Lewis glowered.
Adam removed his headset and made his way to the crowded cockpit. It was slightly quieter. “Captain, you mind if I take a few pictures?”
“No. Nothing's going on right now.”
Adam snapped five photographs in quick succession, catching the men as they piloted the heavy aircraft. They kept their eyes on the instruments. Sunlight glimmered through the window. They were over the English Channel. What would they find in France?
Chuck glanced at Adam. “Make sure to get my good side.” He grinned.
“I'll do that.”
“And if you're going to write a story about this flight, make sure you spell my name right. It's Chuck Hoffman.” He proceeded to spell it. “My wife and kids will get a kick out of seeing me in a newspaper or magazine.”
“I'll get it right.”
“Can you have a copy sent to my home?”
“I'll see what I can do.” Adam gazed out the windows. Downy clouds occasionally obscured the scenery, but for the most part, he had a clear view. He maneuvered so he could get photographs of the sea passing beneath them as well as other planes. With that done, he let his camera hang loose and grabbed his writing tablet and pencil. He asked, “I know how big this bird is, but what's her top speed?”
“Two hundred eighty-seven miles per hour.”
Adam gave a low whistle while he wrote in his notebook.
“And we can cruise at twenty-five thousand feet.”
“Yeah, I heard—that's why the crew uses oxygen?”
“That's right. And you probably ought to go back and get yours on. We're climbing.” The captain had to yell over the rumble of the four engines.
“How far we going today?”
“About 160 miles. No problem for this Heavy.”
“You ever have any trouble with antiaircraft fire?”
“Oh, yeah. We can count on it.”
“Don't worry though,” said the copilot. “Chuck's the best. I've seen him fly one of these things without tail feathers.”
“You mean the tail was missing?” Adam asked, wondering what had happened to the tail gunner.
“Yep. Part of it, anyway.”
“I'm impressed.” Adam smiled. “Where we heading?”
“Rouen, France.”
“I've seen a lot of planes come back damaged or heard about the ones that didn't make it.”
“Yeah, the Krauts are ready and waiting. They've got fighter planes and antiaircraft guns.” Chuck nodded toward the window. “See that shoreline? That's France. And the Germans will do their best to make sure we don't see home again.” He glanced at Adam. “You better get in the back and put on your oxygen.”
Feeling the stir of fear in his belly, Adam retreated and donned his breathing equipment. It was getting cold and he was thankful for his flight suit and gloves.
Soon after Adam settled on the hard bench, an explosion fractured the air outside the B-17, rocking them wildly. Adam moved alongside a gunner so he could see out. Puffs of smoke and flashes of light erupted about them.
Fighter planes left formation and dove away toward the green patchwork below, pursuing enemy planes. Another blast alongside them splintered the skies, and the plane bumped and lurched. The crew impressed Adam. They calmly carried out their duties, clear-headed and steady. They knew what they were doing.
“I don't see any bogeys,” one of the gunners said. “I don't see nothin'.”
Adam figured he must look scared because Lewis offered a smile and reassuring nod. “We'll come out of this. Been here before.”
“I figured,” Adam said. His stomach tumbled, and a vision of Laurel receiving a telegram announcing his death flashed through his mind.
Making a broad turn, the plane headed for its first bomb run. “You're right there, Captain,” Dale said.
They started down.
“We've got a bogey at ten o'clock!” The turret gunner swiveled his gun mount and fired. Magazines clattered, spitting shell casings.
Tracers skittered across the front. The plane bucked. A burst of red exploded just outside Adam's window. He double-checked his parachute to make sure it was strapped on securely.
Lewis cranked open the bomb bay doors. They headed down.
“More flak, Captain!” the copilot yelled.
“Oh, yeah! This is a rhubarb run for sure,” Lewis hooted.
“Rhubarb?” Adam asked.
