The Unfinished Gift by Dan Walsh Read Free Book Online Page B

nicknamed “Mama’s Kitchen,” tried to sound calm as he took in a damage report over the interphone from Nick Manzini, their starboard waist gunner.
    “Hastings bought it, sir,” Manzini said. “Took a big piece of metal in the neck. It ain’t pretty. Looks like he went quick, though. Anderson is alive. Took some metal in the leg. Got a tourniquet around it. The bleeding has slowed a little, but he’s in a state of shock. I can’t even get him to talk to me.”
    Shawn forced his emotions to stay intact. The entire crew looked to him for stability. But these men were more than just gunners under his command; they’d trained together for months, had flown every mission together, so far without a single mishap.
    “And Captain,” Manzini continued, “that last flak burst open a brand-new window back here. Can’t take too many more hits like that.”
    “Your guns operational?” Shawn asked.
    “Let me check.”
    Shawn heard the sound of both machine guns being test fired.
    “They’re fine.”
    “Okay, get back to your station. You’re gonna have to man both guns on the way home. Once out of Bremen, the fighters will hit us again. Make sure Anderson gets covered up, stays warm. Maybe he’ll snap out of it in awhile and give you some help.”
    “Got it,” said Manzini.
    For several minutes, no one said a word. Only the droning engines and muffled explosions of flak bursts could be heard over their pounding hearts. The plane jumped and shuddered with each one. The crew didn’t even react when another bomber just ahead fell out of formation and spun out of control, its left wing half shot off. No chutes were seen before it dropped out of sight.
    Shawn tried to keep the plane steady, trying to keep his mind off the possibilities. With each new flak burst, he fought the temptation to steer the plane out of its path. The fact was, there were no safe paths; no amount of evasive action mattered. Survival seemed entirely a matter of fate or chance.
    Some, like Shawn, believed it a matter of Providence and prayed every prayer they knew. Others superstitiously clung to their rabbits’ feet, lucky coins, saints’ medals, or some other homemade talisman.
    Every few moments, Shawn looked down at a photo of Patrick and Elizabeth. She’d sent it two months ago. Patrick was holding the baseball Shawn had caught at a Phillies game two seasons ago. Elizabeth . . . he still found it hard to believe he’d won the heart of such a beautiful woman. She could have been a cover girl from a fashion magazine, with her shoulder-length blonde hair, all natural, lightly curled, parted slightly to the right. Her lips were plump and soft, almost set in a pout, immanently kissable. The hardest part being married to her had been holding back the urge to deck guys who couldn’t keep their eyes to themselves.
    He thought about the first time they’d met. For him, it was love at first sight. For her, love came later. Her faith made her cautious. But that was okay. He had it bad enough for the both of them. She was sitting all alone at a table in the Penn State library. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. His stares had finally gotten her attention. At first, she turned away, pretending she hadn’t noticed. Then came that first smile. It happened on her third look up. He could still remember how it made him feel.
    “It’s time, Captain,” said MacReady, the copilot.
    “What?”
    “Gotta turn the ship over to Davis.”
    “Oh, right,” Shawn said. He reached down and flipped on the autopilot. “Okay, Nick. You’ve got the plane from here on. Make it count.”
    “Roger, Captain.” The flak stayed heavy for ten more minutes. Every so often he heard a bang or a ping, as a stray piece of metal smacked into the fuselage. The plane seemed to be straining on the left side. Shawn feared one of the engines might have swallowed some shrapnel. Still, they held their place in the formation. He heard the bomb bay doors open.
    Nick Davis