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Ruth was healthy and strong. The next requirement was a willingness to be close to combat. Why not? She’d survived Chicago in the Depression. Then the last requirement—the desire to fly.
    Desire to fly? She’d never flown before. She was willing to fly, but a desire was different, stronger. Major Novak had it. His eyes lit up when he talked about planes and flying. He made it sound exciting, alluring, and freeing.
    Ruth glanced up. To the east, a deep purple tinted the clouds, and on the western horizon orange flame burnt a hole in the overcast. What would it be like to soar above the clouds, among the colors, to be away from the earth with its pressures and trials if only for a few hours?
    She clutched the magazine, her hope, her solution. Yes, she had the desire to fly.

6
    June 23, 1943
    The wheelchair clattered over the walkway. Jack leaned forward into the wind and shifted onto his right hip to reduce jolts to his wounds. “Faster, Charlie. I want to get airborne.”
    “Any faster and we’ll knock those stitches out. I don’t want to draw your nurse’s fire.”
    “Lieutenant Doherty? I’ll take her flak any day. She’s something else.”
    Charlie huffed and pulled the wheelchair short to avoid hitting a medic. “You’re something else. Poor woman.”
    “She can handle herself.” As much as he enjoyed the fresh air and the visit with Charlie, he wanted to keep it short and get back to Ruth’s company. Sure, he respected her wishes and called her Lieutenant Doherty, but he thought of her as Ruth.
    “Want to hear about the new base?” Charlie steered the wheelchair past the last Nissen hut and up onto a grassy ridge.
    “Sure do. Park here and let me get out of this thing.” Jack ignored Charlie’s offer of help and pushed himself to standing. A wave of dizziness and a jab of pain made him draw a sharp breath. He let it out slowly. The sooner he got moving, the sooner he’d be back in combat, and the sooner he could implement his plan with Ruth. “So how’s Bury St. Edmunds?”
    “Fine. I still can’t believe they put us at Earls Colne at first. The runways aren’t long enough for B-17s.”
    “Typical Army.” Jack clamped his teeth together and took one step, then another.
    Charlie hovered by his side. “Simple to fix. Earls Colne is fine for medium bombers, so we switched places with the B-26 Marauders at Bury. It’s a good base, and the town has everything the men want—shops and pubs and atmosphere, even a ruined abbey.”
    “The hospital staff’s favorite place.” Jack grinned and shuffled forward. The town and air base lay about fifteen miles southwest of the hospital. Once he was discharged, he planned to visit his hospitalized men every week, and he might as well visit on Sundays, when he could worship at the hospital with a chaplain he knew. If he ran into Ruth, so be it.
    “Got our new CO yesterday.”
    Jack whipped around too fast. He winced at the pain and at the mischief in Charlie’s light blue eyes. “How long were you going to wait to tell me?”
    “Till now. Col. Frederick Castle.”
    “Castle. Hmm. What’s he like?” Jack turned to circle the wheelchair.
    Charlie sat on the grass and stretched his stocky legs in front of him. “Shouldn’t you make your own judgment, Skipper?”
    “Yeah, but any information will help.”
    Charlie shook out a cigarette and stuck it between his lips. “Fairly young. Mid-thirties. Hap Arnold’s godson.”
    “What?” Jack stared at his friend. “Hap Arnold? The commanding general of the whole U.S. Army Air Force?”
    Charlie nodded. “His godson.”
    “Wow.” Jack continued his trek. The colonel would be untouchable if he were a problem. On the other hand, if Jack got on Castle’s good side, he’d get on Arnold’s good side.
    “West Pointer. Men are thrilled about that.”
    “I bet.” Last thing flyboys wanted was spit and polish.
    “What they really hate is he’s HQ. Air Chief of Staff for Supply.”
    “Let me guess.