“He’s dead,” Ollie said, standing behind the cockpit. Thick clouds masked the window, as if they were flying through milk.

Flight Lieutenant Boar tightened his grip on the controls, veins protruding over the back of his hands.

“Bloody hell,” said the copilot. He adjusted his cap, wiped perspiration from his forehead, and turned to get a good look at the American. His eyebrows raised.

Ollie noticed the man staring at his blood-stained hands and slid them behind his back.

The copilot reached inside his jacket and removed a bronze St. Christopher medallion. He rubbed it feverishly with his thumb, as if he were trying to erase the engraving or absorb its saintly protection.

“You’ll pay for what you’ve done, Yank,” Boar said. “But for now, I need you to do exactly what you are told.” His jaw muscles flexed as he glanced at his watch. “Secure Benny. We’ll be over our target in forty-eight minutes. I don’t want to lose him when we open the doors.”

Ollie nodded.

The copilot swallowed again, as if he were about to become sick.

“Who was he?” Ollie asked.

“Our gunner,” Boar said.

“No, I mean who was he?”

Boar stared at his instrument panel. “Benny Sullivan, a miner from South Wales.” He shook his head. “Bloody fool believed the air war was less dangerous than the coal fields.”

The copilot slid open his side window. Air rushed in, pushing back a growing metallic smell.

Ollie returned to the gunner, propped near the cargo doors, and scanned the fuselage for a place to move him. But the plane was small and packed with pigeons. The only places to stand were in the turret and over the cargo doors, both not an option. So Ollie moved several cages into the base of the gunner’s turret, making sure there was enough room to swivel the gun. He placed several more cages on an empty bomb shelf mounted to the side of the fuselage.

Standing over the gunner, Ollie placed his hands under the man’s armpits, the left side warm and sticky. He suddenly felt weak and out of breath, but forced himself to slide Benny to the back, his soaked body painting the floor. Using the cargo net, he covered the gunner, an arm and leg woven through the webbing to ensure he wouldn’t slide. The pigeons closest to the gunner had closed their eyes or stuffed their heads under their wings.