[legendsport]

May 31, 1919: Indianapolis, IN:

Jimmy Barrell was having the time of his life. He had quite forgotten the thrill of racing automobiles. Sure, it wasn't as thrilling as flying, but it had one huge advantage: no one was trying to shoot you down.

From the moment the drivers had followed Bill Merlon in a "flying start" Jimmy had felt right at home behind the wheel. For his part, Merlon showed he still had it, tearing around the track at the head of the pack before peeling off into the pit area after one lap.

Now they were nearly halfway through the 500 mile run and Jimmy discovered that he'd forgotten just how physically demanding racing was. His flights over France had typically been no more than thirty minutes long and though the g-forces were less in a car (he wasn't flipping inverted, diving and climbing, but rather moving in two dimensions instead), he'd been gripping the wheel for nearly two and a half hours. Still, just as it had been when he'd been tangling with Fokkers over France, Jimmy was riding on adrenaline. "I'm going to win this thing," he told himself.

Beside him, Charlie Coaker was twisted to the side, looking back at the competition. They were currently third, and Jimmy was focused on the two drivers ahead of them while Charlie watched the drivers behind them.

"Winfield's coming up hard, Jim," Charlie shouted over the noise of the big V-12 engine.

They were approaching the end of the long straightaway and the turn would require slowing down. Jimmy wondered how much speed he could safely hold in the corner. He knew Winfield was a master in the corners. So he figured that being aggressive through the turn might be his best chance to both reel in the leaders and put some distance between himself and Jack Winfield.

Charlie, as if reading his driver's mind, groaned as Jimmy pushed the car into the turn with only a slight decrease in speed.

In the stands, Claudia Barrell sat between two of her brothers-in-law. Rollie had said he "wouldn't miss it for the world" when Jimmy asked him if he'd like to come watch the race. Jimmy had told her that Rollie was his favorite brother and after meeting the second-eldest Barrell boy, she liked him too. Also in attendance was Danny Barrell. The next oldest after Jimmy, albeit four years younger, Danny was on the verge of entering high school and his admiration for his daredevil brother was both apparent and, to Claudia, heartwarming. She also suspected that Danny, despite his youth, had a bit of a crush on her. Rollie had noticed this too, and had spent several minutes ribbing his brother about it. He almost certainly would still be ribbing Danny if the fourth member of the group, Francine York, hadn't put her foot down and told her fiance, "Leave the boy along, Roland."

For his part, Danny was shelling peanuts, then tossing them into the air and catching them in his mouth. Rollie was telling Claudia about Jimmy's "pestering" him into racing in Florida and how that had landed both of them in hot water with their parents, but also started Jimmy on his way to meeting Bill Merlon, going to France, flying with the 94th and ultimately, meeting Claudia herself.

Francie was sitting on Rollie's right, half-listening. To her surprise, Francie found that she really enjoyed watching the race and thus it was that of the four of them, she was the only one intently watching the track when Jimmy's Packard entered the turn.

Francie tapped Rollie on the arm and asked, "Isn't he going too fast?" She pointed.

Rollie looked, frowned and said, "Maybe..."

Claudia, who had never seen a race before, but had watched the drivers circle the big track over and over again during the course of the past two hours - always slowing in the turns - felt her heart skip a beat. "Langslamer..." she muttered, reverting to her native tongue in her anxiety.

The peanut he'd tossed into the air hit Danny in the ear as he turned his head to look into the corner.

For Claudia, time seemed almost to slow to a crawl. She saw Jimmy's Packard start to skid into the corner. She could see Jimmy frantically working at the wheel as he fought to control the skid. But it was no good. The slide worsened and the car's left wheels lifted off the ground as simple physics won out. The car flipped over and slid into the corner, a trail of gasoline spewing from the vehicle's ruptured tank. Then with a deafening whoosh, the gas tank exploded and the car was engulfed in flames.

Shouting in German, Claudia shot to her feet and began fighting her way down from the grandstand, with Danny, Rollie and Francie hot on her heels.

They weren't alone as other spectators also leapt onto the track and ran towards the inferno in the corner. As they ran along the verge of the track, Danny said, "Hey! The other drivers... they're still racing!"

It was true - the race continued even as Jimmy's Packard burned in the corner. A trail of flame led out from the overturned Packard and onto the track where the spilled gasoline had ignited.

Claudia got to within thirty feet of the car before a man grabbed her around the waist, preventing her from closer. She struggled, still screaming in German. "You'll roast, lady!" he shouted at her.

Rollie came up and gently laid a hand on her shoulder, telling the stranger, "That's her husband... and my brother."

The guy released his grip on Claudia and she took two steps closer, but the heat of the fire was too much. She fell to her knees.

Meanwhile, the cars going past were driving through the flaming gasoline and some of them carried the flames with them as they accelerated out of the corner and down the straightaway.

Francie was crying, Danny was standing dumbstruck and Rollie stood behind Claudia, his left hand on her right shoulder while she knelt on the track, screaming.

Eventually, the flames were extinguished, but a grueling five minutes had passed. Rollie knew there was no way anyone could have survived that inferno. Danny had dropped to his knees beside Claudia and they were leaning on each other, crying. Francie was still crying too, and Rollie hugged her tightly. For him there were no tears, though he knew they'd come eventually - he felt their weight building behind his eyes. Right now it was all just too surreal - his crazy, brave, pig-headed brother... the wild-eyed hellion who'd convinced his solidly reliable brother to steal the car they'd been supposed to sell in order to go racing in Florida... the underage kid who'd defied his parents by joining the Army... who'd somehow wrangled his way into becoming a pilot, and then an ace... who had survived being shot down over enemy territory... to find love in a German POW hospital... how could someone so full of life be... gone?

With the fire out, it was found that Jimmy and Charlie had remained strapped in their seats and were burned beyond recognition. They were the second and third (and final) fatalities that day - another driver (a man named Arnold Thomas) had crashed and died earlier in the race - and Jimmy had deftly swerved his Packard around Thomas' disintegrating car on the back stretch. And yet even with three men dead and a fourth's life (that of Thomas' riding mechanic) hanging by a thread, the race continued. Jack Winfield eventually won it.