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What do you think of my short story?

Practicing writing short story's for english. 800 words max This one is about a boy pilot who thinks if he falls he'll grow wings and fly: A laugh crackled itself through the leather headphones that hugged Rook’s ears. “That’s my boy! Show those German mosquitoes what a real birdman can do! ”The youth grinned out the windshield as his navigator, Crow, gave another chuckle. He repositioned his grip on the controls and pushed up his goggles. This plane was his child, he had taught her how to fly, just as a father teaches his son to ride a bicycle. She had done well. With his guidance the small fighter had aimed a shot through the shell of the beetle-like German aircraft. Rook himself was born to fly. He loved the thrill of weaving through the endless sky, feeling far superior to the soldier who paused in his trench to watch the epic air battle. The other men in the Canadian Air Force squadron told him he practically was a bird. They believed that if he was thrown into the air, wings would sprout from his back and he would soar gracefully through the sky. Rook tried hard to ignore the idea but it silently crept into his mind especially when they ruffled his dark hair and repeated the theory with pride. Only Crow, who was like a father, had said nothing. He preferred to listen quietly, drinking his malt ale or to chuckle at the many lewd songs that were sung in the tavern. A bullet whistled across Rooks vision, causing him to bank sharply to the left into a tight roll. Stupid! He reprimanded himself inwardly for not paying attention to his skies. One lapse of the mind and he had allowed the enemy to invade the airspace over the Allied Forces. A smirk spread over the youths face. He wouldn’t be defeated. “Three o’clock.” came Crow’s calm voice. Rook nodded and sent his plane into a complex dance. The dusty smell of smoke and burning oil flooded Rook’s nostrils. He hated the smell of a dying plane so he scrunched up his nose. His craft jolted sharply. He pulled her back into line; she was not behaving as she should. Instead of straitening his craft slewed to the right. Realization dawned on Rook. He was the one who had been hit. “Out!” roared Crow. The sharp metallic taste of blood seeped over Rooks tongue. This was his chance to see if the men were speaking the truth, to see if he really could fly. He ejected himself from his fighter, falling out at the same time as Crow. Above him his plane was falling and smoke was streaming from its battered turbine. It arched and curved downwards ready to crash. But Rook wouldn’t. He spread his arms and legs outwards staring down at the ground. His fall slowed. His eyes widened in astonishment, if he wasn’t falling as fast then he must have wings. Overjoyed he struggled out of his parachute and flung it away; after all he wouldn’t need it. He reached a hand out to catch Crow. The older man was pale and fearful, but Rook believed it was only the shock of seeing him with wings, and tugged at his backpack. Crow’s eyes snapped to Rook’s as he grabbed the boys hand to stop him. It was too late. Off came the parachute and it went sailing away from them. The youth smiled encouragingly to his navigator but that smile turned to one of dismay as he looked behind him. He had no wings, he was falling to his doom and he had just condemned the one he loved most to death with him. The ground was rising quickly to meet him; there was nothing he could do. With a heavy heart, he reached his arms forward to greet the mud of the trenches and his own grave. Sorry it's long >.<

Public Comments

1. AWESOME!
2. I liked it actually. It was quite original and I liked how it was written. I know you have a word limit and everything, but the ending was a little abrupt. Over all though, it was good :)
3. it very bad.
4. You are the next best selling author!