The Maaskerk was a Dutch freighter that was part of a convoy headed to England, seeking safe passage in the company of Canadian and British military vessels. A day into the journey, the freighter developed propeller trouble and slowed to seven knots. Unable to continue with the fourteen-knot convoy, the Maaskerk was forced to sail alone. Ollie heard fears from the crew that they were an easy torpedo target for a German submarine, some even placing bets on their reaching port, especially when rumors surfaced that the hull was secretly filled with ammunition, a much more dangerous cargo than grain—or rats, for that matter. But when the Maaskerk reached port in Liverpool, England, Ollie learned that the convoy had been attacked by a U-boat wolf pack and lost over a dozen ships. He was saddened by the loss of their crews, many of whom had waved to him from their decks as they departed Halifax. And he realized just how lucky he was to have boarded the Maaskerk, simply because he was intrigued by how to pronounce her name.

Ollie disembarked feeling fortunate to have made it to England, until he saw the devastation. The port was in shambles. All but a few of the docks were reduced to splintering piles of wood and crumbled concrete. To the north, an entire block of buildings was in ruins. Ollie’s legs felt weak. His mouth went dry. He carried his suitcase around a large hole in the ground, no doubt caused by a bomb missing its target, and took a seat on a pile of bricks. He noticed passing shipyard workers with soiled clothes, sunken eyes, and lines of sorrow etched into their faces. And they all looked as if they had lost just as much as Ollie, if not more.

Ollie’s hands were shaking. A wave of uncertainty washed over him. How was a young crop-dusting pilot from Buxton, Maine, to make a difference? He felt incompetent. And more like a naïve farm boy than an aviator. He had thought the death of his parents was perhaps the end of his tribulation, but he now realized it was merely the beginning.