“I thought if I left, I could get you and Eileen out,” he said, looking up at her, but the fire must have burned out, he couldn’t see her face, though he knew she was still there. He could hear her scrabbling at the bricks and wood, pushing them off his chest, freeing his arm.

“I didn’t think you’d be here—”

“Don’t try to talk.” She crawled over him to reach his other arm.

“You weren’t supposed to be here,” he tried to say. “You were supposed to be in Dulwich.”

But the only part that came out must have been “Dulwich,” because she said, “We’ll take you to Norbury. It’s quicker. You mustn’t worry about that. That’s our job.”

He could hear her raise her head suddenly, as if she had heard something, and then he heard Fairchild call from a long way off, “I can’t get the stretcher out! It’s stuck!”

“Leave it! Just bring the medical kit,” Polly called back.

But Fairchild must not have heard her because she shouted, “What? I can’t hear you, Mary!”

Mary? “Mary?” he said.

“Yes,” she said, so softly he could scarcely hear her, and relief broke over him in a great wave. She wasn’t here after her deadline. She wasn’t Polly. She was Mary, and this was her rocket-attacks assignment, and he wasn’t too late. None of it had happened yet—she hadn’t even gone to the Blitz—and there was still time to save her, to already have saved her, and he must be weeping with relief and the tears must be running down his cheeks into his mouth because he could feel wetness on his tongue, in the back of his throat.

“Fairchild!” she shouted. “Bring the kit! Hurry!”

He had to tell her the drops wouldn’t open, had to warn her. “You mustn’t go! There’s something wrong with the net. The drops won’t open. Don’t go!”

But she didn’t understand. “I need to,” she said. “I’m going,” and started to leave.

“No!” he shouted, and grabbed hold of her wrist. “You can’t go! You’ll be trapped there!”

“I won’t leave you trapped here. I promise.”

“No! You don’t understand! You can’t go to the Blitz!” he cried, but he couldn’t get the words out, the tears and dust in his mouth had mixed into a choking mud. “Your drop, it won’t open—” And there was a sudden, shattering noise and a blast so powerful it knocked them both down.

No, that wasn’t right. He was already down. The Arizona, he thought. It took a bomb right down its stack, and the concussion knocked her off her feet.

She was getting back to her feet, running toward him. “No!” he tried to call to her. “Get down! The Zero’s coming around again!”

She hadn’t heard him, she was still running. “Hit the deck!” he called, but it was too late. The Zero had already strafed her. She fell across him.

“Where are you hit?” he asked her, afraid she was dead, but she wasn’t. She was getting to her knees, fumbling with his collar.