If the pilot of the blue plane pulled it off, he'd win the race. If he stalled out, the victory would go to the yellow plane.
Either way, Connie had lost.
I've lost.
I've lost my mother's plane.
I've lost everything.
An alarming, high-pitched whistle shrieked in warning over the deeper snarl of the Spitfire's overheated engine. Her heart like lead in her chest, Connie eased the throttle back a little. There was no sense destroying Chase's plane, even if it was shortly to become Sammy's plane.
A flicker caught her eye, off her left wingtip. Connie craned her neck, hoping against hope that it was Chase. She'd only seen the midnight-black pegasus once, when suddenly he'd shot down past her like the wrath of God, presumably chasing the wyvern.
All through the race, she'd been half-sick with fear for him. She'd clung to the thought that as long as she was still flying without interference from the wyvern, he had to be all right, but it was small comfort. If the wyvern wasn't attacking her, it was only because it was attacking him.
Now, however, that impossibly winged, glorious equine shape settled
into formation with her. The pegasus was clearly exhausted, but he still kept pace with the plane.
“Chase,” Connie breathed, relief filling her.
She couldn't see any wounds on him, though from the stiff way he moved she suspected he was bruised and battered from the fight. She could only assume that the wyvern was worse off, though. Chase must have either killed it or driven it away.
Catching her eye, the pegasus flicked an ear at her. Then he stretched his neck out, his labored wingbeats speeding up so that he inched a little ahead of her. He glanced back at her, tail held high and challenging.
She could read his body language as clearly as if he was speaking directly into her ear: Well? What are you waiting for?
Connie set her jaw in determination. If she was going to lose, than she was at least going to go down fighting. She could only pray that she wouldn't literally be going down fighting as she gave the plane full throttle once again.
She could feel the stress on the engine in every judder and jerk of the plane underneath her, but this time she held her nerve. The Spitfire howled in fury as it shot across the sky after the two leaders, eating up the distance.
Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Chase struggling gamely to keep up, but she didn't have any attention to spare for him now. All her focus was on holding the plane together, and keeping it true on course. At this speed, the tiniest error could send her tumbling out of control, and out of the race.
Ahead, the two Mudrys had reached the final turn point, the yellow plane still a little ahead of the blue. As she'd suspected, the more experience pilot in the yellow plane began to bank right, describing a wide, looping circle. The more daring blue plane took the opportunity to dash past it. It banked left, so hard that its wings were nearly vertical, trying to complete the turn ahead of the yellow plane.
Even before the blue plane started its turn, Connie knew in her gut that the pilot had come in too hard, too fast. The blue plane stalled, spiraling out of the air. To her relief, he managed to pull back up safely, but he'd plummeted well past the race boundaries. He was out.
The yellow plane had nearly completed the turn. Connie was almost at the turn point herself, but she still had to complete her own loop. By the time she was even facing the finish line, the yellow plane would already have crossed it.
Unless… I attempt the hairpin.
Connie bit her lip hard enough to draw blood. She had only a few heartbeats in which to make the decision.
I can't. It's too dangerous. If it goes wrong, it'll tear the plane apart.
Time seemed to stretch like taffy, seconds slowing to a crawl. She glanced back at Chase, still grimly struggling in her slipstream. Her eyes locked with his, despite the growing distance between them. In that moment, she could feel his perfect trust in her, his encouragement and support.
If it goes wrong…
She knew, down to her very bones, that he would catch her.
Connie slammed the control column over.
The Spitfire heeled over on one wingtip, the other pointing up to the sky, metal shrieking with the stress. Connie sucked in her stomach, her visioning threatening to go black as the incredible g-forces squashed her into the pilot's seat. She braced herself with her feet, every muscle in her body straining as she fought to keep control of the plane.
The Spitfire whipped round the hairpin like a comet. The yellow plane's wings see-sawed, buffeted by her wake as Connie's plane screamed past mere feet in front of its nose.
The home stretch lay open before Connie, the clear blue sky wide and welcoming.