Oh, Piotr, you would have liked this boy, Sophie thought, a shard of grief driving deep into her chest. Years gone and still those lingering fragments caught her at unexpected times, the pain as excruciating as it had ever been.

“Best of luck to you,” the airman said. “Blow the feckin’ Jerries right out of France.” He stood and continued his inspection of the cargo.

Sophie crawled carefully around the opening that they would be jumping through shortly. “Five minutes,” she shouted at Gerard.

He looked at her and then looked away just as quickly. Even in the dim light, she could see that his face was set in grim lines.

“They’ll drop the cargo and then we go after,” she continued.

He didn’t respond.

“Did you hear me?” she asked. “We wait for—”

“I heard you the first time,” he snarled. “I know what I’m doing. I don’t need you nagging me like a bloody fishwife.”

Sophie raised her hands in a placating gesture and returned to the far side, ahead of the drop chute. The young crew member, with the help of a second, was working his way back now, this time hooking up the cylinder harnesses to the static line with practiced efficiency. She remained where she was, out of the way, as the sound of the engines changed and the plane banked. The pilot dropped the big bomber, flying low, presumably looking for something on the ground. The signal from the reception committee, Sophie surmised, though how a pilot of a bomber this size could spot the lights from a handful of torches on the ground was a mystery.

The engines rumbled and whined, and the plane rose again sharply.

“We’re good to go!” the crewman shouted. “Holding for altitude.”

The plane leveled off again after a moment, and Sophie watched as the two men manhandled and dropped each cylinder through the chimney-like opening with practiced movements. She closed her eyes and slowed her breathing, visualizing what she would need to do in the next few minutes once the plane banked and made its final pass. Stand up, she recited her training orders in her head. Hook static lines. Wait. To the door. Jump—

“Oi!” A panicked shout just to the rear made her eyes snap open.

“Jesus feckin’ Christ!” the second airman was yelling at the same time, though his words were nearly drowned out by the roar of the rushing air and the growl of the engines.

The two airmen had finished dropping the cylinders and were resuming their positions near the front of the plane but both were now looking back in horror.

Sophie twisted and followed their gaze to see that Gerard had stood and hooked his harness to the static line. He was standing on the edge of the drop chute.

“Wait!” Sophie yelled, scrambling toward him.