Wings of Fire Ch. 01

Unfortunately for him, it was an absolute disaster, with the plane barely making it off the ground and nearly killing the test pilot in the process. The accident had cost them dearly, with much of their investors dropping them and pulling their funding. That was a little more than a year ago, and the airfield had been running on fumes ever since, attracting no new investors or interest.

James had hoped that he would have been able to purchase the airfield from Manfredo when he went bankrupt and had no choice but to sell it. They had let much of the various staff who worked there go because of lack of funds capable of paying them. There were also people that Manny had brought in, who, at first, he assumed were interns. As it turned out, they were brought in to replace the people who were already working there. Manny was bringing in his own people to take over the airfield, as he wanted no one around who could be loyal to the previous owners.

James was sure that once he owned the place, he'd be able to convince the people who'd worked there, many of which were longtime friends, to come back and work for him. Sadly, that dream went up in smoke with his mother's death, once his uncle had seized full control of everything. He figured he could still make it work, given enough time.

Manfredo was still giving his speech, and because he was an employee there, James had little choice but to stay and be bored by his pompous orations. Thankfully, it appeared the speech was ending, as he was excited about showing off their new plane. James cracked his neck and blinked rapidly to make himself seem interested.

Manfredo then pulled the cover off the plane, unveiling it for all to see. At first James was impressed at the design as everything seemed to be aerodynamically sound at first glance. As he moved forward, he could see that for some odd reason, the plane looked familiar. It took him a few minutes, but he then spotted the reason why it looked as such. That was because the design was his!

Almost two years ago, James had come up with different ideas of new plane concepts. He'd designed something that would be both agile and still have the engine power to outrun anything chasing it. He took many drafts and revisions of various ideas he had, but he finally came up with an idea that seemed like it could work. When he finally finished the blueprints after a long night at the drafting table, they'd vanished the following morning.

He'd searched high and low for his plans, but could never find them. James asked the various maids and servants at the estate if they'd moved them, and they had not. He trusted their word because many of them looked upon him like he was family. Most of the staff disliked his uncle Andrew for certain, and some of them outright hated him.

He didn't dare ask his uncle if he'd seen or moved them, but he managed to conduct a thorough search of his room and came up with nothing. Now he knew what had happened to them; they had somehow found their way into Manfredo's hands. Using the design, they built the plane he dreamed of building himself!

"Who designed this piece of beautiful artwork, messere (sir)?" one of the drivers asked Manfredo.

"I'd like to take credit for the design idea, but that honor falls to my son, Roberto!" the elder man stated proudly.

"Horseshit!" James shouted out loud.

Normally, James was one to avoid conflict if he could. But the death of his mother, being denied his inheritance, thrown out of his home, had pushed him to the breaking point. And now finding out that his plans had been stolen, with that snarky little shit taking all the credit?!? This was too much for a man of James' patience to bear.

"Watch yourself and your tone, boy! My son has created a thing of beauty in this plane, and I will not have his achievement mocked by one such as you!" Manfredo shouted back arrogantly.

"Watch myself? OK then, how's this for watching myself?" James said dangerously. In a split second, he charged Manfredo, dropping him with a single shoulder strike. As the elder Marino man fell, James rounded on Roberto, who had already moved to strike him, shouting out loud.

"Get off of my father!"

The punch that Roberto had thrown was weak and ill placed, glancing off James' collarbone. In response, James threw a solid right hook, followed by a couple of left jabs. For all of Roberto's bluster, he was no fighter and squealed like a ten-year-old girl at the punches connecting with his face. He tried to cover his head from the attacks, but James was too fast and struck with a right cross.

"Admit it, you little shit! You didn't design this plane, did you? I know you stole it from me! You or your scumbag father! I designed this plane, not you!" James raged as he beat on Roberto whenever he found an opening. He got in maybe another three shots before the rest of the staff had pulled him off the boy. James tried to struggle against their grip, but they were all strapping Italian men and not easily shrugged off.

Manfredo entered his vision then, helping a weeping and beaten Roberto up to his feet. After ensuring that his son was all right and nothing was broken, he turned to James, cold fury etched into his face. He then rolled up his sleeves and, seeing this, James had a very good idea of what was coming.

"So, you say you designed this plane? That I or Roberto took them from you? A weak half-breed bastard like you, with no family? Do you take us for idiots?" Manny taunted him as he finished rolling up his sleeves.

"No, I take you for a bunch of conniving liars who will steal from those you can, because you can," James growled. He then spat in Manfredo's face, his anger still raging.

"Hold him tightly," Manfredo instructed his cohorts. Indeed, the grip of the five men holding him tightened as Manfredo stepped forward and punched James in the face and guts. James took each hit as stoically as he could, being no stranger to pain.

Growing up as a mixed man had earned him a lot of scorn and ridicule from the other boys at school. Because of this, James would often end up in fights. He wound up giving as good as he got and could usually take on two or three people at once. It was when there was a whole gang of kids around that he would get overwhelmed.

In this case though, it was only Manfredo doing the hitting, as he'd sent Roberto away to see the medic. Each hit he landed was seeking a soft spot to make him keel over in pain, but James refused to give Manfredo the satisfaction. It wasn't until he wound up and landed a haymaker across his jaw did James drop to his knees. The blow was powerful, but not enough to keep him down. He tried to get up, but found himself held in place by Manfredo's men.

"One day, I will come back to this place and you won't have your boys protecting you then," James said as he raised his head to lock his gaze with Manny's. "When I come back, I will give you what you so richly deserve, you fucking coward!"

"That day is not today, or will it ever be," the older man taunted as he delivered another haymaker across the other side of James' face. James cried out briefly, as the sting of the blow was enough to make him feel real pain.

Manfredo had finally stopped, which James was grateful for, but there was still the fact that he stood in front of him. James' head hung down as blood dripped from his mouth due to a busted lip and his face was all cut up from where Manfredo's nails had scored him. Feeling his hair being gripped, James had no choice but to look up and he grunted quietly but still glared up at his boss defiantly.

"I can spend all day beating you to a bloody pulp if I wanted to, but lucky for you, I'm on a very tight schedule," Manfredo told him venomously. "You no longer work here and will never work at another airfield for the rest of your miserable life! Boys drag this cazzo (dick) to collect his things and throw him off my property!"

The men holding James moved and obliged their employer, a couple of them more than happy to do their boss' bidding. Another voice, however, called in question to the owner of the airfield.

"Messere?"

"What is it, Ezio?" Manfredo asked lazily.

The man he was addressing was the airfield's janitor, Ezio Calabrese, whom everyone referred to or called 'Old Ezio'. He was well past sixty, nearly at the age of retirement, and had been the airfield's janitor for the better part of twenty years. He was the only employee that Manfredo had kept around from the previous staff, primarily because the man was Italian.

Despite his age, he was a spry old man, with a full head of grey hair that he wore long, along with a well-groomed beard. His blue eyes were sharp as a hawk and belied a sense of wisdom accumulated from his long years on this earth. He stepped up to Manfredo to speak to the man but spoke his mind loud enough for everyone to be heard.

"Why not let me throw the boy off the airfield? You and the boys have had your fun. Let me have this bit of fun for myself?" the old man asked his employer. Manfredo looked down at James, then back to Ezio and smirked at the thoughts running through his head.

"Of course, fratello mio (my brother)! Be sure to call one of the boys if he gives you any trouble, though, eh?" Manfredo enthused while clapping the elderly man on the shoulder.

"That will not be necessary, messere. I know how to make these young bucks squeal in pain," Ezio stated. In demonstration, he walked over to James and grabbed him by the sideburn and yanked upwards. Crying out at the pain of it, James shot up out of the grip of his captors. Looking at Ezio with a sense of admiration, the men holding James dispersed as Manfredo ordered them back to work.

Frog marching James to the locker room, Ezio kept a lively pace, briskly striding with James, almost half dragging him. Once they walked into the locker room, Ezio looked about and once he was sure they were alone, he let the young man go. Unbeknownst to the rest of the employees of the airfield, Ezio and James were friends and had been for many years. James looked up to Ezio as a father figure, since he did not know of his real father.

"Sorry that I had to yank so hard, boy. I had to make it convincing enough so they would leave us alone," Ezio apologized.

"I understand Papa. Those assholes had to believe what they were seeing. But, for all their pompous and vain attitudes, they are dumber than a bag of hammers," James said as he rubbed his sore temple. Ezio laughed at the insults that were directed to the other men as he knew it to be an ironclad truth.

"Well said, boy! I also know Roberto would not have had the imagination to come up with such an inspired design for an airplane. He's more interested in drinking, eating and chasing anything that wears a skirt," Ezio sighed as he shook his head. "I remember watching you up late some nights, like you were going over ideas or numbers sometimes, when you dallied here later than normal. You said you designed that plane that's out there now?"

"That's right. I referenced various books and even studied the old planes of the war. I took a few design ideas from the various planes that are currently in service," James explained as he walked into his closet. He collected his clothes and stuffed them into his duffle bag, along with his meager possessions and books.

"It's not right! Because that cane (dog) is the owner's son, he thinks he can do what he pleases, and no one can touch him?" Ezio fumed.

"That's the way the world is," James sighed as he finished with his packing. He grabbed his wallet, which held maybe one hundred dollars, and stuffed it into his pocket.

"Do you remember what happened many years ago, when you were just a boy? About those who changed the world as we know it? They dared to change the world as it was and make it what they wanted it to be! We all have that power, boy, and you are letting these bastardi (bastards) make you believe you do not!"

Sighing, James stood up and faced the old man. Ezio was red faced from his raving, but he was making some good points. James didn't like the fact he was right, but he would not give up. Not yet. Rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck, James reached for his flight jacket and fedora, putting them both on.

"I'm not giving up Ezio," James said as he gripped the man by the shoulders. "I just need some time to think things over and figure out what I will do now. Once I do, I'll let you know what happens and how it turns out, ok?"

"Don't take too long. If you're going to do anything, do it quickly. Before that cazzo, Manfredo ruins you any further," Ezio replied kindly before bringing James in for a hug. Hugging his old friend back, James knew he'd have to leave this town and would likely not see his friend again. Fate had not been kind to him recently and now James was on his own and, in some ways, it terrified him.

"Well, it's time to finish the show," Ezio said somberly. Nodding, James stepped next to him and let Ezio grab him by the sideburn again as they marched out of the locker room. Ezio then twisted his hand, causing James to squeal and dance on his tiptoes as they walked outside and into the sunshine. It was a beautiful day out, with clear skies and a slightly cool breeze blowing through the area.

"Move along, meta razza (half-breed)! Your time here is over and like Manfredo said, you won't work this kind of job ever again!" Ezio shouted and he near dragged James to the gate in the chain-link fence. Without missing a beat, he half threw and half pushed James through the gate and gave him a good kick in the ass.

The kick was enough to send James sprawling into the dust, face first. As he got up and dusted himself off, he heard laughter and looked about for its source. He found that a small cluster of men who worked the airfield had gathered to watch his unceremonious expulsion from the place. Snorting to himself as he watched Ezio walk away to pleased laughter, James cleaned his hat as best he could. Fitting it back onto his head, he grabbed his half empty duffle and walked down the road towards town.

The local town wasn't that far, maybe seven or eight kilometers from the airfield, but even so, James had a bit of a walk ahead of him. The first thing he had in mind was to find something to eat and maybe get a room for the night. It would bite into his already meager funds, but at this point, James had little choice. The walk was mostly uneventful.

Once he made it onto the main road that led into town, he saw a few cars pass him by, but ignored them. He knew being a mixed man was just as bad as being a person of color here in the United States. Flagging someone down for a ride would have been a sure way to endure more scorn and ridicule, and that was something he wanted to avoid at this point.

He walked into outskirts of the town and looked about. It didn't seem overly busy today, since it was a Tuesday in early May, but still he looked about for any place that might serve him. He walked over to a couple of diners and once he'd sat down in them; they asked him politely to leave. James tried to convince to let him stay and eat and that he'd mind his own business, but the owners of the establishments weren't having it.

Grumbling to himself, James walked about in search of some place that might let him have something to eat. He came across a bar that looked seedy, but didn't seem to be too picky about its patrons. Deciding to forgo dinner, he walked in, seating himself at the end of the bar, away from anyone else, as he just wanted to be left alone at the moment. One of the bartenders walked up to him, a heavyset man with a handlebar mustache, and gave him a look up and down.

"You look white enough. Cash up front if you want a drink here, son," he stated in a neutral tone. His demeanor was one that didn't care where he came from as long as he paid for his drink. Nodding in compliance, James fished out his wallet and pulled out three dollars, laying them on the bar.

"Pint of Smith's Lager, please," James asked politely. Nodding as he scooped up the money, the barkeep went over to the till, rang the purchase through before fetching a glass for the beer. He arrived less than a minute later with fifty cents in change and a tall glass filled to the brim with the amber liquid. Nodding in thanks for the consideration and decency, James picked up his beer and started into it.

He sighed in relief as the liquid hit his taste buds with the pleasant and smooth taste that Smith's was known for. Few people drank this beer, as it was a small and local brand, but it did well enough where they'd been around for some years now. He had drained half of his glass before setting it back down on the counter in front of him. The barkeep had been looking at him out the side of his eye and nodded, impressed that James could drain half his glass in a single pull.

James then took the time to enjoy the beer he held as he was formulating what he'd do next. As his mind was whirring in the context of where he'd go, a trio of men who were laughing hard at the table behind him interrupted his train of thought. He turned slightly, thinking to give them a piece of his mind, but stopped short of opening his mouth as he glimpsed them.

The three men in question were pilots in the USAF, judging by their uniforms. He guessed that they were off duty, as the USAF was still strict on discipline where its members were concerned. The three of them looked to be having a good time, and they weren't bothering anyone. Not wanting to draw any attention to himself, James turned back to his beer, grumbling quietly.

"I tell you, man, we're going to see ourselves some serious action!" one of the men enthused to his colleagues.

"You sure? The way things have been over the last few years hasn't really got my hopes up. Been a while since we've flown anything else but those old beat up Corsairs. I mean, there's only so much you can do to upgrade a plane," one of the men groaned. James smirked at that, as most of the best aeronautical designers and engineers had left for the United States. They had left in favor of better-paying jobs and accommodations in either the Republic or Council lands.

"I'm telling you, man, we're going to be on top of the world pretty damn soon! We've got a new plane to test out at a nearby airfield!"

"It's not one of those God-awful creations by those Italians, is it?" the third man groused. "Last time, Benny nearly got killed because the wing sheared off mid-flight! The captain said we'd never be dealing with them again!"

"It's different this time! Apparently, one of them got inspired to create something completely new from what we're used to! The captain has already seen it and he's told me himself that it actually could work as the new fighter we've been looking for. We'll be flying it tomorrow, all three of us testing it out to see what it can do!" the first man said.

"You better be right, Connor, because if you're wrong...." the one known as Benny let the threat hang in the air ominously.

"Don't worry! We're going to fly that new plane tomorrow and once we've put it through its paces, production will start. Once we have enough of them built, we'll start seeing some action against those hated redskins! Just you wait and see!"

"I'll drink to that!" Benny agreed.

"Cheers!" the third man stated.

James controlled his anger as he finished up his beer. He knew racism ran deep within America, but he didn't think some people would still be so callous when referring to their fellow human beings. He decided it was past time he leave as the men in question seemed to be getting drunker and rowdier. It wouldn't be long before they felt the need to exert their superiority on someone there, and he'd rather not be around when that happened.