The German soldier with the machine gun, holding it like a guitar from a leather strap over his shoulder, passed within a few yards of their nest and stopped.

Ollie held his breath. His lungs felt like balloons about to burst.

The soldier, a fair-skinned, blond-haired man, about the same age as Ollie, gripped the trigger. He nodded to his comrades, and the soldiers moved forward, all eyes fixed on the plane.

Ollie’s instincts had been right. As the soldiers passed, they remained focused on the smoldering plane, giving little, if any, notice to the strange bunches of straw among the many rotting piles covering the field.

Ollie quietly exhaled, then slowly sucked in air.

As the flanks reached the plane, the soldier with the machine gun fired into the fuselage, sending off a spray of sparks. He then emptied the rest of his bullets into the cockpit.

Ollie squeezed a handful of straw, feeling powerless as bullets riddled the plane. I’m sorry, Susan.

Three of the soldiers crawled inside the Blenheim while the others examined the wings, like hunters making sure their prey was dead. After several minutes, the soldiers emerged from the plane. The man carrying the machine gun held up a finger, then motioned to search the woods.

Ollie watched the soldiers disappear into the trees. When he could no longer hear the snap of sticks beneath their boots, he sprang from the pile and hopped toward the plane. “I’ll be back.”

“Get back,” Boar said, reaching for Ollie’s leg but missing.

Ollie limped to the plane and crawled into the fuselage to the smell of fuel and blood. The shelf where Duchess had been placed was empty, crinkled like a baking sheet beaten with a hammer. He overturned pieces of wreckage. No Duchess. In the tail, behind the body of the gunner, he saw a green flash. The thud of beating wings. A wave of relief washed over him, then quickly disappeared. The soldiers would return. Time was running out. He worked his way back, doing his best not to touch the gunner, but he had no choice but to push aside the man’s legs, cold and stiff, to reach the tail. Stretching his arm as far as he could reach, he grabbed the cage and fled the plane, not taking time to check Duchess.

As he limped across the field, sweat dripped down his back. His shoulder throbbed. Duchess flapped her wings. The wire from the cage cut his fingers. He pushed to run on both legs, sending flares of pain into his ankle. As he reached the hiding spot, Boar rose from the straw pile.

“I hope you got a weapon,” Boar whispered.

Duchess cooed.

“Shhhhh,” Ollie said, covering the cage with his arms.

“Bloody fool,” Boar said.