“All right.” Ripley climbed onto the wing. “When you’ve finished, I need you to do something else. Let me think this through. All right. All right. Run to the back of the plane, and hold on to the supports for the empennage. I’m going to say this now, because when the engine is on you won’t be able to hear me. Good?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Then I’m going to open the throttle. The plane will try to lift. You hold it down.”

Lee looked confused.

“You hold it as long as you can. Longer. When I give the hand signal, let go, and run as fast as you can, so you can get into the pit. You’ll have to run quickly, because the plane will be lurching forward, and if you can’t climb aboard I have to leave you here. Do you read all that, Corporal?”

“Yes, sir.”

Lee wrapped the dogs in his teddy-bear suit for warmth and left the bundle on his seat in the DH 4, for he was about to perform highly athletic duties and he didn’t want to hurt them.

He faced the plane. Behind him was a grove of trees, and in front of him, the winery was still burning. The weather had fully shifted now, and rain was coming down in his face. The wind was blowing sideways, a poor condition for takeoff.

The hub of the propeller was a few inches over Lee’s head, and the blades had stopped with the arms parallel to the earth. He knit his fingers around the tip of the closest blade and rocked it up and down, to try and get momentum going. This would be like rowing a boat, the same full extension of his arms. With a full groan of effort, he threw the blade downward, willing it to catch on the first try, and only when he let go did he realize where he was standing; he cried out as the next descending blade arm struck him on the back of the head with a terrible clout. He stumbled away, both hands to his head, moaned again like a child, then staggered and fell.

“Duncan?”

“I’m fine, sir.” He returned to his feet, massaging his skull. He opened his mouth, moved his jaw, his teeth having slammed down with the impact. His vision doubled, then returned to normal. He had never been hit that hard. His hands wandered to his skull in search of broken skin or blood; they came away dirty and wet with rain, a lump already rising.