The hum of spinning tires suddenly stopped. The floor seemed to slope sharply, and the plane tilted to the right. Christ, we’re in the air, Ollie thought. Cages covered his head and chest. He grabbed the cargo net and pulled himself up. Emerging from the pile, he saw a gunner standing with his head in the turret.

The gunner leaned back, pointing the barrel skyward. His arms shook as he squeezed off rounds of machine-gun fire. Something incredibly fast buzzed over the plane. As the gunner swung his gun around, he saw Ollie emerge from the cages. “What the . . .”

Holes popped across the fuselage. Thin light beams shot over the floor. The gunner’s jaw dropped. He buckled over, like a boxer who had been sucker-punched in the kidneys.

Ollie crawled over the cages. He reached the gunner, slumped against a box of ammunition.

The gunner coughed, blood spraying his flight jacket.

“Hold on,” Ollie said, pressing his hands over the gunner’s abdomen.

“Benny!” someone shouted from the cockpit.

The gunner’s larynx gurgled as he tried to speak.

“He’s hit!” Ollie shouted.

Heads jerked in the cockpit.

Shots opened more holes in the fuselage. Sparks flew.

The plane banked hard to the left. G-force pressed the gunner against the fuselage, causing him to moan.

Ollie turned the man over and propped his head. He applied pressure to the gunner’s abdomen, noticing that the leather flight jacket was warm and sticky.

The gunner grunted and mouthed words but was unable to speak, as if his vocal cords had been cut.

Ollie scanned the plane and spotted a first-aid kit mounted on the fuselage. He grabbed the kit, but bullets whizzing up through the floor caused him to jump into the turret. Through the glass dome, he saw a swarm of enemy fighters surrounding their unit. The Blenheim bombers dodged left and right but held their formation. The sky was filled with the phosphorous glare of tracers. High above, Luftwaffe bombers were headed west, dropping what appeared to be endless payloads. Ollie swung the turret and saw a diving Messerschmitt targeting the Blenheim behind them. The enemy fighter fired its guns. The Blenheim’s cockpit glass shattered, causing the nose to drop. And the plane spiraled toward the ground.

The Messerschmitt swooped left, then right, and zeroed in on their plane. Ollie’s heart pounded. He dropped the first-aid kit and grabbed the machine gun, his hands slick with blood. He pointed the barrel as best he could, never having aimed anything more powerful than a peashooter, and pulled the trigger. His arms shook like he was wielding a jackhammer. Bullets flared, missing its target. But the Messerschmitt veered away.

Ollie swung the gun around its turret, looking for the enemy, but the Messerschmitt fighters left to escort their Luftwaffe bombers. Gunfire trickled to a stop, leaving the drone of the Blenheim engines. He felt the plane climb. Within seconds, they were hidden in the clouds.