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Authors: Sarah Sundin
Tags: Romance
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squadron. Jack hadn’t even met the crew, who were probably on their first mission. This would be hard on the men. Somehow a body on a returning plane had a deeper effect than a crew of ten shot down in flames.
Both ambulances pulled away, one to Sick Quarters, where the wounded man would be stabilized and sent to the hospital, and the other to the morgue.
“We should go.” Charlie’s voice was thick.
“Yeah.” They pedaled past Hangar Number One, the workshops, and the supply stores. Jack had been unconscious when Sunrise Serenade put up red flares, but Charlie landed that plane and saw Jack hauled away to the hospital and poor Bill Chambers to the morgue.
He was a good man, de Groot.
When they reached the briefing room, they leaned their bikes on the stack by the door, returned the MP’s salute, and entered the building.
Coffee. The smell wafted into Jack’s nose, and he drew it in. Air crews stood in silent, fatigued groups and refueled on coffee and donuts while they waited their turn at interrogation.
Jack caught Charlie’s eye and nodded to the long line at the Red Cross counter. “Coffee?”
Charlie gave a mock salute. “Right on it, Skipper.”
“Thanks, pal.” Jack clapped him on the back and headed into the briefing room. The noise energized him as much as the promised coffee. For the morning briefing, two hundred chairs had faced the map up front. Now the chairs surrounded a dozen tables, each with a crew and an intelligence officer recording every detail from the mission.
Jack walked the length of the room and extracted snippets of information. “Me 109s as thick as flies.” “Flak? Sure, plenty.” “Some of our bombs fell in the water.” “I got him—a hundred yards. Right through the cockpit. Flipped head over tail all the way down.” “Nine-tenths clouds over Hannover. Had to find a T/O.”
Jack turned. The last statement came from Lt. Col. Louis Thorup, the executive officer, who had led the group on the mission. Which target of opportunity had they selected?
Exactly what the intelligence officer asked. “Wilhelmshaven” was the reply.
Jack spotted Joe Winchell’s crew from his squadron. He set his hand on Winchell’s shoulder and leaned over. “Hiya, Winch. Hi, boys. How’d it go?”
“Great.” A tired smile crossed Winchell’s square face. “Hit those U-boat yards right on the button. Finnegan got himself an Fw 190 and an Me 109.”
“Say, good job, Finn. Keep it up.”
Captain Taylor, the intelligence officer, wore a snippy expression, so Jack gave him a nod. “I’ll let you get back to work, Captain.”
The snippy look dissolved. “Thanks, Major.”
Jack went his way. All a matter of knowing each man, how to play up his strengths and play down his weaknesses. Let the clown joke, then make him get to business. Let the facts and figures man do his work, but get him to look up and smile once in a while.
At the front of the room, Colonel Castle stood talking to Maj. Jefferson Babcock Jr., temporary commander of Jack’s squadron. What a work, Babcock. Cussingest man in the outfit until clean-mouthed Castle came along.
Jack approached Castle. “Sir, what’s the word on the mission?” He knew better than to waste time on small talk with the hardworking, no-nonsense colonel.
“We have to wait for the final analysis, but the preliminary results look good.” The CO stood shorter than Jack, with every feature, every gesture strong, neat, and sharp.
“We had two losses before the target.” Babcock’s soft tone echoed Castle’s. “And one ditched 125 miles off Cromer.”
A cold shudder ripped through Jack’s bones. The day before, a crew from the 94th had ditched at sea, but both life rafts were spotted in the morning, and all ten men were rescued. “Another ditching?” Jack asked, his face composed. He couldn’t let Castle know a ditching bothered him more than two lost aircraft and a man killed in action.
“They radioed coordinates,” Castle
Both ambulances pulled away, one to Sick Quarters, where the wounded man would be stabilized and sent to the hospital, and the other to the morgue.
“We should go.” Charlie’s voice was thick.
“Yeah.” They pedaled past Hangar Number One, the workshops, and the supply stores. Jack had been unconscious when Sunrise Serenade put up red flares, but Charlie landed that plane and saw Jack hauled away to the hospital and poor Bill Chambers to the morgue.
He was a good man, de Groot.
When they reached the briefing room, they leaned their bikes on the stack by the door, returned the MP’s salute, and entered the building.
Coffee. The smell wafted into Jack’s nose, and he drew it in. Air crews stood in silent, fatigued groups and refueled on coffee and donuts while they waited their turn at interrogation.
Jack caught Charlie’s eye and nodded to the long line at the Red Cross counter. “Coffee?”
Charlie gave a mock salute. “Right on it, Skipper.”
“Thanks, pal.” Jack clapped him on the back and headed into the briefing room. The noise energized him as much as the promised coffee. For the morning briefing, two hundred chairs had faced the map up front. Now the chairs surrounded a dozen tables, each with a crew and an intelligence officer recording every detail from the mission.
Jack walked the length of the room and extracted snippets of information. “Me 109s as thick as flies.” “Flak? Sure, plenty.” “Some of our bombs fell in the water.” “I got him—a hundred yards. Right through the cockpit. Flipped head over tail all the way down.” “Nine-tenths clouds over Hannover. Had to find a T/O.”
Jack turned. The last statement came from Lt. Col. Louis Thorup, the executive officer, who had led the group on the mission. Which target of opportunity had they selected?
Exactly what the intelligence officer asked. “Wilhelmshaven” was the reply.
Jack spotted Joe Winchell’s crew from his squadron. He set his hand on Winchell’s shoulder and leaned over. “Hiya, Winch. Hi, boys. How’d it go?”
“Great.” A tired smile crossed Winchell’s square face. “Hit those U-boat yards right on the button. Finnegan got himself an Fw 190 and an Me 109.”
“Say, good job, Finn. Keep it up.”
Captain Taylor, the intelligence officer, wore a snippy expression, so Jack gave him a nod. “I’ll let you get back to work, Captain.”
The snippy look dissolved. “Thanks, Major.”
Jack went his way. All a matter of knowing each man, how to play up his strengths and play down his weaknesses. Let the clown joke, then make him get to business. Let the facts and figures man do his work, but get him to look up and smile once in a while.
At the front of the room, Colonel Castle stood talking to Maj. Jefferson Babcock Jr., temporary commander of Jack’s squadron. What a work, Babcock. Cussingest man in the outfit until clean-mouthed Castle came along.
Jack approached Castle. “Sir, what’s the word on the mission?” He knew better than to waste time on small talk with the hardworking, no-nonsense colonel.
“We have to wait for the final analysis, but the preliminary results look good.” The CO stood shorter than Jack, with every feature, every gesture strong, neat, and sharp.
“We had two losses before the target.” Babcock’s soft tone echoed Castle’s. “And one ditched 125 miles off Cromer.”
A cold shudder ripped through Jack’s bones. The day before, a crew from the 94th had ditched at sea, but both life rafts were spotted in the morning, and all ten men were rescued. “Another ditching?” Jack asked, his face composed. He couldn’t let Castle know a ditching bothered him more than two lost aircraft and a man killed in action.
“They radioed coordinates,” Castle
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