Excerpt from The Last Pilot by Benjamin Johncock, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

Bright and early.

Gonna be a hell of a day, Pancho said.

Say, hon, Yeager said to Glennis, what say we saddle up a coupla Pancho's best mares an have ourselves a little ride? Damn pretty night, tonight.

Sure, she said, assuming you can catch me.

Yeager watched her stand and leave. He smiled, then followed.

Harrison, Pancho said, come here, would you?

She led him over to the serving hatch and picked up a brown paper package.

Saw Gracie earlier, she said.

She told you?

Pancho nodded.

Couple steaks, she said, handing him the package. Give her a big kiss from me.

Thanks, Pancho.

Get out of here, would you? You're making this place look like a goddamn soup kitchen.

*   *   *

He got home at midnight. The bedroom was dark. Grace breathed into the silence, sleeping on her side. He sat on the edge of the bed, unbuttoned his shirt, unlaced his shoes. He pulled open the curtains. The desert was white. The milky light fell into the room. He felt heavy. He pulled a pack of Luckies from his shirt pocket, tapped it on his leg, put one in his mouth. He reached over to the box of matches on his bedside table. Grace stirred. The flame flared orange on her bare shoulder. He sat and smoked and thought of nothing.

First light was a diesel spill across the sky. The ground was gray. The hard silence of the desert sung. In the main hangar, men worked in old fatigues and brown coveralls. They worked in yellow light. When they got tired, they drank dark coffee from the pot at the back. When they got cold, they smoked cigarettes in the janitor's office. Black leads laid thick across the concrete floor. The X-1 sat quiet in the commotion. Harrison ate a sweet roll, drank hot coffee and watched the men work.

Anyone get that Drene? he said.

We got it, one of the mechanics called out.

Hey, Harrison, got a minute?

It was Yeager.

Sure.

They stepped out of the hangar to talk. It was cold.

Got me a little ol problem, Yeager said. Horse threw me at Pancho's last night. Sorta dinged my goddamn ribs.

What do you mean, sorta dinged?

Well, guess you might say I damn near like to broke a coupla sonsabitches.

You seen a doctor?

Hell, no. I made Glen call out the vet. Taped me up pretty tight. Told me to take it easy an get myself to a doctor. Old man ground me if he found out.

No doubt about that, Harrison said. How's it feelin?

Feels kinda okay now but last night damn near killed me.

Uh-huh.

If this was the first flight, Yeager said, I wouldn't even think about tryin it, but, hell, I know every move I gotta make.

Okay, Harrison said, if you think you can do it, but how in the hell are you gonna lock the cockpit door? That takes some liftin and shovin.

Hadn't thought of that, Yeager said.

Hang on a second, Harrison said. I got an idea.

He walked over to the janitor's office.

Hey, Sam, he said.

Captain Harrison. You look like a man who needs something.

You could say that. You got a broom?

Sure do.

Mind if I borrow it a second? We got a little situation here.

Be my guest, Sam said, nodding to where the broom leaned against the wall. Harrison picked it up and laid it on the table.

Here, he said to Sam. Hold this.

Sam held the end of the handle. Harrison found a saw and cut a foot off the end.

That ought to do it, he said.

Yes, sir, Sam said.

Thanks, Sam. Sorry about the broom.

What you got? Yeager said, as Harrison walked back.

Latest breakthrough in supersonic flight engineering, he said, handing Yeager the broom handle. That'll fit right into the door handle. You can use your left hand to raise it up and shove it locked.

Excerpted from The Last Pilot by Benjamin Johncock. Copyright © 2015 by Benjamin Johncock. Excerpted by permission of Picador. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.