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Steve was ready to die - he was prepared. But that didn’t necessarily mean that he *wanted* to die. Not so soon after realizing that he might just be helping to do something that would actually change the world. Not so soon after meeting Diana. Not so soon after finally falling in love.
He knew that a bullet into the gas canisters would absolutely accomplish his goal, but was there a better way? A way that gave him even a tiny chance at survival?
Looking around the cockpit he tried to think. The gas was on a timer, so if he could rig the timer up to some explosive and speed up the detonation that should do it. But he had to make absolutely sure that the plane would blow. If he bailed out and the damn thing crashed into the ocean without detonating it would still be a disaster. Gas fumes would waft across the coastline for miles, and if the tiny amount he had inhaled when following Diana into Wald were any indication, even a trace amount would cause incalculable damage.
Time was running out and he had to think.
First thing first - figure out the timer. But to do that he had to release the controls, which wasn’t easy. Steve glanced around the cockpit, looking for something to tether the stick to. He didn’t find anything promising, but what he did find might just be his salvation. A toggle switch under the word “gyroskop.” Steve knew the word, but could hardly believe that he could be so lucky. Never would he think to thank German wartime espionage, but this time it might be saving his life - because he thought he knew what that little label meant.
Steve’s position as both a pilot and a spy gave him access to some fascinating information, and some of that involved a very smart American inventor named Elmer Ambrose Sperry. Sperry had invented a gyroscopic stabilizer and compass that was already used in Navy ships. But what few knew was that Sperry had been experimenting with using those same gyroscopic devices to allow planes to fly themselves. They had been successfully tested less than a year earlier using a pilot to take off, set the stabilizers, then bail out of the plane. The plane was then flown using radio control. There were kinks to work out, but the level flying had been fairly flawless.
And it looked like, if his good luck was to be believed, the Germans had stolen this technology and installed it on this plane. With a quick prayer, and throwing one in the Zeus as well, just in case, Steve flipped the series of switches and held his breath.
Almost instantly the stick took on a life of its own, firmly pulling itself out of Steve’s grasp and making micro corrections. Incredulously, Steve stood up and slowly backed away, fully expecting to plummet into the water. But no - these German engineers had done a good job stealing and adapting this technology. Steve couldn’t believe it.
Rushing again, he scrambled into the back of the plane, finding and struggling into a parachute. Approaching the timer he realized that it would take too much time to figure out how to set it forward and use it as a detonator. Especially when he had a perfectly useful stick of dynamite in his jacket pocket, nestled safely next to his old Zippo.
He tore off most of the fuse and jammed the stick of explosive by the valves of the middle set of gas canisters. He had to make sure that that gas took, though, so he took a deep breath, and partially opened a number of canisters further down the body of the plane. The explosion should rupture the canisters and ignite the gas. If it didn’t, the fire should at least follow the vapor trail up into the canisters and that larger explosion should surely take care of it.
That’s what Steve thought, at least. He thought it would work that way. He had moved back to the stick of dynamite and was there, lighter in hand, still holding his breath against the slowly encroaching dirty orange gas. It would work. He knew it would. And he was running out of air.
He flipped open the lid of the Zippo and sparked a flame, touching it to the fuse. It caught quickly and started sizzling. He flicked the lighter shut and started moving quickly toward the open hatch through which he has previously thrown a German soldier.
Another pause. It would work. And just as he started to jump he could see the front trail of the gas reach the sizzling fuse and ignite. The rush of air and debris from that first expansion of explosion accelerated Steve away from the plane. He could feel his face scorch and thanked his luck that his parachute wasn’t facing the fire. Then, suddenly, as he dropped toward the inky water, the second explosion hit - the one begun with the lonely bundle of dynamite.
Steve tried to wait as long as he could before pulling the ripcord. The delicate fabric would be no good it if burned up before slowing his fall. But as the heat began to rush over him from the explosion that was nearly overhead, he knew he had to pull it. He was fairly certain that he was about to pass out and if he didn’t pull it now he’d lose his chance. He was already unsure of what would happen when he hit the water. Even if he survived the nearby blast, the inevitable shrapnel, and the impact with the water, he then had to keep himself from drowning.
But there was a chance. And that chance was better than nothing. And he knew that Diana would find him. She’d already rescued him from the ocean once - he was fairly sure she was up to the challenge.
So Steve pulled the cord and thought of Diana, and then everything went black