“We're running so low we can see the rhubarb,” Lewis smirked.
They continued to track. Adam chanced a peek out the gunner's window. They were coming up on what looked like a railroad yard.
“We're hit! Captain, we're hit!” Adam heard as the plane bucked.
The B-17 held its course. Then the bombs were gone, and the plane nosed up. Below, bright bursts and billowing smoke rose. The plane hopped with each explosion. The men cheered.
“Another bogey at two o'clock!” one of the gunners hollered.
“We got no help!” another crewman yelled. “We need air cover!”
The plane rumbled and turned heavily toward the left. Adam's stomach somersaulted.
A blast shot away the gunner's tower, taking a man with it.
“That's it. We're in trouble now!” shouted Lewis.
A spray of fire cut across the ship's nose. The gunner's body jerked and slumped. The bomber shook and bucked, then pitched forward and began a steep descent.
“Time to hit the silk!” Dale called. “Everyone out!” He pushed open the door. Gripping the side rails, he stood against the wind.
Adam's mouth had gone dry, and he thought he was going to be sick. He glanced up at the place where the turret gunner had been. He was gone and so was the tower. The cockpit was splattered with blood. Chuck and the copilot were both dead.
Lewis leaped out the door and was sucked from sight.
Adam stared. He'd have to jump. Everything he'd been taught had gone out of his mind. He couldn't remember how to open the chute.
“Come on!” shouted Dale. “Time to go!”
The plane tipped.
“Now or never!” he yelled and grabbed Adam, shoving him toward the door. “You know what to do?”
Adam looked down at his parachute harness. He tapped his rip cord handle. “Get free of the plane and pull this?”
“That's it. And get rid of that camera. It's liable to knock you out cold,” Dale shouted.
Adam pushed it inside his jacket. “No way! I'll need it!”
Dale shrugged and pushed him out.
Adam tumbled. His stomach rose into his throat. He was going to be sick. Wind whistling, he grabbed the ripcord and pulled. The chute rustled as it unfolded, then snapped open. Adam was jerked upward. Gulping air, he gripped the lines.
The roar of the plane drew his gaze. Trailing smoke, the B-17 rolled, then spun. It tumbled earthward, its downward passage protracted. Adam watched as it slammed into the ground and torched.
Remembering that he was falling into enemy territory, he tore his eyes from the spectacle and surveyed the landscape. He needed to get his bearings. Below lay a patchwork of farms, fields, and forest—no cities or towns. The only landmark was a river winding southward. How would he escape this country?
He spotted two drifting chutes and silently cheered. He wasn't alone. Trained airmen would know what to do, how to get help.
A burst of gunfire cut through the quiet. Horrified, Adam watched bullets tear through one man. His body jerked, then lay limp as he continued to descend. That must be Lewis. He looked up and saw Dale. Pulling on his lines, he tried to steer the chute away from the enemy fire. His efforts made no difference. Lord, make me invisible, Adam prayed.
Studying the countryside, he tried to decide which way he should head once he was on the ground, that is, if he was still alive when he got there. The river. That's the only answer. People live along rivers. Maybe I can find help.
Another burst of gunfire shattered the whoosh of the wind. Dale yelled. More shooting. He screamed, then slumped in the harness.
The ground rose up quickly. Adam prepared to land but drifted toward a grove of trees. Please not that, he thought, heading straight at a broad oak. He plunged through splintering limbs that cut and scratched as he dropped. Rather than falling all the way to the ground, he stopped abruptly, dangling a few feet above the earth. He was tangled in the limbs.
Sliding a knife out of his knapsack, he cut the lines and dropped to the ground. He couldn't leave the chute hanging on the limbs of the tree. It would be like leaving a signpost of his arrival. Glancing about in search of approaching German soldiers, he struggled to yank it free. He pulled harder. Finally the chute gave and he tumbled backward.
After stashing the damaged parachute in a hollow trunk, he turned and studied the French countryside. He stood in the midst of an oak and beech grove. Beyond lay what looked like an endless sea of rolling hills, dotted with trees, cattle, and sheep.
He needed to get as far away from the drop spot as possible, but where should he go? “Anywhere's better than here,” he said, dragging his rifle out of his pack. He crouched beside an oak, pressed the gun against his shoulder, and peered through the sights. It gave him a sense of control, and he felt slightly better.
A twig popped. Adam dropped to his stomach, his automatic ready. He caught a glimpse of movement in the brush. Pressing into the ground, he rested his elbows on the grass and steadied his firearm. He worked to quiet his breathing.
Someone emerged from behind a tree. Adam touched the trigger.
“American? You American?” asked a skinny, dark-haired woman with a child strapped to her back.
“Yes,” Adam said, rising and keeping the rifle on her.
The woman forced a smile. “Monsieur, maybe you help me and my Adin?” She patted the child. “Please.”
“Help you? How?”
“You take us to American soldiers. They can help, yes?”
“No. I don't know where any soldiers are. Do you?”
