Ollie glanced at the dead pilot, his mutilated arms dangling through shattered cockpit glass.

“Did he have a wife? Children?” She lowered her head.

“I wish I knew,” Ollie said, hoping to comfort her. He turned the lantern away from the wreckage. “I do know that he died honorably, trying to protect his country.”

“Far too young,” Susan said. “Wars cause many in Britain to die prematurely, I’m afraid.”

Ollie stepped to her.

She raised her head and swallowed. “You never know when you’re going to die.”

He looked into her eyes, glossed with tears. “That’s why we need to live every day as if it were our last.”

She nodded, then clasped her hands. “My parents died when I was a baby. They deserved more time together.”

“I’m sorry,” Ollie said.

“My grandparents raised me. I know of my parents through Grandfather’s stories.” She rubbed her eyes.

“My parents are dead, too,” Ollie said.

“My goodness,” Susan said. “What were they like?”

“The best—wonderful parents, and they cared for each other very much.” He paused. A flash of his parents holding hands on a porch swing. “Someday, I want what they had.”

“Me too. My grandparents had a splendid life.” She glanced to the wreckage. “But with the war, I sometimes fear there will be no future.”

Deep down, Ollie had the same worry but said, “Britain will survive this war.” He gently touched her shoulder. “And you will have a long and happy life.”

She squeezed his fingers, then lowered her hand to her side.

Ollie and Susan stood vigil by the smoldering wreckage until two servicemen, their flashlight beams flickering through the forest, found their fallen comrade. As the men worked to remove the pilot’s remains, Ollie and Susan made their way back to the earthen bunker, then took seats on canvas cots. The echoes of bombs and the scent of soil filled the air. They spoke little of London being destroyed and nothing further of the dead pilot.

“How often are the bombings?” Ollie asked, breaking the silence.

“Every night,” Bertie said.

Susan, her blue eyes darkened in the glow of the lantern, looked at Ollie. “They come in waves. And leave when the sun rises.”

Bertie took a deep breath, then stood. “I’ve had enough.” He threw open the bunker door and defiantly shook his fist in the air. “I will never again allow the Nazis to force me to live like a mole!”

Bertie hobbled across the lawn. Flashes of explosions lit up the sky.

“Do you want to stay or go?” Ollie asked.

“Go,” Susan said.

They followed Bertie to the cottage. Inside, Susan covered the windows with blackout curtains. Bertie smoked his pipe and read a book. And Ollie went upstairs and collapsed onto his bed.

CHAPTER 12 - NORTH WEALD, ENGLAND

CHAPTER 12

NORTH WEALD, ENGLAND