With the other planes having gone their separate ways, the buzzing of two engines seemed comparably soft. Ollie stepped from the turret, making room for the copilot, and found a cramped space next to the gunner. He looked at the pigeons. Most had their heads under the folds of their wings. Somewhere deep in the tail of the plane was Duchess. He thought of Susan and silently promised to make sure her pigeon was returned.

“Prepare for drop!” Flight Lieutenant Boar shouted from the cockpit.

The copilot gripped a hand brace mounted near the bomb doors. He looked around for a safety cord to attach to himself but found nothing but ammunition.

The doors cracked open. Freezing wind gushed into the fuselage.

“Where’s Benny’s safety cord?” The copilot frantically looked around the cabin.

Ollie pointed to Benny, a wrapped wire cord strapped to his belt. “You looking for that?”

The copilot bit his lip. “Yes.”

Ollie retrieved the cord, having to unbuckle the gunner’s belt, then handed it to the copilot.

The copilot quickly fastened one end of the wire to his belt, the other to a hook near the bomb doors. Wind blasted his face, making fleshy waves over his jowls. “We’ll drop them one at a time. Every twenty seconds. To spread them out.”

Ollie nodded.

“Hold tight.” He pointed to a leather strap mounted on the fuselage. “We’re likely to have company.”

Ollie gripped the strap. Far below, the water turned to earth. They flew over a small cluster of houses and a stone church. An empty road snaked through the village and into the countryside. No guns. No tanks. No Nazis. Only dried-up fields intertwined with clusters of forest. The place looked deserted, as if the French had waded into the Channel and drowned, rather than live with Nazi occupation.

“Drop!” Boar shouted.

Ollie handed the copilot a cage. The pigeon perked its head, suddenly becoming alert. The copilot released the package. The pigeon attempted to fly, its instincts taking over, wings beating against the sides of the cage. The chute shot open. And the cage floated toward a field.

In the distance, Ollie heard the crack of Nazi antiaircraft fire. His heart rate spiked. He quickly handed the copilot another cage.

Cage after cage, Ollie transferred them to the copilot. The pile dwindled. Pigeons floated like dandelion clocks to the fields.

Reaching the tail, Ollie saw Duchess in her cage, her head jutting side to side as if she were trying to understand why her companions were individually exiled from the plane. He placed Duchess in the corner and handed the last two cages to the copilot.

The copilot dropped the birds, scanned the fuselage, and noticed the glowing pigeon. “There’s one more,” he said, pointing.

Ollie shook his head. “She’s not part of the mission.”

“Give it to me.”