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“How far could you follow them down?” Dolan asked.

“There were scattered clouds at three thousand feet,” Major Dumbrowski said. “My belly and tail gunners reported they lost them when they went into a cloud bank.”

Dolan nodded, but said nothing. That was it. If they had dropped to 3,000 feet in a spin, they were through. It was surprising the wings hadn’t come off long before they went into the clouds. And taking a plane as big as a B-17 out of a spin was beyond the capability of Ed Bitter, even if he had made it to the cockpit, and even if the controls hadn’t been shot away. He was a goddamned good pilot, but he was not a bomber driver. And he had never flown a B-17.

“Commander,” Major Dumbrowski said. “I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do. About notifying the right people, I mean. I mean about Commander Bitter being aboard.”

“I’ll handle it,” Dolan said evenly.

Major Dumbrowski patted Dolan’s arm in a gesture of sympathy.

When Dolan came down from the tower, Ed Bitter’s Limey woman sergeant driver pushed herself off the fender of Canidy’s Packard.

“Is there word?” she asked.

“Sergeant,” Dolan said, “you might as well put your gear together, and Commander Bitter’s. He’s not coming back.”

Her face went white.

“What happened?” she asked faintly.

“They was hit, is what happened,” Dolan said, angrily. “The last time they was seen, they was in a spin.”

“Oh, God!” she said.

“He never should have let that little shit talk him into going,” Dolan said, still angry.

“No parachutes?” Sergeant Draper asked.

“What happens is that when a

plane like that goes into a spin,” Dolan explained gently, “is that it pins you inside, like water in a bucket when you swing it around your head. You can’t get out.”

“Oh, my God,” she said. “Did it explode when it hit?”

"Probably,” Dolan said, and then, when he saw the question in her eyes, added,“Nobody actually saw it hit.”

She considered that for a moment.

“Then we don’t know, do we, that it did crash?”

“That’s what happens,” he said.

“How much fuel did they have? I mean to ask, when is the latest they could possibly return?”

He looked at his watch and made the computation.

“Another two hours and thirty minutes,” he said. “Maybe two forty-five.”

“Then I will wait, if you don’t mind, Commander,” Sergeant Draper said, “for another two hours and forty-five minutes. I seem to have more faith in Commander Bitter’s ability than you do. And if I were gone when he returns, he would be furious.”

Hard-headed Limey is the first thing he thought. But then, Jesus Christ, she’s in love with him.

What the hell, I’m the senior officer. It’s up to me to decide when I start making casualty reports.

Chapter THREE

Ed Bitter knew the technique for getting a fighter plane out of a spin, but he doubted that a bomber was stressed for the forces it required. You put the nose down and give it all the power available in the hope that velocity will overcome the aerodynamic forces of the spin.