Eleven

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The next day, the seven pilots were in the air and ready to go by half-past six in the morning. They were ready to strike a German city called Cologne. Tom checked in on each of his charges. "O'Connor, ready?"

   "Ready, sir."

   "Cranston? Hancock?"

   "Yes, sir."

   "Ready, Captain."

   "McDonald?"

   "You will refer to me as Sir McDonald."

   Tom rolled his eyes in frustration. "You will call me sir."

  "You can not-"

   Tom continued to check on the other pilots. "Toulouse?"

   "You are woefully incompetent, Brooks." Tom took that as a yes.

   "And Smith?" Nothing but silence.

"Smith? Smith?!" Finally, Smith gave a tiny grunt in acknowledgment. Tom sighed and shook his head. We work so well together, he thought sarcastically. They all flew over Cologne in unison and four of the seven dropped bombs. The other three circled the first four to protect them from any potential enemy planes. Just as they finished congratulating each other and were headed back towards their Milton Hall base, something came into view in the dimly lit morning.

   It was a small group of German FW 62s. The enemy group flew straight toward the Allied pilots, guns blazing.

The four heavier spitfires outfitted to bomb were unprepared to take on the quick and nimble German planes, so it was up to the remaining three non-bombing planes to take on the enemy. In the three lighter planes were Tom, O'Connor, and James Cranston, one of the Englishmen.

   The four heavier British fighter planes flew off toward Milton. The remaining pilots watched with bated breath to see whether the Germans would go after the other four. In what seemed to be a stroke of luck, the German planes remained over Cologne to fight it out with the watching men.

   They took on the other planes with surprising accuracy, having only just begun training (or re-training in Tom's case) a month and a half before. Within the first few minutes, they had shot down two of the enemy fighters. Just three more to go. Tom did a lap around one of the German planes, attempting to dodge its rain of bullets while simultaneously returning fire.

   He was very successful, but just as he shot down the plane, he felt heavy fire on the rear of his plane. The second to last plane was directly behind Tom. He turned the plane around, but it moved, staying out of his line of sight. He attempted to get away, but it wouldn't get off of him. It was locked on and he didn't think it could possibly end well for him. "Oh, Ellie. I love you." He said his last farewell to his beloved wife.

   Then- "Well sir, looks like you won't die today after all. We were dealing with the other plane, quite feisty, he was." It was Cranston.

   "Yes, sir, I doubt Daisy would forgive me if you died on my watch." O'Connor laughed despite the seemingly grave situation. The two other pilots worked together to shoot down the last German plane.

   Tom sighed heavily as the other two men did a victory lap around the area. He really had thought that he had been just moments away from death. He was relieved and ready to go back to Milton Hall. More broadly, however, he was ready to go back home. Despite these feelings, he knew he couldn't. These men depended on him and he on them.

   Out of nowhere, one of the other British spitfires exploded. "Cranston?! O'Connor?!"

   O'Connor responded. "Sir, sir! Cranston is...gone." His voice broke. Tom couldn't tell whether it was because he knew Cranston well or because he had just seen the horrors of war firsthand for himself. "A-a German came out of nowhere and collided with C-Cranston."

   "We have to go Declan! Hurry, there may be more!" O'Connor followed Tom back to Milton. On the way, Tom felt his eyes stinging. He was making a concerted effort not to cry. He had to be strong for these men. Right now it was their time to mourn, not his. No, his mourning would be a private affair.

   They arrived back at Milton Hall. All of its inhabitants gathered on the airstrip to see what the outcome of the battle had been. Tom could tell that all of those gathered were terrified to see that only two of their pilots had made it back. Tom and Declan quickly climbed out of their planes to save them the agony.

   When O'Connor jumped out of his plane, Daisy ran up to him. Her face was covered in tears. Despite still being in her nightgown, she wrapped her arms around his neck and cried. Declan did the same, but he didn't cry. His eyes were red from doing so, but he seemed to have stopped so he could be strong for Daisy.

   Tony looked on the scene in confusion and anger but didn't say anything for the moment. Sam Hancock walked up to Tom and said tearfully, "And Cranston?"

   "They got him, Hancock. I'm so, so sorry."

   He nodded. "He was my best friend. I can't believe it." He wiped his face and shook his head. "Blasted war, eh?"

   Eventually, they all trudged back up to The Hall. Cranston's death hit everyone hard. Even the sunny autumn day seemed to mock the mourners. It only reminded them that James Cranston would never again see a sunrise or feel a cool breeze on his skin.

   Throughout the day Tom had acted normal, trying to be strong for everyone else, but when everyone retired to their rooms that night, Tom sat down on the edge of his bed, laid his head in his hands, and cried. The cold reality of war hit him over and over again. How could he have forgotten?

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