Liam Little knew what a shark mouth meant. It meant someone had looked at an airplane and decided it was not frightening enough on its own. It meant someone had picked up a paintbrush and added teeth. It meant that somewhere over the jungles of Burma and China, a group of American pilots in Curtiss P-40 Warhawks were flying into enemy formations with open jaws on their noses and twenty Japanese aircraft destroyed for every one of their own. It meant the work needed doing, and they were the ones who knew how to do it. This time, Liam goes alone. No radio operator. No crew. Just the Boxwing, the leather helmet, and a jungle sky full of shark-mouthed P-40s flying for a country that was not yet officially at war. The American Volunteer Group, the Flying Tigers, were volunteers before volunteering was required, fighter pilots who crossed the Pacific before Pearl Harbor to defend China's last supply line from the air. Liam watches them scramble. He watches them fight. And when he comes home to the side yard in China Lake, he picks up a black marker and does something to the Boxwing that changes it forever. Some ideas are too good not to borrow.
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