Jessie raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“I was just thinking of going to bed when I heard a ruckus out in the chicken coop. I went to investigate and found a fox along with two dead hens and a rooster nearly gone.” She straightened slightly. “He won't be back. I shot him.”
“I've lost a few hens to pesky critters myself over the years.”
“You ever get scared?”
“Oh, sure. There are dangerous things in this world.”
“I knew I had to go out there and take care of the chickens. I can't afford to lose them. But I was scared. And I was imagining all kinds of things. I feel silly now, but I wish Adam had been there. William and I need him.”
Jessie nodded sympathetically. “Have you heard from him?”
“I received a letter a few days ago. He's in England, hoping to be sent on a mission. He said that very little is happening and he's waiting to get another assignment. He's stationed with a group of pilots but hasn't seen any real fighting. And he's sick of the food and promises that when he gets home he'll even eat rutabagas.” She smiled. “I'll just be glad to get him home.”
“It will be a fine day when all our young men come home.”
“I just don't understand any of it. Why do wars have to happen?”
“There are lots of reasons for war, but I think the main one is man's need for power and domination and his desire for possessions. The big countries want to get bigger, the small countries want to get big, and they all want what someone else has.”
“Why?”
“Man's sinful heart. Throughout time humans have battled for supremacy over one another, and I suppose it will continue to the end of time.”
“It just makes me so mad. I think men like violence. In his letter, Adam sounded disappointed because he hasn't seen more fighting.”
Jessie smiled softly, her oval eyes pained. “I'm sure it's not that Adam likes violence. He knows important things are happening in this war, and he wants to be one of the men recording them. The events of war must be documented. We can always hope that humans will look more closely at history and grasp the tragedy of war and think before they begin another one.” Jessie paused. “And I'm sorry to say it does seem that humankind rather enjoys upheaval.”
“I hate the men who started this war, and I hate that men want to fight.” Laurel's words were vehement and heated, and until she'd spoken she hadn't realized the depth of her emotions.
“I'm not so sure anyone wants to fight,” Jessie said gently. “I'm certain that for most it's a desire to do what's right that prompts them. They recognize that evil stalks and attacks the innocent and vulnerable, and someone has to come to the victims' aid. Where would we be if no one was willing to stand up to our enemies?”
“I know what you're saying, but it's still very confusing to me. And I miss Adam. I want him home.”
“He'll be home. Don't you worry about that. Your Adam is one of those who cares about the ones being tread upon.” She held Laurel's gaze. “He's doing the right thing. You and I need to pray for our brave fighting men, including the ones who write about it all so that people won't forget.”
“I know you're right,” Laurel said. “But I'm afraid for him. The Germans have been bombing London.” Her mind wandered to her husband. Where was he? Was he safe? Was he involved in a battle somewhere? Please come home to me, her heart pleaded.
Chapter 12
ADAM STOOD OUTSIDE THE CONFERENCE ROOM AND WAITED FOR THE BRIEFING to end. He glanced at his watch—0500 he read, then yawned, thinking he could have used more sack time. He wished he were inside getting the story, but rules were rules—no newsmen allowed. He'd been away from his family eight months and still hadn't managed to get on top of a good story; to be part of a real mission. Once more, he thought in frustration, he'd have to wrangle the information out of one of the pilots or crew members. It usually wasn't difficult. A lot of the airmen were happy to tell Adam what they knew. For the most part, the men trusted him, and in many ways he'd become one of them. Still, if he didn't make a mission soon, he might as well go home.
The door swung open and men trailed out. “Hey, Chuck, how'd it go in there?” he asked, matching the veteran pilot's steps. “How about letting me tag along today?”
The pilot barely glanced at Adam.
“You have to get me on a mission. How can I report what's happening if I'm not there?”
Walking with a swagger, Chuck kept moving. “I don't have to do anything.”
“Well, yeah, sure. You don't have to. I didn't mean that.” Adam hated groveling.
Without looking at Adam, Chuck asked, “Why you want to go up so bad? You're not a flier. You're a reporter.”
“Just give me a minute and I'll explain.” Adam was tall but not long-legged enough, and he had to work to keep up.
Chuck stopped, folded his arms over his chest, and stared at Adam, one eyebrow raised and his mouth rotated slightly sideways. “All right. I'm listening.”
This better be good, Adam thought, knowing it could be a defining moment. “What you guys do is important,” he began, making sure to sound sincere. “People back in the States need to know that you put your necks on the line, and they need to know how. The story has to be told.”
“You don't have to go up with us to tell it. Anyone can fill you in. Just ask. For crying out loud, we've got more stories than you can shake a stick at.” He chuckled. “Heck, you already do ask. Some days I feel like part of an inquisition.”
“I know you don't want something written that's not authentic, and if I'm not actually there, feeling and hearing the action, it's not going to be real. Anything less will feel artificial. If people are going to understand, they've got to get it firsthand.”
The rest of the flight crew disappeared through a door leading to the mess hall. Chuck looked like he was thinking.
“To write about what you guys do with any kind of authenticity I have to feel the ride, the fear, the jubilation, and the thankfulness of the B-17's wheels touching down on that runway when the mission's completed. Otherwise, it's just not going to hit home with the readers,” Adam continued.
Chuck rested a hand on Adam's shoulder. “I like you, Dunnavant. I don't want your wife and son to get a telegram stating, kindly, of course, how you died fulfilling your duty to your country.”
Adam was getting annoyed. “What I do is important. And just like the rest of the men and women serving this country, I take risks. My wife understands that.”
“You don't have to go up—you shouldn't.”
“No. I should. To do this right I have to.” Adam met the captain's gaze.
Chuck ran a hand over his face. “You're tougher than I thought.” He blew out his breath. “I shouldn't do this. All right. We're heading into France this morning. There'll be flak, probably Jerrys. They've got some good pilots. We're liable to lose planes.” He waited, giving Adam an opportunity to back out. “I'm flying the lead in this mission. You'll be in my plane.”
