed the space above Ace's cockpit. A round struck somewhere in the upper wing. Another hit behind her. The Camel shuddered. Ace pulled through. The Baron crossed overhead. She came around. Too slowly. Richthofen already had distance. Ace swore. The damaged aircraft had just told him something important. Her right roll was worse under load. Maybe not always. Enough that he would test it again. Ace flexed her hand around the stick. Fine. He had learned one weakness. She would learn one of his. --- Richthofen stayed high for the next exchange. Ace expected an attack from the damaged side. It did not come. Instead he circled. Patient. Watching. Ace almost laughed. He knew she expected it. So he refused to confirm. Good. Very good. The Baron moved left. Ace mirrored loosely. He climbed. Ace did not. He descended. She shifted. No firing. No obvious attack. A minute could have passed. Or ten seconds. Time had become nothing but intervals between decisions. Ace's shoulder hurt where something had struck earlier. Her hands were cold inside the gloves. Her mouth was dry. The engine vibration had become so constant she no longer heard it as sound. The only things that mattered were movement and possibility. Richthofen turned more sharply. Ace watched. There. Something. He had a preference. Not a maneuver. A recovery. Every time he completed a hard right turn, he eased slightly before reversing left. Tiny. Maybe the triplane needed it. Maybe he did. Maybe Ace imagined it. She waited. Richthofen attacked from high left. Ace evaded. The Baron turned right after crossing. Hard. Then— there. A slight opening. A fraction of a second where the turn relaxed before he changed again. Ace's eyes narrowed. Again. Need confirmation. She did not attack it. Richthofen came back. This time low. Ace forced him upward. He turned right. Hard. Then— same. Tiny easing. Not much. Enough. Ace felt something sharpen inside her. There you are. The Baron did not know she had seen it. Yet. Ace made no move. Not now. One observation was interesting. Two were useful. Three might become a weapon. --- The next pass belonged to Richthofen. Completely. Ace misread him. He approached from slightly above and right. Exactly the angle she had expected after discovering her damaged response. Ace prepared the roll. The Baron came closer. Ace waited for the attack. Richthofen did not fire. He continued past the expected point. Ace hesitated. That was all he needed. The red triplane dropped abruptly beneath her line. Ace turned. Too late. Richthofen came up from below and behind. Guns flashed. Ace reacted on instinct. The Camel rolled. Wrong direction. The damaged side. Slow. Rounds tore across the lower wing. Something shattered. Ace felt the aircraft jerk violently. For one terrifying instant the controls went light. Then returned. “Fuck!” She pulled. The Camel answered. Barely. Richthofen stayed behind. Ace could not out-turn him cleanly. Not damaged like this. She dropped. The Baron followed. Ace increased speed. The Camel vibrated harder. Richthofen fired again. Tracer passed left. Ace changed direction. The red triplane stayed. Another burst. A round struck the cockpit rim. Wood splintered against Ace's goggles. She ducked reflexively. Still flying. Still flying. She needed him off. Now. Ace looked ahead. No terrain issue at this altitude. No aircraft close. Nothing to use. Only the machine. And him. She pulled into a climb. Richthofen followed. Of course. Ace continued. The Camel slowed. Too much. The Baron stayed below and behind. Exactly where he wanted. Ace felt the stall approaching. The borrowed instincts screamed. Not yet. Wait. The controls softened. Now. Ace kicked the aircraft around violently. Not a clean maneuver. Not elegant. Desperate enough to be useful. The Camel yawed and dropped. Richthofen had anticipated a conventional break. Not this. The red triplane flashed past. Ace fell beneath. For half a second the Baron was ahead. Close. Ace pressed both triggers. The right Vickers fired. The left joined for three violent beats. Rounds tore toward the red aircraft. Richthofen rolled. Ace saw fabric jump from one wing. A dark mark appeared along the fuselage. Then he was away. Ace stopped firing instantly. She recovered. The Camel protested. Everything shook. But she had survived. More importantly— the Baron had been hit. Again. Not decisive. Real. Richthofen climbed away. Ace watched. The red triplane remained controlled. No smoke. No obvious structural damage. But the clean red surface now carried visible scars. Good. Her own Camel probably looked worse. Much worse. Ace glanced at the upper wing. More holes. Fabric torn near one section. Rigging still intact. Probably. The word was doing too much work today. She checked behind. Richthofen had not attacked immediately. He was assessing. Ace breathed. One. Two. Three. Her hands shook now. Slightly. She forced them steady. Then realized she had no reason to be ashamed of the shaking. She had almost died. Again. She looked downward. Cloud. Fields. Nothing. Mai. Shammy. Unknown. Ace inhaled sharply. Focus. The red triplane turned toward her again. --- Richthofen changed after that. Not emotionally. Tactically. He became more cautious. Ace had punished the prolonged pursuit. He would not repeat it exactly. Good. Neither would she. They approached. Separated. Turned. Neither firing. Ace waited for the right-turn recovery again. Richthofen turned left. Then left again. Refused right. Ace almost laughed. Had he realized she noticed? Maybe. Or coincidence. She needed another sample. The Baron came head-on. Ace shifted. He shifted. No fire. They crossed at distance. Richthofen turned left. Ace turned right. They began another circle. The German aircraft above remained visible. One crossed the sunlit edge of cloud. Another banked slowly. Watching. Waiting. Ace wondered what they thought. Did they expect their commander to win? Obviously. Did they think the small Camel pilot below had any chance? Maybe not. Ace stopped caring. The Baron moved. Right turn. There. Hard. Then slight easing before— left. Confirmed. Ace's pulse changed. The weakness was tiny. Could be aircraft behavior. Could be his habit. Didn't matter. It existed. The question was how to force it. Ace began constructing something Mai would have approved of. The thought hurt. She almost lost the line. Recovered. No. Use it. Mai would use everything available. So would Ace. She approached the Baron aggressively. Not full commitment. Enough to resemble her earlier style. Richthofen responded. Ace pressed. He denied. She pressed again. Longer. The Baron began giving ground. Ace followed. He turned right. There. Ace anticipated the easing. Moved across early. Richthofen saw her. Instead of reversing left, he continued right. Ace blinked. He had changed it. The opportunity vanished. The Baron came around behind. Ace broke. Barely. His guns fired. Rounds missed. Ace laughed once. “Okay.” He knew. Maybe he had recognized the trap. Maybe he simply refused the pattern. Either way, it was gone. Good. That meant they were both stripping habits away now. The duel had entered something more dangerous. Neither could rely on what had worked before. --- Ace tried patience again. Richthofen tried aggression. The reversal almost felt insulting. The red triplane came in hard. Ace gave ground. He followed. Ace turned. He stayed. She changed altitude. He matched. Not perfectly. Enough. Ace realized he was doing to her what she had done to others. Pressure. Not reckless. Persistent. Keep decisions coming until one was wrong. She refused. One turn. Another. Climb. Break. Level. The Baron stayed. Ace felt the damaged Camel degrade through each maneuver. The right pull worsened. Something vibrated beneath the floor. The engine still ran strongly. At least that. Richthofen moved above. Ace turned beneath. He fired. Miss. Ace reversed. The Baron expected. Changed line. Ace almost entered his fire. She pulled away. Too close. He was learning her revised habits too. Every adaptation lasted only minutes before becoming information. Ace felt exhaustion reach somewhere deeper. Not muscles. Decision-making. Every second required another answer. She understood suddenly what Shammy's last minutes must have felt like. Not the numbers. The endlessness. Solve one. Next. Solve. Next. No rest. Ace's throat tightened. Shammy had done it with six aircraft rotating through her sky. Ace had one. One very, very good one. She had no right to complain. Richthofen attacked. Ace met him. The two aircraft crossed. Both fired. Ace saw rounds tear through the red triplane's lower wing. Richthofen's fire struck her engine cowling. Metal rang. Ace's heart stopped. The rotary sputtered. Once. Twice. Then continued. Not cleanly. “No.” The engine note had changed. Rougher. Still power. Less. Ace listened. Her impossible knowledge supplied possible damage. She ignored the names. The result mattered. Engine compromised. Richthofen heard or saw it too. The Baron broke away and climbed. Not because he was retreating. Because the balance had shifted. Ace stared after him. He would exploit it. Of course. She checked the guns. Right ammunition low. Left lower. Engine rough. Control damage. Wing damage. Richthofen damaged but still clearly healthier. Excellent. Ace looked up at the German aircraft circling high. Still no movement toward her. No one came down. No one needed to. The Baron had advantage. They trusted him to finish. Ace looked toward the red triplane. Richthofen leveled above. Then began turning back. Ace inhaled. Slowly. She could not outlast him. Not like this. So patience alone was finished. She needed to make him commit. Not chase. Commit. There was a difference. Mai would know how. Ace had to learn. --- She began losing altitude deliberately. Not much. Enough to advertise weakness. Richthofen watched. Ace kept the engine rough. Not difficult. It actually was rough. She stopped correcting one minor wobble immediately. Let the Camel look worse than it felt. The Baron descended slightly. Ace continued. No sudden movement. No invitation too obvious. Richthofen closed. Ace looked back once. Helmet. Goggles. Red aircraft. Closer. He wanted the finish. Of course. Ace let him believe it was coming. The Baron came lower. Ace maintained the line. His firing angle improved. Ace waited. Too early. Wait. The machine-gun flashes appeared. Ace moved. Hard left. The better side. Richthofen adjusted. Ace continued. The Baron had expected a break. He followed. Good. Ace tightened. He stayed. Closer. Exactly. She loosened slightly. Richthofen gained. His guns flashed again. Rounds passed behind. Ace tightened. The Baron followed. Ace repeated. A rhythm. Tight. Loose. Tight. Richthofen stayed. She was giving him the picture of a damaged pilot trying to escape. He was not foolish enough to believe it completely. But the opportunity was real. That mattered. Ace looked back. He was closer. Good. Closer. The red triplane moved into the space she wanted. Ace's pulse became huge. Not yet. Another second. Richthofen fired. Ace rolled sharply right. The damaged direction. Slow. The Baron saw it. Expected weakness. He committed inward to exploit. Ace had counted on that. Instead of completing the roll, she dropped the nose and kicked hard through the opposite side. The Camel responded horribly. For one second Ace thought she had asked too much. Then the aircraft came around. Richthofen was already committed. His red triplane crossed ahead. Close. Closer than any previous firing line. Ace's sight moved toward him. Both guns. She pressed. The right Vickers hammered. The left fired. Together. Rounds struck red fabric. Fuselage. Wing root. Ace held the burst. Too long. Necessary. Richthofen rolled violently away. Ace saw pieces fly. Something dark came off the triplane. Not enough. Not yet. The Baron dropped. Ace released. Her guns fell silent. She pressed again. Nothing from the left. Right coughed twice. Then stopped. Ace stared. Empty. At least one. Maybe both. The red triplane descended. Smoke? Ace leaned forward. No. Not smoke. Maybe fuel mist. Maybe nothing. Richthofen recovered lower. Still controlled. Still flying. Ace's stomach dropped. She had hurt him. Badly. Not enough. And now— guns. Ace worked the right Vickers. Nothing. Again. Nothing. The left. Jam. Empty. Unknown. The Baron turned below. Ace saw his head move. Looking up at her. The red aircraft was damaged now. Clearly. One section of wing fabric torn. Fuselage marked. But flying. And Richthofen knew something had changed. Ace's guns had stopped. He began climbing. Ace worked the mechanism again. Come on. Nothing. She pulled. Again. Metal moved. No fire. The Baron climbed closer. Ace's heartbeat became brutal. Above, the Flying Circus still waited. No one intervened. Below, the Red Baron came upward toward an almost unarmed Camel. Ace looked at the guns. Then at him. Then back at the mechanisms. Her hands moved fast. Practiced. Impossible. Necessary. The right gun. Clear feed. Check. Work. Again. Nothing. Left. No. Right again. The Baron closed. Ace could see the leather helmet. The goggles. The damaged red aircraft climbing steadily. She worked the gun once more. A cartridge shifted. There. Ace's eyes widened. She pulled the mechanism through. Richthofen's nose was coming up. His guns would have the line in seconds. Ace pressed the trigger. The right Vickers fired one round. Then another. Then settled into a hard mechanical hammer. Ace smiled. Not much ammunition. Enough to keep the duel alive. Richthofen saw the gun fire. He immediately broke away. Ace did not chase. She watched him go. Breathing hard. The Baron climbed back into space. Ace's right gun had returned. The left remained dead. The engine sounded worse. The Camel flew worse. The red triplane had taken substantial damage. Neither aircraft had any business continuing. Both did. Ace wiped one gloved hand briefly against her mouth. Then tightened it around the stick again. Richthofen turned. Ace turned with him. No legend now. No mission objective. No history. Just two exhausted pilots in damaged machines who had learned enough about each other that almost every obvious move had become a trap. And neither one was finished. --- ## Chapter 13 — No Easy Moves Left Richthofen stopped giving Ace anything twice. That was the clearest sign of how far the duel had progressed. No repeated opening. No familiar recovery. No obvious preference left exposed long enough to become useful. Every time Ace thought she recognized something, the Baron changed it. Every time Richthofen tested one of Ace's damaged responses, she tried to answer differently. The fight had become less about flying well. Both already did that. It had become about refusing to become predictable while exhausted. Ace's right Vickers still worked. Intermittently. That was the generous description. The left remained useless. Her engine sounded terrible. Not dying. Not healthy. Somewhere between those two states lived the entire remainder of her life. The Camel pulled right. The upper wing had enough holes in it to make Ace deeply suspicious of the concept of lift. The control response had become inconsistent under hard load. And yet— it flew. So Ace kept flying it. Richthofen remained above and slightly east. The red triplane carried visible damage now. Fabric torn. Dark scars across one wing. Something along the fuselage had been struck hard enough to ruin the clean red surface. But his engine sounded steady whenever he passed close. His controls remained sharp. No smoke. No obvious loss of power. The advantage belonged to him. Ace knew it. Richthofen knew it. The aircraft circling high above knew it. None of that mattered if he could not finish her. Ace turned gently. The Baron mirrored. Not directly. Offset. Always maintaining a line that gave him more options than her. Mai would have hated how good he was at that. Ace felt the thought strike. Hard. She swallowed. No. Not now. Richthofen began descending. Ace watched. His attack line was too clean. Which meant it probably wasn't an attack. She held course. The Baron came lower. Closer. Ace waited. Still no gunfire. There. Bait. He wanted the turn. Ace did not give it. Richthofen crossed ahead and slightly above. No shot. Then he rolled. Ace saw the real attack form. Behind. Of course. She turned late. Deliberately. The Baron closed. His guns flashed. Ace dropped. Rounds tore over the upper wing. One struck a strut. The impact came through the aircraft as a hard physical kick. Ace felt her stomach drop. The strut remained. Probably. Again that word. Richthofen passed. Ace turned. Slow. Too slow. The Baron had already recovered. Ace fired once from distance. The right Vickers gave a brief burst. Nothing useful. She stopped. Richthofen did not even break. He knew the shot was poor. Ace smiled faintly. Arrogant bastard. Correct bastard. She hated that combination. --- The duel drifted downward. Neither intended it. Damage and repeated maneuvering simply consumed altitude. The ground had become more detailed now. Fields no longer abstract shapes. Roads visible. Small tree lines. Farm buildings. A village farther south. Ace noticed only because lower altitude meant fewer mistakes available. The broken cloud layer sat above parts of the countryside now instead of below the fight. The same gray that had swallowed Mai. Ace's eyes found it automatically. Nothing. No burning Camel emerging. No signal. No answer. She forced herself away. Richthofen was already moving. The red triplane crossed left. Ace turned. He climbed. She stayed. He reversed. Ace followed later. The Baron came around. They passed obliquely. Close. Helmet. Goggles. Face. Ace saw the leather again. A crease along one side. Darkened wear near the edge. A strap line beneath the jaw. Too close. Too familiar now. The moment vanished. Richthofen fired. Ace rolled. The Camel responded badly. He had aimed for that. Again. Not the same attack. Same weakness. Ace barely escaped. Rounds struck somewhere behind the cockpit. A sharp metallic sound. Then a vibration began beneath her. New. Very bad. Ace tested the controls. Still there. Engine? Still running. Fuel? No obvious leak she could see. She continued. The vibration worsened briefly in a turn. Then settled. Richthofen watched. Ace knew he saw every correction. Fine. She would give him corrections. Just not the real ones. --- Ace began lying. Not with words. With the aircraft. She allowed the right pull to become visible. Then corrected too late. The Baron saw. Next turn, Ace exaggerated the hesitation. Not enough to look theatrical. Enough to look tired. Richthofen stayed outside. Watching. Ace repeated once. Then stopped. The Baron did not attack. Good. Suspicious. Ace smiled. Fine. He wasn't going to buy weakness simply because she presented it. She needed truth. Something genuinely bad. That was easy. She climbed. The engine roughened immediately. Real. Power loss. Real. Ace held the climb longer than she wanted. The Camel slowed. Richthofen moved. There. He believed that. Because it was true. Ace leveled. The engine recovered slightly. The Baron descended toward her. Not recklessly. He still refused to rush. Ace began another climb. Worse this time. The engine coughed. Her heart jumped. Richthofen closed. Ace let the nose drop. The Baron came behind. She looked back. Red triplane. Closer. Ace did not evade. Yet. Richthofen waited. He knew she wanted him to commit. So he did not. For several seconds they flew almost straight. One behind the other. The Baron slowly gaining. Ace's damaged engine giving him the closure without either pilot needing to force it. The line became terrifyingly simple. Ace ahead. Richthofen behind. One firing solution developing naturally. Ace's skin crawled. He was waiting until it became undeniable. Smart. Ace could feel the range shrinking. The right Vickers useless from here. No rear gun. No miracle. Her entire survival depended on deciding when he would decide. Ace looked forward. Nothing useful. Fields below. No cloud immediately ahead. No friendly aircraft. No obstacles. Just timing. Richthofen closed. Ace waited. Her borrowed pilot instinct screamed to break. She held. Closer. The red triplane now large behind. Ace could see the helmet clearly when she twisted around. Richthofen's head remained steady. His guns aligned. Still he waited. Ace realized why. He had learned her. He knew she liked late breaks. He was waiting for the break. Then he would fire into it. Ace's mouth tightened. Fine. So don't break. The distance continued closing. Absurd. Dangerous. Richthofen had to wonder. Ace held straight. The Baron held too. Now neither could easily change without admitting uncertainty. Ace almost laughed. Stupidest game in the world. The guns flashed. Richthofen finally fired. Ace did not turn. She dropped. Straight down. Not away. Not left. Not right. Just nose down. The burst passed above. Richthofen reacted. Ace accelerated downward. The red triplane followed. Of course. She had created another pursuit. But this one was different. Vertical. Speed building. Ace's damaged Camel shook violently. The engine screamed. Richthofen remained behind. Ace looked back. Closer again. Too close. The Baron fired. Ace rolled left. Good side. Rounds crossed right. She continued downward. Richthofen followed. Ace felt the ground becoming a factor. Good. Now there was a limit. One neither pilot could ignore. Altitude falling. Speed rising. Damage worsening. No endless circle. Richthofen had to choose when to recover. So did Ace. Ace watched him. The Baron watched her. Ground expanding. Fields rushing closer. Ace's instincts began screaming numbers she did not consciously understand. Too low soon. Not yet. Richthofen fired. Ace shifted. Miss. Lower. The Baron stayed. Ace felt something like admiration again. He really was insane. Good. So was she. Lower. The ground filled more of her vision. Trees distinct now. Road. Farmhouse. Ace knew the recovery margin was shrinking. Richthofen knew too. Who breaks first? Ace tightened her grip. Not me. Her engine coughed. Once. Hard. The Camel lurched. That was not planned. Ace's eyes widened. The Baron saw it. He closed immediately. There. Commitment. Finally. Richthofen came closer than he had in several exchanges. His nose stabilized. Ace's entire world narrowed. This was the moment. Not a firing solution for her. A commitment from him. Ace pulled. Hard. Too hard. The Camel resisted. Then climbed. The damaged engine protested brutally. Richthofen had expected continued dive for another fraction of a second. Enough. The red triplane crossed slightly below Ace's rising line. Ace rolled. The Camel shuddered. Her right Vickers sight moved. Richthofen saw her coming. He pulled away. Ace fired. The gun hammered. Short burst. Rounds struck red fabric. One hit near the fuselage. Another tore through the upper wing. Richthofen rolled. Ace followed. Not long. Not this time. The Baron recovered. Still flying. Ace released. The right gun stopped. She pressed again. Nothing. No. Ace worked it. Nothing. Empty? Jam? She did not have time. Richthofen turned. Now below and left. Ace's climb had cost her speed. The Baron had more. He came back. Ace worked the gun again. Metal. No fire. The red triplane closed. Ace abandoned the gun. Fly. She turned. Richthofen attacked. Rounds struck the Camel's tail. The aircraft yawed violently. Ace corrected. The Baron stayed. Another burst. Something behind Ace tore loose. She felt the controls change instantly. Rudder response. Worse. Much worse. Ace's stomach tightened. She kicked hard. The aircraft barely answered. Richthofen crossed ahead after the attack. Ace looked at the tail. Could not see enough. Something damaged. Still attached. Good enough. Maybe. The Baron turned back. Ace had no gun. Poor rudder. Bad engine. Damaged wings. The situation had become almost insulting. She laughed once. Nothing humorous in it. “Come on.” Richthofen came. --- The next exchange was survival. Nothing elegant. Ace avoided one firing pass by dropping beneath. Another by rolling into a turn the damaged Camel barely completed. The third she could not avoid completely. Rounds struck the lower wing. One tore through the fuselage near her legs. Ace felt an impact against her boot. Not flesh. Probably. No pain. Keep going. Richthofen passed. Ace tried the gun again. Nothing. She worked the mechanism. Again. A cartridge moved. She cleared something. Pressed. One round. Then silence. “Fuck.” Empty now? Maybe. Ace looked down. Feed. Almost nothing. The impossible knowledge answered. A handful. Not enough for experimentation. Save it. If it worked again. Richthofen climbed. Ace followed with her eyes. He could finish this by staying patient. He had better aircraft now. More control. Likely more ammunition. All he needed was time. Ace did not have time. So she stopped giving him time. The next time Richthofen approached, Ace attacked first. Direct. Aggressive. Like the beginning. The Baron reacted instantly. He had seen this version of her. He knew it. He turned to make Ace overspend. Ace followed. Exactly as expected. Richthofen continued. Ace pushed harder. Still expected. The Baron prepared the trap. Ace saw it. Went anyway. Richthofen began the familiar denial. Ace broke early. The Baron adjusted. Ace reversed. He adjusted again. Every move predictable. Because Ace wanted it predictable. She drove the Baron into the old rhythm. Her old aggression. Longer commitment. Harder turn. Bad margins. Richthofen started reading ahead. Good. Ace repeated. He denied. Again. Ace pressed. He moved. Again. A pattern. Old Ace. The Baron believed it because it was real. It was how she wanted to fly. That made the lie strong. Ace chased. Richthofen turned. Ace stayed too long. The Baron prepared to reverse into advantage. There. Ace saw it. Not his old habit. A new one. He had developed it against her aggression. Every time Ace pressed too far through a left-side pursuit, Richthofen climbed slightly before crossing back over her line. Once. Twice. Now third. Ace stored it. The Baron thought he was exploiting her old weakness. He was. Ace gave him the fourth repetition. Pressed. Too long. Richthofen climbed. Ace followed. He began the cross. Ace broke away suddenly. The Baron continued. His line carried him farther than necessary because he expected Ace beneath. For one heartbeat, the red triplane's side opened. Ace's gun was not ready. She knew. She almost fired anyway. Stopped. No. Not yet. She needed one final solution. One she could actually finish. Richthofen recovered. The opportunity vanished. But Ace had seen it. A pattern created by the duel itself. Not history. Not reputation. Not the aircraft. Him. His answer to her. That was enough. Ace breathed. Slowly. The Baron came around again. Above them, the remaining Flying Circus aircraft continued their high orbit. Fewer now. Or perhaps merely farther apart. Still watching. Still silent. Ace looked once toward the broken cloud. Mai. Then west. Shammy. Nothing. Her throat tightened. She returned her eyes to the red triplane. No easy moves left. Good. Easy had never been her specialty. Richthofen attacked. Ace met him. The duel continued. --- ## Chapter 14 — One Good Second Ace knew she was running out of aircraft. Not altitude. Not sky. Aircraft. The Camel had become a collection of compromises held together by wire, fabric, damaged wood, an increasingly offensive engine note, and pure refusal. The right wing lifted differently from the left. The rudder answered late. The engine lost power whenever she asked too much of it. The right Vickers might contain enough ammunition for one useful burst. The left was finished. Maybe permanently. Maybe not. Ace had stopped wasting attention on it. One gun. One damaged Camel. One opponent. Enough. Richthofen circled higher. Not far. Never far. The red triplane had taken real damage now. Ace could see it whenever the aircraft turned broadside. Torn fabric. Dark scars. A ragged section near one wing. Still controlled. Still responsive. Still deadly. Neither pilot had a clean advantage anymore. Richthofen had the better aircraft. Ace had learned him. Richthofen had learned Ace. That left almost nothing. Good. Nothing was simple. Simple got read. Ace kept the Camel level. The Baron moved left. She did not follow. He descended. Ace waited. Richthofen crossed ahead. No shot. Then climbed. Ace watched. No repetition. No easy habit. He had stripped those away. So had she. The duel had reached the point where both of them knew that the other knew. Every obvious trap had become too obvious to use. Every familiar answer carried its own counter. Ace felt something almost peaceful settle over her. Not calm. Clarity. There would not be ten more good opportunities. Probably not five. Maybe not two. The next real opening might be the last one either aircraft could survive long enough to create. Ace flexed her fingers. The right Vickers waited ahead. She checked the feed once. Enough rounds to matter. Not enough to waste. Fine. One good second. That was all she needed. Richthofen came down. --- He approached differently this time. No patient circling. No long test. A direct descending line from high left. Ace watched. Not committed yet. Could still change. She held. The red triplane closed. Ace waited for the turn. None. Richthofen kept coming. Head-on? Maybe. Ace shifted slightly. The Baron adjusted. Yes. Head-on. Again. Ace's pulse rose. They had already done this. Which meant this would not be the same. Richthofen knew that too. Distance collapsed. Ace saw the pilot clearly. Helmet. Goggles. Face. The flying helmet sat exactly as it had every time she had seen him pass close enough to become human. The leather looked darker now. Or the light had changed. No matter. Richthofen held. Ace held. Neither fired. Closer. Still nothing. Ace felt every instinct warning her. Move. Not yet. The red triplane grew. Ace could see damage in the upper wing. A tear near one section. The pilot's head moving fractionally. Watching her. Closer. Richthofen fired. Short burst. Ace rolled. He had expected that. The Baron changed line immediately. Not following the roll. Crossing ahead of where Ace would recover. Ace saw it. Of course. He had used the head-on approach only to force her standard escape. Ace stopped the roll halfway. Ugly. The Camel hated it. She kicked the aircraft downward instead. Richthofen's new firing line passed above. Ace came beneath him. The Baron rolled. Ace turned. The damaged rudder answered late. Too late. Richthofen began coming around behind. Ace looked over her shoulder. Red. Close. Bad. She dropped again. The Baron followed. Ace felt the engine roughen. Not now. The Camel lost power briefly. Richthofen gained. His guns flashed. Tracer passed beside Ace. One round struck the lower wing. Another hit somewhere behind. Ace continued. She needed to change this. The Baron had the pursuit. He knew it. Ace could feel the trap closing. No altitude trick. No cloud. No second aircraft. No Shammy appearing where no route existed. No Mai placing an enemy exactly where Ace needed him. Just her. Ace's throat tightened. Then something clicked. Not a tactic. A memory. Mai's last successful fight. The wingman. Mai had not defeated him by chasing his aircraft. She had defeated the relationship he kept trying to restore. The place he wanted to return to. Ace looked back at Richthofen. The Baron was not chasing her randomly. He was driving her toward something too. A response. Her damaged right side. Every time the pursuit tightened, Ace escaped left. Because left still worked. Richthofen knew that. He had been building around it for several exchanges. The thought arrived fully formed. He expected left. Good. Ace continued straight. The Baron closed. Guns flashed. Ace moved left. Just enough. Exactly the beginning of the escape he expected. Richthofen adjusted immediately. There. He committed. Not fully. Enough. Ace continued left. The damaged Camel responded better on that side. Richthofen came inward. He was already moving to cut across the next part of the turn. Ace looked back. Helmet. Goggles. Red aircraft closing. She waited. One heartbeat. Another. Richthofen fired. Ace reversed. Right. The bad side. The Camel answered horribly. Slow. Heavy. Richthofen had seen this before. He tightened immediately. He believed the damage had trapped her. It almost had. Ace forced the control farther. The Camel shuddered. For one terrifying moment it seemed to stop responding. Then the nose came around. Not enough. Richthofen moved across her rear quarter. His guns began aligning. Ace needed more. She kicked hard. The damaged rudder gave her a fraction. Only a fraction. Enough to turn the situation from inevitable into merely terrible. Richthofen fired. Rounds ripped through the upper wing. Ace ducked. The aircraft jolted. Still flying. The Baron had committed through the attack. Exactly. Ace continued the ugly right turn. Richthofen crossed ahead. For less than a second. Side profile. Red fuselage. Broad wing. Pilot turning his head. There. Ace pressed the trigger. The right Vickers fired. Three rounds. Then stopped. Ace stared. “No.” The opportunity vanished. Richthofen rolled away. Ace worked the gun. Nothing. “NO.” She pulled the mechanism. Hard. Metal moved. A cartridge cleared. Richthofen had already started turning back. Ace worked it again. The gun cycled. Maybe. She pressed. One round. Silence. Ace nearly screamed. Again. Work. Feed. Pull. The Baron closed. Ace had no time. She abandoned the gun and turned. Richthofen attacked. Ace evaded left. The rounds passed behind. He crossed. Ace immediately returned to the Vickers. Come on. One more. The mechanism moved. Different. Clean. Ace pressed. The gun fired. A short burst. Alive. Ace laughed once. Not relief. Something sharper. “You get one.” The right Vickers had maybe one useful burst left. Perhaps less. Fine. That simplified everything. --- Richthofen knew the gun was unreliable. Ace could see that in how he approached. Closer now. More willing to remain in dangerous geometry. Not reckless. But the balance had changed again. Ace let him believe it changed farther than it had. She fired nothing. Even when the red triplane briefly crossed a poor line. Save it. Richthofen turned. Ace followed. No shot. The Baron climbed. Ace stayed. He came down. Ace waited. Richthofen moved through another pass. Still nothing. Ace knew what he was doing. Force her to fire. Make the failing gun reveal itself. She refused. The next crossing was better. Still not enough. Ace held. Richthofen saw that too. He began to understand. She was saving ammunition. The Baron changed again. More pressure. Less distance. If Ace would not shoot mediocre opportunities, he would stop offering safe ones. Good. That was exactly what she needed. Richthofen attacked from above. Ace broke. He followed. She changed direction. He stayed. Ace gave him the aggression he expected from her again. Hard turn. Long commitment. The Baron denied it. Ace stayed. Too long. Richthofen began the answer he had built specifically for this version of her. A climb. Cross. Come back over the line. Ace saw it. The same adaptation she had noticed earlier. He trusted it now. Because it had worked. Ace followed. Richthofen climbed. Ace climbed too. Her engine coughed violently. The Camel lost speed. The Baron continued. He began crossing. Ace stayed under him. Too low. Too slow. Perfect. Richthofen expected Ace to either break or stall beneath. Ace did neither. She let the nose drop slightly. Recovered just enough speed. The Baron crossed. Ace did not turn after him. She went straight. Richthofen realized. Turned back. Now Ace was the one creating distance. The Baron followed. Not aggressively at first. Ace allowed the Camel to look weak. It was weak. No acting required. Engine rough. Control wobble. Right pull. Richthofen closed. Ace continued. The same developing pursuit as before. But this time Ace knew the ending she wanted. The Baron approached from behind-left. Ace looked back. Closer. Good. Not enough. She held. Richthofen moved toward firing range. Ace waited. He fired. Ace shifted right. Bad side. Slow response. The rounds passed close. Richthofen saw the weakness again. Closed harder. Ace continued right. The Camel struggled. She let it. The Baron believed he had the line developing. He did. That was the important part. The threat had to be real. Ace looked back. Richthofen's nose came closer to alignment. He would fire again soon. Ace tightened right. The Camel resisted. Richthofen anticipated the limited turn. He moved inside. Now. Ace reversed left. Fast. The Camel responded much better. Richthofen corrected. Ace tightened. He followed. Exactly. She had shown him the right-side weakness so many times that the left-side escape now looked like survival. Richthofen committed after her. Ace let him. Turn. Hard. The Baron stayed behind. Ace widened slightly. Richthofen gained. She tightened. He adjusted. The old rhythm. Tight. Loose. Tight. He knew this. He had learned how to manage it. Ace wanted him comfortable. Another turn. Richthofen remained perfectly positioned. The guns flashed. Ace changed line. Miss. The Baron stayed. Closer now. Ace's heart hammered. This was it. She continued. Richthofen expected another tightening turn. Ace began it. The Baron moved inward. Then Ace stopped turning. Straight. For perhaps half a second. It made no tactical sense. Richthofen reacted. That was the point. He had to decide whether the damaged Camel had lost control or whether Ace was doing something deliberate. One hesitation. Tiny. Ace dropped beneath his line. Then pulled upward across him. The Camel screamed. Engine rough. Wings shaking. Controls barely enough. Richthofen saw it and rolled away. Exactly the safest answer. Ace had counted on that too. The red triplane crossed her nose. Not tail-first. Sideways. Fast. But close. Very close. Ace saw the pilot turn. Helmet. Goggles. Face. Red fuselage. Wing root. The whole aircraft filled the brief window ahead. One good second. Ace pressed the trigger. The right Vickers hammered. Not three rounds. Not one. A full burst. Ace held it. Rounds struck the red triplane. First along the lower wing. Then fuselage. The sight moved. Ace corrected. More hits. Richthofen rolled. Ace kept firing. The gun hammered through what had to be nearly everything left in the belt. Red fabric ripped. Something burst from the fuselage. The triplane jerked violently. Ace released. The Vickers fell silent. This time she knew. Empty. Didn't matter. The red aircraft was falling. Not diving. Falling. Richthofen tried to recover. Ace saw control movement. The triplane responded unevenly. One wing dipped. Recovered halfway. Then dropped again. Smoke appeared. Thin. Then thicker. Ace stared. The Baron forced the nose up. For one second the aircraft almost leveled. Ace stopped breathing. “Come on.” She didn't know who she meant. Richthofen? The machine? History? Then the red triplane rolled sharply. Not commanded. The nose dropped. The aircraft began descending in a broad uneven spiral. Ace followed from above. Not attacking. No ammunition anyway. Watching. The remaining Flying Circus aircraft high above changed their orbit. Not descending. Not interfering. Watching too. The red Fokker continued downward. Ace could still see the pilot. Helmet. Goggles. Head moving. Trying. The aircraft rotated. Lost more altitude. Recovered partially. Then dropped again. Ace followed. Not too close. Her own Camel barely held together. The Baron descended toward the French countryside. Lower. Lower. The red color remained impossibly bright against the fields. Ace waited for recovery. None. A turn. Bad. Another drop. Smoke trailing. The aircraft disappeared briefly beneath Ace's wing. She banked. Found it again. Still falling. Ace felt no triumph. Not yet. Only exhaustion. And something heavy in her chest. She looked west. Nothing. Mai. Shammy. Still unknown. Then back at the red triplane. The aircraft was much lower now. Too low. Richthofen still moving inside the cockpit. Still fighting the machine. Ace watched. The fields below rushed toward him. She did not see impact. Did not need to. The red triplane dropped beneath her line. Ace banked farther. Trying to keep it visible. For one last second she saw: red wings, damaged fuselage, and the dark leather flying helmet above the cockpit rim. Then the aircraft fell below the edge of her view. --- Ace opened her eyes. Dark ceiling. Safehouse. Her entire body jerked upright. Breath tore into her lungs. No engine. No wind. No Vickers. No France. For half a second none of that mattered. “Mai—” Movement beside her. Mai. Alive. Ace grabbed her. Not gently. Mai woke with a sharp sound as Ace wrapped both arms around her. “What—” Ace looked past her. “Shammy.” Shammy moved on the other side of the bed. Alive. Hair everywhere. Confused. Alive. Ace reached across Mai and caught Shammyn wrist. Real. Warm. Alive. Something inside Ace collapsed. She closed her eyes. Held both of them. Mai had stopped asking questions. Shammy had too. They understood enough from Ace's face. For several seconds there was nothing except breathing. Ace's too fast. Mai's becoming steady. Shammyn still sleep-heavy. Then Mai whispered: “You saw it too.” Ace opened her eyes. Mai's face had changed. She remembered. Shammy stared at them. Then her own expression emptied. Fire. Descent. Too many. All three understood at once. Ace looked from Mai to Shammy. Both alive. Both here. Safehouse. She drew one long breath. Then another. And finally found the words. “DAMN YOU, KONRAD!” --- ## Chapter 15 — Still Here For several seconds after Ace shouted the name, nobody moved. Not really. Mai was still half upright, one arm trapped awkwardly between Ace and the blanket. Shammy had one wrist inside Ace's grip and the other hand pressed against the mattress for balance. Ace held both of them as though releasing either one might change the answer. Safehouse. Dark room. Warm air. Sheets. No smoke. No fuel. No gunfire. No screaming rotary engine. No burning canvas. No France. Ace knew all of that. Her body did not. Her heart still hammered as if the red triplane were somewhere below. Her hands remembered a control stick. Her shoulder remembered impact. Her eyes remembered orange fire. She looked at Mai. Again. Alive. Mai's hair was a mess. No goggles. No flying helmet. No soot. No blood. Ace touched her face. Mai let her. Ace's thumb moved beneath one eye. Warm skin. Real. Mai caught Ace's wrist gently. “I'm here.” Ace nodded. Too quickly. “I know.” The answer came out rough. Shammy shifted closer. Ace turned immediately. Shammy's pale hair had spread across one shoulder and half the pillow. No scarf. No leather flying gear. No flames behind her. Ace touched her too. Cheek. Neck. Shoulder. Shammy watched quietly. “I am here too.” Ace closed her eyes. “Yeah.” Her breathing finally began slowing. Not much. Enough. Mai leaned forward until her forehead touched Ace's. That tiny contact did more than words had. Ace stayed there. Shammy moved in from the other side and rested one hand between Ace's shoulder blades. Three points of contact. Three bodies. Three sets of breath. Still three. The thought hurt. Ace opened her eyes. “Fuck.” Mai's mouth tightened. “Yes.” Shammy exhaled softly. “That was unpleasant.” Ace turned toward her. “Unpleasant?” Shammy considered. “Very unpleasant.” Ace made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “Understatement of the century.” Mai looked at her. “Which century?” Ace stared. Then laughed once. Actually laughed. Short. Broken. But real. “That was horrible.” “Yes,” Mai said. Ace looked at Shammy again. “You were on fire.” Shammy's expression changed. The smallest amount. “I know.” Ace swallowed. “I saw you go down.” “I remember.” “How much?” Shammy looked toward the ceiling. For a moment she did not answer. Then: “Enough.” Ace waited. Mai did too. Shammy's eyes remained unfocused. “One behind me.” Her voice was quiet. “Then two.” A pause. “Then another above.” Ace's grip tightened on the blanket. Shammy continued. “Every time I got space, someone else filled it.” Mai looked down. She remembered that part from outside. Ace knew. Shammy flexed one hand as if testing fingers that had held controls minutes—or eighty years—ago. “I kept thinking I had another route.” “You did,” Ace said immediately. Shammy looked at her. “For a while.” Ace shook her head. “You kept making them.” Shammy's expression softened. “Yes.” Then she looked down at her own hand. “Until I didn't.” Silence. No guilt. No apology. Just fact. Mai spoke quietly. “There were too many.” Shammy nodded. “Yes.” Ace's jaw tightened. “How many at the end?” Shammy thought. “I don't know.” Then a faint exhale. “Enough that counting stopped being useful.” Ace looked away. That hurt more than a number would have. Shammy touched Ace's arm. “I did not make a mistake.” “I know.” Ace answered too fast. Shammy held her gaze. “I know you know.” That stopped Ace. She nodded once. Good. No guilt. Not Shammyn. No one was giving her that. Ace leaned forward and kissed her forehead. Shammy closed her eyes briefly. Then Ace turned toward Mai. Mai had been very still. Too still. Ace knew that version of her. “Oh no.” Mai looked up. “What?” “You're doing it.” “Doing what?” “Reconstructing.” Mai did not answer. Ace pointed. “You are.” “I remember the mistake.” The room changed. Shammy looked toward her. Ace's expression tightened. Mai's gaze shifted somewhere past both of them. “I know exactly where it happened.” Ace said nothing. Mai continued. “The second aircraft.” “The one that came from high right?” Mai nodded. “I saw him.” Ace blinked. “You saw him?” “Yes.” The answer carried immediate anger. Not at Ace. At herself. “I incorporated him.” Ace stayed quiet. Mai sat back against the headboard. Blanket gathered around her waist. “He was too far away to reach my current position before I completed the firing pass.” “And you were right,” Ace said. Mai's eyes sharpened. “No.” “You were right about that.” Mai stopped. Ace continued. “He didn't go for your current position.” Mai looked at her. The anger eased by half a degree. Exactly. “He went for my exit.” Shammy understood. “He had been watching.” Mai nodded. “That was the error.” She looked toward her hands. “I treated him as a new participant entering the engagement.” “But he wasn't,” Ace said. “He already had context.” “Yes.” Mai exhaled slowly. “He knew how I had been breaking after firing.” Ace remembered. Mai turning left. The second German already there. That horrible moment where Main whole body changed before the bullets arrived. She had known. “Your face,” Ace said quietly. Mai looked at her. “What?” “You knew before he fired.” Mai's eyes dropped. “Yes.” Ace swallowed. “I saw it.” Mai remained silent. Ace reached for her hand. Mai gave it. “You weren't stupid.” “I know.” “Good.” “I was wrong.” “Also yes.” Mai almost smiled. Almost. Ace squeezed her fingers. “Different thing.” Mai nodded. “I know.” Shammy leaned back against the headboard beside them. “What bothers you most?” Mai answered immediately. “I cannot reconstruct it properly.” Ace frowned. “You just did.” “No.” Mai shook her head. “I reconstructed the memory.” She looked toward the dark room as if a cockpit instrument might appear there if she stared long enough. “I remember the geometry.” “I remember what I expected him to be able to do.” “I remember why my conclusion felt correct.” “But?” Mai flexed her fingers. “I do not actually know enough about aerial combat to validate any of it.” Ace stared. Shammy did too. Mai's irritation intensified. “I remember being an expert.” Ace's mouth twitched. “Oh.” “Yes.” Shammy's expression became thoughtful. “That is strange.” “It is infuriating.” Ace's twitch became a grin. Mai looked at her. “Do not.” “I didn't say anything.” “You were about to.” “I was thinking supportively.” “No.” Ace's grin widened slightly. There. The room had moved one inch closer to normal. Only one. Enough. Shammy lifted one hand. “I remember how my Camel felt in a turn.” Mai looked at her. “So do I.” Ace stopped smiling. “Yeah.” She looked down at her hands. Immediately the memory returned. Pressure through the stick. Vibration. Wind. The strange physical insistence of the rotary engine. She could almost feel it. Ace closed her hand. Nothing there. She moved her wrist experimentally. Mai watched. “What?” “I was trying to remember how to turn.” Shammy tilted her head. “And?” Ace frowned. “I remember doing it.” “That is not what she asked.” Ace looked at Mai. “I know.” She tried again. Not imagining the memory. Doing it consciously. Which control first? How much? When? The answer should have been immediate. It wasn't. Ace's brow furrowed. “Rudder.” Mai waited. Ace pointed vaguely. “And… stick.” “That is not an impressive level of aviation expertise.” “I know that.” Shammy smiled faintly. Ace stared at her own hand. “I knew exactly what the machine would do.” “Yes.” “I could feel it.” “Yes.” “I knew when it was about to stall.” Mai nodded. “So did I.” Ace looked at her. “Could you fly one now?” Mai's answer came immediately. “No.” Shammy answered at the same time. “No.” Ace paused. Then: “Me neither.” The three stared at one another. Something genuinely bizarre settled over the room. Ace reached for the lamp. Stopped. Wrong side. Of course. Safehouse. She found it and switched it on. Warm low light filled the room. Nothing changed. Still real. Mai looked toward the floor. “I remember starting the engine.” Shammy nodded. “So do I.” Mai's expression tightened. “Explain how.” Shammy opened her mouth. Stopped. Mai looked at Ace. Ace pointed toward an imaginary propeller. “Someone pulled that.” Mai stared. Ace lowered her hand. “That is all I have.” Shammy began laughing. Quietly. Ace looked at her. “What?” “I also remember someone pulling that.” Mai stared at both of them. “You cannot start an aircraft by saying someone pulled that.” Ace shrugged. “Worked in France.” Mai closed her eyes. Ace started laughing too. It was not especially funny. That made it funnier. Shammy's shoulders shook. Mai held out longer. Perhaps three seconds. Then she laughed too. Not loudly. Enough. The tension broke without disappearing. Ace leaned back against the headboard. She looked at both of them. Still here. Still three. Good. The laughter faded naturally. Ace's gaze dropped. Her face changed again. Mai saw. “What?” Ace hesitated. “The Baron.” Shammy settled. Mai's attention sharpened. Ace looked at her hands. “I hit him.” Mai nodded. “You did.” “I watched him go down.” Neither interrupted. Ace could still see it. Red. Fields. Smoke. Helmet above the cockpit rim. The triplane fighting to recover. The pilot still alive. Then down. “I don't know if he hit.” Mai said quietly: “You weren't supposed to know.” Ace looked at her. Mai's words had come naturally. Too naturally. Ace nodded. “Yeah.” She rubbed one hand over her face. “He was good.” Mai gave her a dry look. “That may be the least controversial observation you have ever made.” Ace laughed once. “Fuck you.” “There she is.” Shammy smiled. Ace glanced toward her. Then at Mai. “You shot his wingman.” Mai's expression changed. “Yes.” “Clean.” “Yes.” Ace pointed. “Very clean.” Mai studied her. “You are complimenting my imaginary First World War aviation performance.” “Your imaginary First World War aviation performance was hot.” Mai blinked. Shammy made a small surprised sound. Ace froze. The silence lasted half a second. Then Mai's mouth curled. “There she is.” Ace pointed accusingly. “You used that already.” “It remained applicable.” Shammy laughed again. Ace shook her head. “Fine.” The room was normal enough for teasing now. Almost. Ace pulled the blanket higher. Then stopped. Something had entered her mind. Small. White. Helmet. Scarf. Doghouse. She frowned. Mai noticed. “What now?” Ace stared straight ahead. “No.” Shammy looked toward her. Ace's eyes narrowed. “Wait.” Mai's expression became immediately cautious. “What?” Ace turned slowly. “My Camel.” Mai waited. Shammy waited. Ace raised one finger. “The left side.” Mai's eyes began changing. She remembered. Ace saw it. “No.” Mai covered her mouth. Shammy's face lit with recognition. Ace pointed at both of them. “No, no, don't you start.” Mai was already laughing. Ace stared. “Snoopy.” Shammy folded forward. Ace's voice rose. “WHY THE FUCK DID MY SOPWITH CAMEL HAVE SNOOPY PAINTED ON IT?” Mai lost whatever remained of her control. She laughed into both hands. Shammy dropped sideways against the pillow. Ace stared at them in betrayal. “THAT DID NOT EXIST YET!” That made it worse. Mai could not answer. Shammy tried. Failed. Ace pointed vaguely toward the ceiling. “DAMN YOU, KONRAD!” Round two landed considerably less dramatically than the first. Which was precisely why it worked. Mai finally managed: Snoopy had relevant experience. Ace's mouth dropped open. Shammy made a helpless noise. “You remember that?” Mai nodded. “You said it.” “I was brainwashed by 1918!” “You defended the historical qualifications of Snoopy.” “He was on my aircraft!” “That is not helping.” Ace grabbed a pillow and hit Mai with it. Mai laughed harder. Shammy moved out of range before Ace could expand the attack. Ace stopped. Looked at both of them. Then started laughing too. This time it lasted. Not because the night had stopped hurting. It had not. But because all three of them were there to laugh about it. Eventually the room settled again. Ace looked toward the clock. Morning. Actual morning. Night City morning. She exhaled. “I need coffee.” Mai nodded. “Real coffee.” Shammy swung her legs over the side of the bed. “Not the substance labeled coffee.” Ace pointed at her. “Exactly.” They dressed slowly. No rush. Ace stayed near both of them without consciously deciding to. Mai noticed. Said nothing. Shammy noticed too. Also said nothing. The Safehouse hallway felt almost offensively stable. Floor beneath bare feet. Familiar walls. Normal light. No mud. No aircraft engines. No maps of France. Ace entered the kitchen and stopped for a moment. Coffee machine. Modern. Electric. Beautiful. She touched it. Mai came in behind her. “Do you know how to operate that?” Ace turned. “Fuck you.” "Perhaps later." Shammy laughed from the doorway. Ace made coffee. Successfully. That felt like an achievement. Three mugs. They sat together at the kitchen table. Nobody chose their usual separation. Mai beside Ace. Shammy opposite but close enough to reach. Ace took the first drink. Closed her eyes. “Yes.” Mai tasted hers. “Better.” “Civilization.” Shammy cupped both hands around her mug. For several minutes they said very little. That was fine. Coffee. Safehouse. Breathing. Still three. Ace looked at Shammy. Shammy looked back. Ace looked at Mai. Mai raised one eyebrow. Ace smiled. Small. Enough. Her agent chimed. Ace's expression flattened. “No.” Mai looked toward it. “Could be anyone.” “It is morning.” “That does not narrow Night City considerably.” Ace picked it up. One message. Rogue. No explanation. No greeting. Three words. Ace read them. Her eyebrows rose. Mai noticed. “What?” Ace turned the holo so both could see. **Afterlife. One hour.** Shammy took another drink of coffee. Mai stared at the message. Ace looked from one to the other. Then back at the screen. The morning, apparently, was not finished with them. --- ## Chapter 16 — The Collector One hour later, Ace had decided that Rogue's concept of timing was hostile. The Afterlife was quieter at this hour. Not quiet. Never quiet. But the night crowd had thinned, and the next wave had not yet fully arrived. Conversations stayed lower. Music filled spaces instead of fighting for them. Staff moved with the efficient rhythm of people resetting a place that technically never stopped. Ace entered first. Mai beside her. Shammy half a step behind. None of them had discussed whether all three needed to come. There had been no discussion at all. Rogue had said: **Afterlife. One hour.** So the Triad came. Ace had considered asking why. Then decided she preferred finding out in person. Especially after this morning. They crossed the room. Ace's eyes automatically checked exits. People. Hands. Distances. Completely ordinary instincts. Night City instincts. Hers. That distinction had become unexpectedly comforting. No part of her knew how to sideslip a Sopwith Camel through a firing pass anymore. Excellent. She could live happily without that information. Probably. Mai slowed slightly beside her. Ace looked up. “What?” Mai's gaze was ahead. “Nothing.” Ace followed it. A man near the bar wore a dark leather jacket and aviator-style glasses pushed onto his forehead. Ace stopped. Mai stopped with her. Shammy nearly walked into both of them. “What?” Ace pointed. Mai closed her eyes. “No.” Shammy looked. Then smiled. Ace stared at her. “Don't.” “I did not say anything.” “You were going to.” Shammy's smile widened. Ace continued walking. “I hate today.” Mai followed. “It is still morning.” “Thank you for making it worse.” They found Rogue in her usual territory. She was seated with a drink she did not appear particularly interested in, one leg crossed over the other, expression already suggesting that whatever had brought them here was business and she expected everyone else to arrive at the same conclusion quickly. Rogue looked at the three of them. Then at Ace. Then Mai. Then Shammy. A small pause. “You look like hell.” Ace pulled out a chair. “Good morning to you too.” Mai sat beside her. Shammy took the remaining seat. Rogue's eyes stayed on Ace. “Bad night?” Ace considered. “Yes.” Mai said: “Complicated.” Shammy added: “Historically.” Rogue looked at her. Silence. Ace turned slowly toward Shammy. Mai did the same. Shammy looked into the middle distance. Ace pressed her lips together. Rogue leaned back. “Do I want to know?” “No,” Ace said. “Yes,” Shammy said. Mai considered. “Probably not.” Rogue's expression flattened. “Useful.” Ace folded her arms. “You summoned us.” “I did.” “And used exactly three words.” “Four would've been wasteful.” Ace nodded reluctantly. “Fair.” Rogue looked around the table once. Then her tone changed. Business. “Collector contacted.” Ace felt Mai become still beside her. Across the table, Shammy lowered her hands from her drink. For perhaps two seconds, nothing happened. Not because the words were surprising. Quite the opposite. They knew those words. Collector. Another request. Another weird artifact. Another object that had somehow survived long enough to become valuable to a man whose collection operated according to rules nobody else fully understood. Under normal circumstances, Ace would already have been asking where. Mai would be asking provenance. Shammy would be wondering what exactly made the object interesting. This morning, the words landed differently. Ace looked at Rogue. “When?” “Contact came through early this morning.” Mai asked: “How early?” Rogue's eyes shifted toward her. “Why?” Mai held her gaze. “Curious.” “That usually means you aren't.” Ace stared at the tabletop. Early this morning. Of course. Shammy looked toward Ace. Ace did not return it. Not yet. Rogue continued. “Request is straightforward on paper.” Ace looked up. “That sentence has never improved anything.” “No.” Rogue set her drink down. “He wants another historical piece.” Mai's expression became carefully neutral. Ace felt the first tiny warning. Historical. That meant nothing. Collector collected artifacts. Artifacts were often historical. Completely normal. Rogue went on. “Private ownership.” Ace relaxed by perhaps one percent. Good. Normal. “Verified?” Mai asked. “Provenance is complicated.” “Of course it is.” “Enough documentation exists that Collector believes the object is genuine.” Ace frowned. “Believes?” Rogue looked at her. “He doesn't normally spend my time on things he thinks are fake.” True. That was not the part bothering Ace. She could feel something coming. Nothing logical. No reason. Just the residue of the morning refusing to leave quietly. Shammy felt it too. Ace saw her expression. Mai was watching Rogue with complete attention now. Rogue noticed. “What?” Ace shook her head. “Nothing.” “You three are doing that badly.” “Doing what?” “Pretending something isn't wrong.” Ace looked at Mai. Mai looked at Shammy. Shammy looked at Ace. Nobody volunteered. Rogue sighed. “Fine.” She activated the display on the table. Ace watched light resolve above it. No image yet. Text. Sparse. A few provenance references. Historical notes. Dates. Ace's eyes found one immediately. **1918.** Her entire body stopped. Mai inhaled. Very quietly. Shammy's gaze fixed on the same line. Rogue looked at all three. “Okay.” Ace did not move. Rogue continued: “That got a reaction.” Mai's voice remained controlled. “What is the artifact?” Rogue studied her. Then swiped the display. The text changed. A name appeared. **Manfred von Richthofen.** Ace's coffee, consumed almost an hour earlier, seemed suddenly inadequate for reality. Nobody spoke. Rogue's eyes moved between them. “What the hell happened last night?” Ace looked at the name. Red wings. Gray sky. A man turning his head inside an open cockpit. Leather. Goggles. The final spiral toward fields. Her fingers curled slowly against the edge of the table. Mai stared at the display. Shammy had become utterly still. Rogue waited. Ace finally said: “You first.” Rogue's eyebrows rose. Ace pointed at the display. “What does he want?” Rogue looked at her for another second. Then apparently decided that whatever insanity was sitting across from her could be excavated later. She changed the display again. This time an image appeared. Old. High resolution for its source. Restored carefully enough that texture remained visible. Dark leather. Ear coverings. Straps. Wear at the edges. A flying helmet. Ace stopped breathing. She knew it. That reaction came before thought. Before history. Before logic. **I know that.** Mai leaned forward slightly. Shammy's eyes widened. Ace saw the crease first. Along one side. Exactly where she remembered it. Not approximately. Exactly. The darkened wear near the edge. The shape around the ear. The strap. Ace's mouth went dry. No. She had seen that helmet from fifty yards away. A hundred. Passing at speed. Through goggles. Inside something that had not happened. She could not know a crease. Beside her, Mai whispered: “No.” Rogue looked at her. Mai did not notice. Her eyes were locked on the image. Ace turned toward her. “You too?” Mai's jaw tightened. “Yes.” Shammy leaned closer. Her expression had lost every trace of humor. “I remember that.” Rogue looked between them again. “Remember what?” Nobody answered. Ace looked back at the helmet. The image was static. Harmless. Museum object. Leather and stitching. A piece of equipment worn by a pilot more than a century ago. She had seen it moving. Turning. Close enough to recognize. Close enough that the wrongness of seeing it now felt physical. Rogue's voice cut through. “Collector wants the flying helmet attributed to Manfred von Richthofen.” Silence. Ace continued staring. Mai sat back very slowly. Shammy looked toward her. Then Ace. Ace finally lifted both hands from the table. “No.” Rogue frowned. “No to the job?” “No.” Ace pointed at the image. “No to **that**.” Rogue waited. Ace looked at Mai. Mai's face held the same impossible recognition. Then Shammy. Same. Three memories of an object none of them had ever seen. Ace turned back toward Rogue. “Where is it?” Rogue's eyes narrowed. “That sounds more like yes.” “It isn't yes yet.” “Fine.” Ace pointed again. “Where?” Rogue deactivated the image. The helmet vanished. Ace hated how much relief that produced. “We'll discuss location after I know whether you're taking the contract.” Mai spoke before Ace could. “We need the full briefing.” Rogue nodded. “That, I can give you.” Ace looked at Mai. Then Shammy. Neither needed explanation. Not here. Not yet. The real planning came later. But the artifact had changed the question already. Ace looked toward the place where the image had been. She could still see it anyway. Leather helmet. Goggles beneath it. Red triplane turning across a gray French sky. Her final firing burst. The aircraft falling. She exhaled slowly. Rogue watched her. “Anything you want to tell me?” Ace looked at her. Considered the morning. The mud. The Camels. Shammy burning. Mai burning. The Baron. The helmet. Konrad. Then she shook her head. “Not yet.” Rogue accepted that with considerably more patience than Ace expected. “Fine.” She reached for her drink. Ace sat back. Shammy looked at Mai. Mai looked at Ace. Ace already knew what both were thinking. The same helmet. The same object. Something they recognized far too well. And none of them had ever seen it before. At least— not anywhere that should have been real. Ace looked once more at the blank display. The morning had started in France in 1918. It was now ending in the Afterlife more than a century later. And somehow, waiting between those two impossible points, was the Red Baron's flying helmet.