Read Barnstorm for Free Online

air had created a fog bank that blanketed the stream. The trees, fog bank, and meandering stream created a tunnel effect. He went for it. The German pilots were hot on his tail. Trip dove under the low bridge. He left the top inch of his vertical stabilizer on the lower support beam of the bridge. Wheels kissing the stream below, Trip disappeared into the fog bank. The German pilots were not so lucky. When the first plane hit the bridge in a ball of flames, it caused the trailing Nazi pilot to climb and bank hard away from the bridge. Right into a towering oak tree. Two German planes–gone. Trip figured that the maintenance crew back in England could repair his plane without much trouble.
    The wind was still strong enough to gently rock his Stearman pile of junk like a cradle. Trip closed his eyes and dreamt of beautiful women waiting to touch the shoulder of a hero stunt pilot.

Chapter Three
    The storm left as quickly as it had arrived. At sunrise, the wind sock hung limply, exhausted from a night of flailing at a mighty foe. The morning calm was rudely broken as the large hangar door was opened. Buzz entered the hangar and knocked on Trip’s bunkroom door.
    Cracking the door enough to see Socrates flap his wings and quack, Buzz announced, “Trip, burnin’ daylight.” He avoided saying anything to Socrates as he didn’t need a protracted foul argument this early in the day.
    Strange, he didn’t see Trip around the hangar or the cafe. As he passed through the hangar he noticed that the step-ramp was lying across one of the Stearman’s wings. Not a big deal, until the plane wobbled and shifted. Buzz was generally not a believer in ghosts, but the facts pointed to something out of the ordinary. The sound of snoring originating in the cockpit dispelled anything of the occult. As Buzz leaned closer he wondered, what the heck is that?
    Buzz cautiously climbed onto the wing and approached the rear cockpit. There he was, Trip, sound asleep without a care in the world. At first, Buzz was shocked, thinking that Trip was naked. Not much of a relief when he noticed that Trip was wearing only his boxer shorts. Boxers with airplane designs. He tapped Trip on the shoulder. In Trip’s dream, it was a beautiful woman shaking his shoulder. He had taken down two German Messerschmitts under that bridge in Northern France. As Trip blinked his eyes and shook his head, this was no love-starved fan standing over him. A pretty good dream had turned into Trip’s worst nightmare.
    “And what do you think you are doing?” came the challenge from Buzz. “How many times do I have to tell you?”
    Still not quite awake, Trip mumbled, “Uh? Oh. Where am I?”
    “In trouble, that’s where you are. Out. Come on. Move your scrawny butt.”
    Still a little woozy from his rude awakening, Trip crawled onto the wing ramp, facing away from Buzz. He bumped his airplane boxer shorts butt in Buzz’s face. They awkwardly tumbled off the step in a heap. Trip rolled on top of Buzz, his boxer-clad butt in Buzz’s face.
    “Crap. What a way to start the day,” Buzz lamented.
    Trip rose, face-to-face with his boss.
    “Darn it, Trip. You gotta stop doin’ this. Someday I’m gonna fire yer butt and be done with it. What am I gonna do with you? And another thing. Fix the jump plane back door.” Buzz was firm, but not overly angry.
    “Yes, sir. Right away.”
    “Within the next hour; before the first jumps this mornin’. That means now.”
    “Yes, sir. Right away.”
    ☁ ☁ ☁
    Buzz plopped onto a lunch counter stool. He and Deb were alone.
    “Whoa, heck of a crash landing,” Deb observed.
    “Trip’s ‘bout to drive me nuts. Slept in the cockpit of an old Stearman, in his boxers.”
    “Hmmm.”
    “Nice guy, but is he cut out for this kind of work? Airplanes are complex, dangerous.”
    Deb poured a cup of coffee and let Buzz vent. “I know,” she agreed. “But he tries really hard. Let’s stick with him a little longer.”
    “Yeah, but