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the parachute, unclipped her harness, and stepped out of it. The first thing she had to do was find somewhere to hide it. The ditch by the side of the road was the most obvious option.
    It was still very dark and the moon was covered by the last of the storm clouds, but she managed to climb down into the ditch and crawled along it until she found a drain running under the road. She stuffed the parachute and harness inside it, out of sight. Next she took off her heavy flying suit, gloves, and helmet, and pushed them into the drain as well. Then she unpacked her Bund Deutscher Mädel uniform and quickly slipped on the long dark blue skirt, white short-sleeved blouse, and black neckerchief. When she had finished, she sat down in the ditch and rested for a few minutes. She suddenly felt cold as the sweat cooled her skin, and reached into her pack, pulling out the BDM woolen sweater she had also been issued.
    Except for the sound of her rapid breathing, it was deathly quiet. No sounds at all. And no Otto, either. How long have I been on the ground ? she wondered. Half an hour? He has to be nearby, surely . She checked the luminous hands on her watch. A nice German child’s watch. Glashütte . Quite expensive. A present from her godmother, Frau Varbinner. The one they would be visiting in Bregenz in a couple of days. It was quarter to three. Two hours until dawn.
    She didn’t dare yell out his name. There was no way of knowing who might be out there in the darkness. Perhaps he was dead.
    Please don’t be dead , she thought.

Otto was thinking exactly the same thing.
    If Leni was dead, or even badly hurt, then the mission was as good as finished. And so was he.
    He had crashed down into a fir tree and was suspended fifty feet above the ground, his canopy hopelessly enmeshed in the higher branches. If Leni didn’t turn up soon, he would have to cut himself free and face falling, wearing a full pack, through the branches to the ground below, risking a broken ankle or worse. He hissed her name again, afraid to yell. She could be anywhere. Where the hell was he, for that matter? He knew where he was supposed to be: on wide-open hop fields in the countryside twenty-five miles southeast of Munich. But he was getting a bad feeling that he was nowhere near the drop zone. When he parachuted down he’d felt the strong winds blowing him, and for a moment he had been terrified they mightcollapse the canopy. The rain had hammered at his face, and he’d gripped the lines for dear life. But he’d made it down in one piece, even if it was into this wretched forest.
    It was just getting light now, shafts of dawn light filtering through the trees. He checked his father’s wristwatch. MacPherson had had it repaired and Otto was glad to have it with him. A lucky talisman, he’d thought. But the mission hadn’t exactly started well. It was a little after four o’clock. He’d been hanging here for over an hour. His legs felt numb and the harness cut painfully into his groin.
    “Leni.” He hissed her name one more time.
    Nothing. Then he heard the sound of branches snapping beneath him. Someone was approaching.
    Otto reached for the Walther PPK resting in the shoulder holster inside his flying suit. He pulled off the leather retaining strap and drew the pistol out, pointing it down to the gloomy forest floor.
    “Don’t move or I’ll shoot,” he ordered in German.
    There was another sharp crack of branches.
    “I mean it,” he said. He swept the gun barrel, trying to find the target, every sinew in his body tense. His finger tightened on the trigger. Then he saw it. A fox staring up at him quizzically. He shooed loudly at it, and the animal darted away.
    He reholstered the pistol, breathing hard. Shooting paper silhouettes was one thing; getting to ready to shoot for real had his head pounding. Would I actually have pulled the triggerif it had been someone? he wondered. Perhaps instinct takes over and you just do it.
    “Otto!”
    His