New Heavens Read Online Free

the other three aircraft of my flight peeling off overhead and approaching to take up positions on either side of me.
    The flak fades as I head out to sea, with only an occasional burst of 88mm above me. My engine runs roughly but the engine revs keep above 2,300. I watch the instrument panel as we climb through 5,000 feet. The cylinder-head temperature is at the end of the scale and decision time is near. I take a quick look down at the land behind me. The shore to the north and south of my position is covered in a white mantle of snow, portending an ice-cold ducking when I bail out. I have little time to weigh these two undesirable alternatives and hastily opt for bailing out over the sea in the hope of getting back to our lines if I survive in my dinghy.
    Smoke pours into the cockpit. The engine runs rougher as the coolant streams out. Aiming for least resistance to the airflow, I pull the throttle back and move into full-course pitch to feather the propeller. My eyes behind the goggles smart and stream, and now I see a flicker of flame on the side of the firewall. Any minute now the fuel tanks may explode. The altimeter needle shows that the rapid climb has brought me up to higher than 5,000 feet. I am thankful my Kittyhawk can take this punishment. I see the cylinder-head temperature rising, and the engine runs rougher, thumping loudly.
    I call the wing commander and try to sound cool as I say, “Topper Red Two heading for the rendezvous point, but I have to bail out. Please watch me.” As I say this, the engine seizes up and I see the fire to the front and left of the windscreen. I keep the nose pointing to the southeast toward our front lines in the distance, all the while losing height. I know now that I cannot make it to our front lines. The smokefrom the dead engine obstructs my vision. I continue to breathe oxygen through my mask but have difficulty seeing my instruments. I cough and wheeze as fumes penetrate my mask. I breathe smoke mixed with burning oil vapors. When I realize there is no hope, I unlock the canopy hood and roll it back. I take off my helmet and from force of habit drape it over the stick. I take a last look at the hostile coastline to the east and see the burning warehouses of Mestre as I unlock the harness. I see the dashboard with its instruments and my oxygen mask hanging uselessly from my helmet. Outside my cockpit the wings with the camouflage paint and the RAF roundels fill the view of my trusted kite. The Kittyhawk shudders violently as she enters the final phase of her death throes, and I try to abandon the aircraft. A moment of panic comes when I find I cannot move, until I realize that I have forgotten to release the shoulder straps. A quick tug on the release pin, and as I put my aircraft into a slow diving turn to the left, I glance at the sea far below, looking calm and peaceful, almost inviting.
    I leave all systems operating and hesitate for a few agonizing seconds before I abandon the Kitty. I grip the cockpit side and clamber over the left wall of the cockpit. Now, the sea looks dark and threatening as I dive head first into the gaping void 5,000 feet below and think,
Just let me miss the tail and I’ll have a chance if the chute opens.
I feel a searing pain in my foot as it glances off the tail. My life now depends upon a piece of equipment I had been sitting on for many hours of flying, something I had slung casually over my shoulder and dropped on the floor like a sack of potatoes. I had treated it with no more respect than a pair of oldboots. I wish in those few moments of free fall that I had taken better care of my parachute. I wait a few more seconds with my hand on the cold metal parachute handle, delaying pulling the handle to ensure that the chute will not get entangled in the tail of the plane. Then a quick jerk on the handle and the chute opens above me, wrenching my body around but stopping my headlong fall.
    After the frenzied tumult I have left, it is