Harald opened the door. The aircraft immediately veered sharply to the left. Karen pushed down on the right rudder pedal, but they continued to turn. She eased the stick over to the right and banked, but the aircraft still went left. “It’s no good, I can’t hold it!” she cried.
Harald closed the door. “If I smash these windows out, that will almost halve the area of wind resistance,” he said. He took the wrench from his pocket. The windows were made of some kind of celluloid that was tougher than glass, but he knew it was not unbreakable, for he had knocked out the rear window two days ago. He drew back his right arm as far as he could and hit the window hard, and the celluloid shattered. He tapped the remaining material out of the frame.
“Ready to try again?”
“Just a minute-we need more airspeed.” She leaned across and pushed the throttle open, then eased the trim lever forward an inch. “Okay.”
Harald opened the door.
Once again the aircraft veered left, but this time less sharply, and Karen seemed to be able to correct with the rudder.
Kneeling on the seat, Harald put his head out of the door. He could see the end of the hose flapping around the petrol access cover. Holding the door open with his right shoulder, he stretched out his right arm and grasped the hose. Now he had to feed it into the tank. He could see the open access panel but not the filler neck. He got the end of the hose positioned roughly over the panel, but the length of rubber in his hand constantly flopped around with the movement of the aircraft, and he could not get the end into the pipe. It was like trying to thread a needle in a hurricane. He tried for several minutes, but it became more hopeless as his hand got colder.
Karen tapped his shoulder.
He drew his hand back into the cabin and closed the door.
“We’re losing altitude,” she said. “We need to climb.” She pulled the stick back.
Harald blew on his hand to warm it. “I can’t do it this way,” he told her. “I can’t get the hose into the pipe. I need to be able to hold the other end of the tube.”
“How?”
He thought for a minute. “Maybe I can put one foot out of the door.”
“Oh, God.”
“Let me know when we’ve gained enough altitude.”
After a couple of minutes she said, “Okay, but be ready to close the door as soon as I tap your shoulder.”
Facing backward with his left knee on the seat, Harald put his right foot out through the door and onto the reinforced strip on the wing. Holding his seat belt with his left hand for security, he leaned out and grasped the hose. He ran his hand along its length until he was holding the tip. Then he leaned out farther to put the end into the pipe.
The Hornet Moth hit an air pocket. The aircraft bucked in the air. Harald lost his balance and thought he was going to fall off the wing. He jerked hard on the hose and his seat belt at the same time, trying to stay upright. The other end of the hose, inside the cabin, broke free of the string holding it. As it came loose, Harald involuntarily let go of it. The slipstream whisked it away.
Shaking with fear, he eased back into the cabin and closed the door.
“What happened?” she said. “I couldn’t see!”
For a moment he was unable to reply. When he had recovered, he said, “I dropped the hose.”
“Oh, no.”
He checked the fuel gauge. “We’re running on empty.”
“I don’t know what we can do!”
“I’ll have to stand on the wing and pour the petrol in directly from the can. It will take two hands-I can’t hold a four-gallon can with one hand, it’s too heavy.”
“But you won’t be able to hold on.”
“You’ll have to hold my belt with your left hand.” Karen was strong, but he was not sure she could take his weight if he slipped. However, there was no alternative.
“Then I won’t be able to move the control stick.”
“We’ll just have to hope you don’t need to.”
“All right, but let’s gain more altitude.”
He looked around. There was no land in sight.
Karen said, “Warm your hands. Put them under my coat.”
He turned, still kneeling on the seat, and pressed his hands to her waist. Under the fur coat she was wearing a light summer sweater.
“Put them under my sweater. Go on, feel my skin, I don’t mind.”
She was hot to his touch.
He kept his hands there as they climbed. Then the engine missed. “We’re out of fuel,” Karen said.
The engine caught again, but he knew she was right. “Let’s do it,” he said.
She trimmed the aircraft. Harald unscrewed the cap of the four-gallon can, and the tiny cabin filled with the unpleasant smell of petrol, despite the wind blowing in at the broken windows.
The engine missed again and began to falter.
Harald lifted the can. Karen took hold of his belt. “I’ve got you tight,” she said. “Don’t worry.”
He opened the door and put his right foot out. He moved the can to the seat. He put his left foot out, so that he was standing on the wing and leaning inside the cabin. He was absolutely terrified.
He lifted the can and stood upright on the wing. He made the mistake of looking beyond the trailing edge of the wing to the sea below. His stomach lurched with nausea. He almost dropped the can. He closed his eyes, swallowed, and got himself under control.
He opened his eyes, resolving not to look down. He leaned over the petrol inlet. His belt tightened over his stomach as Karen took the strain. He tilted the can.
The constant movement of the aircraft made it impossible to pour straight, but after a few moments he got the knack of compensating. He leaned forward and back, relying on Karen to keep him safe.
The engine continued to misfire for a few seconds, then returned to normal.
He wanted desperately to get back inside, but they needed fuel to reach land. The petrol seemed to flow as slowly as honey. Some blew away in the airflow, and more spilled around the access plate and was wasted, but most of it seemed to go into the pipe.
At last the can was empty. He dropped it into the air and gratefully grabbed the door frame with his left hand. He eased himself back into the cabin and closed the door.
“Look,” said Karen, pointing ahead.
In the far distance, right on the horizon, was a dark shape. It was land.
“Hallelujah,” he said softly.
“Just pray that it’s England,” Karen said. “I don’t know how far we might have been blown off course.”
It seemed to take a long time, but eventually the dark shape turned green and became a landscape. Then it resolved into a beach, a town with a harbor, an expanse of fields, and a range of hills.
“Let’s take a closer look,” Karen said.
They descended to two thousand feet to examine the town.
“I can’t tell whether it’s France or England,” Harald said. “I’ve never been to either place.”
“I’ve been to Paris and London, but neither of them looks like this.”
Harald checked the fuel gauge. “We’re going to have to land soon anyway.”
“But we need to know whether we’re in enemy territory.”
Harald glanced up through the roof and saw two aircraft. “We’re about to find out,” he said. “Look up.”
They both stared at the two small aircraft that were rapidly approaching from the south. As they came closer, Harald stared at their wings, waiting for the markings to become distinct. Would they turn out to be German crosses? Had all this been for nothing?
The aircraft came closer, and Harald saw that they were Spitfires with RAF roundels. This was England.
He let out a whoop of triumph. “We made it!”
The aircraft came closer and flew on either side of the Hornet Moth. Harald could see the pilots, staring at
