“This is an arm mount.” Musgrove lifted one of the odd-looking apparatuses, displaying two turbines welded on each side of the “sleeve.” Both mounts connected to the pack’s electric cables. “Place your arm inside here. It’s a tad heavy, about .8 stone or eleven pounds, if any of you are Yanks.”

Harry lifted one of the arm mounts, eyeballing the intricacies of its construction before he set it back down.

“The jet pack has a turbine in the back that’s double the size of two arm turbines. It will help you maintain your balance once you lift off.” Musgrove pointed at the back thruster. “On the front here, you’ve got the electronic controls and the battery pack to run the motors.”

“Where’s the battery supply again?” Hughes looked worried.

“Under the vest flap.” Musgrove pointed to the battery pack on the front. “I wouldn’t recommend falling on one.”

“We won’t blow up, will we?” Fear radiated off Hughes in waves.

Several soldiers guffawed.

If Horwith hadn’t ordered Hughes to “fly,” Harry would have subbed him out.

“The jumpsuit is fireproof. You’re completely safe from burning and electrocution.”

“Colonel Horwith, sir, I’d be happy to change places with Private Hughes,” said a freckle-faced soldier Harry identified as Private Eaton.

Horwith stared down the private until he backed up a step, then Horwith glanced at Hughes.

“I’m good,” Hughes said, looking a little green.

Musgrove’s assistants strapped the jet pack and helmet on Harry before he slipped his hands and forearms into the arm mount sleeves. Harry lifted each arm mount to accustom himself to the added weight before following Musgrove onto the cleared field for liftoff.

“Bet you a fiver Hughes lands on his head,” said the soldier who had volunteered to take Hughes’s place.

“You’re on, Clausen,” said one.

That was all it took. A pool started among the enlisted men.

“The captain will crash within eight seconds of takeoff.”

“I say seven.”

“Hughes will land in a tree,” said a short lad no more than eighteen.

“Och, nooo. Hughes will drown in the loch,” said another.

Ignoring the lot of them, Harry pulled the hand trigger, and the high-pitched noise canceled out all other sound. Keeping the power on low, he lifted off, the tip of his boots barely touching the ground. He played with the jets while he got the hang of balancing with the awkward apparatus. It reminded him of a cordless drill—either the force was on, or it was off. He let go of the trigger, and the suit went silent.

Musgrove checked Harry’s harness one last time. “You’ve got the hang of it, Captain Benson. Why not take an eighty-second flight?”

“You trust me that much?”

“Aye.” Musgrove lowered Harry’s helmet lens, slapped his shoulder, and stepped back.