He glimpsed a blur of yellow in the corner of his eye. In a flash, it was huge. Josephine’s machine. He whizzed past it like an express train, missing her by yards, imagining Joe Van Dorn’s reaction when, in the course of protecting America’s Sweetheart of the Air, his chief investigator smashed into her in full view of a million spectators.

Speed! Josephine’s first answer whenever he posed a question about flying technique. Speed is your friend. Speed makes air strong.

Bell turned his rudder back to a neutral position, stopped pulling on the control post and shoved it forward. Then, as gently as if he were commanding a frightened horse, he tilted the post sideways, raising the alettone on his left wing, lowering the one on the right. The American Eagle straightened out of its heel, stopped falling sideways, dipped its nose, and accelerated.

He was out of it in seconds. The gusts were still knocking him about, but the Eagle felt more like an aeroplane now than a falling rock. Speed, he thought ruefully, as the machine settled down. Easy to know in theory when flying on an even keel, hard to remember in the heat of the moment.

The confluence of river and sea winds that had nearly undone him proved to be as determined as it was deadly. It spawned a second maelstrom, more vicious than the first, that slammed into Josephine.

Bell had been lucky, he realized. It had hit him with a glancing blow. The full force of a band of crazily twirling wind gusts struck Josephine’s Celere so hard that it knocked her out of the sky. Her machine flipped on its side. And, in an instant, the monoplane was falling in an uncontrollable flat spin.

As it plummeted under his machine, Bell saw a piece break off her left wing.

The broken piece trailed her, snared by control wires. He recognized an alettone, one of her hinged control flaps. Then the wires parted, and the flap blew away like a leaf in the wind. If Bell himself had not just battled the same gusts, he would have reckoned that Harry Frost had blasted the appendage with a heavy rifle slug. But this assault on Josephine was no criminal attack. This was Mother Nature at her worst. While not as malicious, the effect would be as deadly.

Josephine did not hesitate. Speed!

Bell saw her throw herself forward, thrusting all the weight of her slight frame to push her control wheel. She was trying to drop the nose, pushing the aeroplane to fall forward instead of sideways. At the same time, she was tilting her remaining alettone to turn against the spin.