“There’s a word she’d like.”

William smiled. “See? You’re always thinking of her. Whether it’s a bonnie Brooklynite or an enthusiastic English dame, you have a bright future ahead of you. I’m going to enjoy watching your thick skull succumb to the fairer sex.”

“Who sounds like a professor now?”

“I’ve learned from the best.”

Tom rolled his eyes and got into position. The wind was vicious, and he was surprised they’d been given a go to fly.

William must have noticed his unease. “Hey, I’ll be sure we radio the pilot if the weather gets worse while you’re up there.”

Tom nodded and William hopped off just as the door closed behind him.

The plane lurched and Tom slammed into Malarky, creating a domino effect down their row. The pilot steadied the aircraft and they pressed onward.

“Time!” shouted First Lieutenant Winters.

Tom stood and inched closer to the front of the plane, holding the line above their heads. The wind howled outside like the banshees he’d read about in one of Mr. Brown’s books. The plane bounced and he almost fell out of the open door, but he gripped the sides, waiting for the word.

“And—go!” came the order.

Tom jumped and the same feeling of exhilaration came over him. For the few minutes of descent, no one needed anything from him. No one asked him to pick peaches or clean a latrine or march ten miles. Not even girls existed. This moment was entirely his to enjoy.

He fumbled with the release on his parachute and for a few panicked seconds, he kept missing it as the wind lashed at him and pushed his hands away. But at last, he gave it a good tug and waited for the comforting pull up before he glided down. He missed the bull’s-eye of the target by only a foot, but today’s practice was about how quickly you could release yourself from the shackles of the parachute coils and hit the ground running with your rifle.

With textbook precision, Tom did just that and hurried over to the waiting area where Sergeant Bethune congratulated him.

“Fine maneuvering, Powell. Fine maneuvering. Keep this up and I might have to recommend you for the new Arctic training.”

“Will we be fighting the war all the way up there?”

“Not unless Santa Claus wants to take up arms with Adolf Hitler. But this war could go on long enough that you’ll see winter terrain. We’re forming a unit that will learn to jump with skis on and hit the slopes the second they land.”

“Thank you, sir. I’m here to serve however the army sees fit.”

“Atta boy. You’ll have a long career here if you want it. Now. Let’s watch and see how the rest of those clowns fare up there.”