The wheels screeched as the plane touched down and then bounced slightly back into the air, causing my legs to jam into the bottom of the table. We raced along the tarmac, and the roar of the engines and the rattling of the runway diminished as we slowed down until we were merely rolling, taxiing toward the hangar.

The two gunners were out of their turrets now, and Sparky was off the wireless, and they were all standing together. I couldn’t hear them over the engines, but they were laughing and smiling. It was so strange … they were acting as if nothing had happened! Or maybe they were just so relieved that it was over. I was relieved too, but also numb. Mike was packing up the maps into a leather carrying case.

Finally the engines stopped, so suddenly that I was startled and then relieved. I unplugged my headphones and took them off. Now I could hear the voices and the laughter. The hatch popped open and they all climbed out, parachutes in hands. I stayed in my seat. I felt so drained that I wasn’t sure my legs would hold me up.

“How you doing?” Mike asked.

“I’m okay. I’m okay.”

“You did well. Didn’t he do well, Skipper?”

Matthews held out a hand. “Congratulations on your first mission. You performed admirably.”

“I didn’t do much.”

“You got us back home,” Mike said. “Kid can plot my course any time.”

“Thanks.”

“Come on, everybody, let’s get some breakfast before the debriefing,” Group Captain Matthews said.

I slowly got to my feet. My legs felt like rubber and I hoped nobody noticed that I was wobbly and shaking—just as I hoped nobody had noticed the tears that I’d already shed. There hadn’t been many, and I’d instantly brushed them away, but I couldn’t stop them from coming. I’d been so relieved, so grateful, when the first Spitfires appeared and chased the last of the enemy planes away that the tears had just come.

For almost two hours we’d been repeatedly attacked by enemy fighter planes. They swooped by, attacking from above, below, behind, and straight ahead. Sometimes it had been only a few planes acting independently, and other times it had been a whole formation coming in. Our gunners had inflicted some damage. I hadn’t seen it, but I’d heard over the radio that we had downed two, with a third being a probable kill.

But they weren’t the only kills. I’d watched from the canopy as a Lancaster was strafed by enemy fire and then burst into flames, spun to the side, and plunged. It disappeared from my field of view before I could see if any of the crew had escaped. And that wasn’t the only plane. I’d heard chatter over the radio and knew that at least another three planes had been shot out of the sky—another twenty-one men who wouldn’t be coming back this morning.

There was a truck waiting by the plane. We climbed into the back, where our other three crew members were already waiting. Mike banged on the back of the cab to signal we were in, and the truck lurched forward, exhaust fumes spewing out and into the back. It brought back memories of that first truck ride on the way to the Manning Training School. Was that only two months ago? It seemed like years ago, when I was so much younger.

Everybody in the truck with me seemed so happy. The conversation was full of laughter and discussion around a football game scheduled for later that day between our squadron and another one and what they hoped to get for breakfast. My stomach was so upset I didn’t know if I could eat, or keep it down if I did.

The truck came to a stop, but my stomach didn’t. It seemed to be getting more and more upset and … I was going to throw up!

“Let me through … please,” I pleaded as I pushed through and jumped off the truck, almost tumbling over as my feet hit the ground.

I ran on wobbly legs, almost falling over, until I reached the side of the building and then rushed to the back. I wanted to get out of sight before I vomited. The convulsions got so bad I doubled over and started heaving—loudly and violently. The chocolate and beef jerky I’d eaten during the flight came flooding back up, flowing out and down my face and onto my boots and the ground. I heaved again, and the little that remained came out. I struggled to get my breath, and my whole body was flushed, and I felt light-headed. I stumbled a couple of feet and dropped to my hands and knees. The grass was cool and wet with dew. I brought one hand up and held it against my forehead. The moisture felt good.

There was a hand on my back and I looked up. It was Group Captain Matthews.

“Feeling better?” he asked.

I wiped my mouth with the sleeve of my jacket. “A little bit … I’m … I’m sorry.”

“Sorry about what?”

“About this … I just … my stomach … it was too much.” I paused. “I don’t know if I can do it.”

“Do what? Have breakfast?”

“I don’t know if I can do that either. But I meant fly … I was just so … so …”

“Scared?”

I looked down, away from him, and nodded my head in agreement.

“I’m scared every time I go up.”

“You?” That caught me totally off guard. Then I realized why he’d said it. “I appreciate you trying to make me feel better, but I was up there. I saw. You weren’t scared.”

“When that plane came directly toward us, I almost screamed. If you’re not scared when something like that happens, you have to be delusional, psychotic, or in extreme denial, and none of those apply to me.”

“But you didn’t look scared. You didn’t act scared. Nobody did.” I was thinking about Mike’s calm demeanour and about the flight engineer monitoring the panel controls while bullets were flying all around us and enemy fighters were buzzing by.

“How we act and what we’re feeling are different. You handled it well.”

“This is handling it well?” I asked.

“Son, this was your first mission. I have men—grown men with wives and kids—who still bring up before or after or during each mission. Men, brave men whom I would trust with my life—men whom I have trusted with my life—who break down in tears, who wake up from a deep sleep in a cold sweat, screaming out in fear.”

“Great. Is that what I have to look forward to?”

“Maybe you do.”

That wasn’t the reassuring answer I’d expected.

“I just don’t know if I can handle it.”

“I don’t know either,” he said. Again, a brutally honest answer, but not the one I’d been hoping for.

“What I do know is that you acquitted yourself well. I’m not one to blow smoke up your skirt. You followed orders, you reacted promptly, and, quite frankly, you saw that oncoming fighter before I did. If you hadn’t …” He shrugged. “Maybe there would have been one less plane heading home and somebody would be writing a letter to my wife.”

He reached down and offered me a hand, helping me to my feet. “That’s the hardest part of this job. It’s my responsibility to write to inform the family about the fate of their loved one. Today is a good day—I only have fourteen letters to write.”

“Fourteen … that’s how many died?” I knew that meant only two planes had gone down—at least, two from our squadron.

“I don’t know yet for certain, but I believe there are eight confirmed deaths.”

“How do you know that?”

“One plane went down without any sign of parachutes. From the other they saw six parachutes deploy, but the seventh was a Roman candle.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“His chute was on fire, burning as he was plummeting to the ground. Poor bugger—better to just die right away than have to wait for the impact.” He shook his head sadly. “The fate of the other six men is unknown. We hope that they made it to the ground, and after that we can only hope they manage to avoid detection and capture.”

“My father was captured.”

“Your father?”

“He was shot down over France and captured … He flew Spitfires.”

“Ah, that explains your desire to become a pilot.”

How did he know that I—

“There was a letter in your file. We’ll honour that request, even help you along that path.”

“But after tonight I’m not sure I can ever be a pilot. Or even a navigator. I just … just … I don’t know how people can do that … you know, come off the plane and talk like nothing happened … just joking around.”

“That’s the only way they can do it. The only way any of us can do it. We get off the plane and we have to put it behind us. There’s no point in talking about what just happened, no point in looking back. Instead, you look forward to something, even something silly like a football game, or a night on the town … or breakfast. Do you think you could handle a little grub?”

“Maybe a little.”

“Start with toast, dry, and then maybe some cornflakes. Don’t even think about bacon or eggs until you’ve lined your stomach.” He smiled. “Come on, kid, time for breakfast.”