In a moment of clarity, Dash rolled the Spitfire upside down so the canopy and the forest were directly beneath her head. Before she could change her mind, she jerked the lever to jettison the canopy, and the wind blasted into her face like a wall. The plane wanted to dive, but Dash gritted her teeth and struggled with the steering, forcing the nose upward and level. Upside down, she clung to the sharp restraint of the safety belt across her hips and shoulder for as long as she dared. Then all it took was a quick release of the buckle.
She dropped into a chaos of nothing, plunging toward the earth, riding the most exhilarating and terrifying thrill of her life. Immediately, she yanked the strap of her parachute then countedOne thousand, two thousand, three thou—The chute opened in a glorious white above her—Thank you, Jack Reimer!—jerked her up like a gasp, then started drifting down, down, down on the exhale. Everywhere, trees reached up to meet her. She hauled desperately on the chute’s control lines, steering as she had been taught, but there wasn’t enough time to slow her descent. The tops of the trees whipped at her feet, then her legs, faster and faster and faster, and she started to scream.
fifty-threeDOT— Camp X —
Dot woke with a gasp, struggling from the grip of a nightmare. In it, Dash had been climbing the tree in their yard, higher and higher until she was miles above the earth and waving at Dot from the clouds. Dot shouted, telling her toplease come down, but Dash stood on the edge of a branch, laughing at the whole world. Then the branch snapped—
Dot patted her cheek, forcing herself awake. She had no time to waste thinking about a dream. She glanced at her watch, which she’d left on her bedside table, and winced. Noon. After her midnight-to-eight shift, she had fallen into bed, determined to sleep a full seven or eight hours, but four would have to do. There was no way she would be able to sleep again after that.
She needed all her wits about her, because today was June 4. Operation Overlord was set for tomorrow, except they were six hours ahead over there, which meant the mobilization had already begun. As she brushed her teeth, she thought through the chain of events about to occur. Thousands of ships and landing crafts would soon begin crossing the English Channel to France. Airplanes would prepare to defend the troops after gliders dropped parachutists behind enemy lines.
So many things were about to happen. So many already had. Dot felt as if she was running late.
Gus had been gone for three weeks. She knew vaguely what he was doing now as part of Fortitude, because she had sent out some of the directives, indicating target locations. Since that final night together, when she had said what she’d been wanting to say for years, things had changed. It was no longer a simple task for her to send him into life-threatening situations.
The plans she’d sent out to Gus and the other teams were quite specific. PlanVertwas about setting explosives to sabotage railway stations, while PlanTortuefocused on destroying roads. Telephone and power lines were being cut through PlanVioletand PlanBleu. Gus’s assignments tended to revolve around the three colours she least liked to think about:rouge, noir, andjaune, which ordered attacks on German ammunition dumps, fuel depots, and command posts. The risk terrified her.
Still, she couldn’t have been prouder of him. Over one hundred thousand resistance fighters were in Europe right now, many of whom had been trained by Gus and others like him from Camp X. Each one was a thorn in the side of the Nazis, sabotaging factories, cutting telephone lines, derailing trains, blowing up bridges and fuel dumps, capturing thousands of prisoners, and killing when necessary. And just as Dot’s father had done in the first war, they reported German army movements and potential bombing targets for the Allies.
Occasionally, she knew, Gus would have cause to use his marksmanship skills, and, worse, his ability to kill. He had never admitted to her that he’d done that before, but she knew he had. She could see it in his eyes.
She splashed cool water over her face then threw on her uniform and headed out. The rest of the camp was awake and busy, and she was immediately caught up in the action. The first person she saw was Frances, Gerald’s secretary, who told her shocking news. U.S. General Eisenhower had postponed the invasion to the following day, June 6, following his meteorologist’s strong warning that the weather on June 5 would be terrible.
“One day’s grace,” Frances said. “Oh, hey, Dot, I have a telegram for you from last night. Let me get it.”
When she handed the envelope to her, Dot scowled. “I hate telegrams.”
Frances nodded. “Understandably.”
PETTY OFFICER WREN DOROTHY WILSON TORONTO TYPING POOL—ADDRESS UNKNOWN URGENT
She frowned at the little envelope, trying to puzzle through what it meant. The sender knew she was a Wren who had attained the rank of Petty Officer, and they knew she was somewhere near Toronto. Regardless, the most important part was the bottom line. She tore the envelope open and her knees gave way.
DASH MISSING TWO DAYS
CONTACT PETE CLARK RAF A7293169
Two days?Where? Dot could hardly think, her heart beat so fast. Visions of Dash—alone in the middle of Europe, hurt, maybe worse—filled her frantic thoughts. As panic rushed through her body, the calm, collected part of her mind ran to Hydra, searching for a way to find her sister.
But how?
She read the telegram again, though it tore her apart to do it. Pete Clark. Who was this man? What did he know? How had he located Dot then gotten this message to Camp X? Pete Clark. RAF. Royal Air Force. Was that his service number?
Pete Clark, RAF.
I have fallen madly, deeply, irreparably in love with a British flyboy, and he loves me, too.
Was this him? Whether he was or not, Dot had no choice but to trust this message and find him somehow. If she had to swim across the Atlantic to save her sister, she’d do it.
She should speak with Gerald. She should show him the telegram, tell him what she needed. He was smart, he was trustworthy, and he wasingenious when it came to figuring out next steps. He would know all the direct contact names and numbers.
He was also loyal to the war effort above all else. To defeating the enemy. To Operation Fortitude and to Camp X. As he should be. Dash could never be Gerald’s priority. Realistically, Dot’s sister should not beanyone’spriority right now. Despite her rank as a Wren, Dash was now an ATA pilot, which meant she was considered a civilian. That put her very low on the scale. With everything else going on—Dot had never seen this place busier—no one had a free moment to search for a lost girl.
But there was another, more personal reason she did not tell Gerald about the telegram. She would never forget that Gerald had banned her from going to her father’s deathbed. She already knew he would not let her take time from her valuable military assignment to help her sister. She decided not to ask. She was on her own.
But that didn’t mean she couldn’t seek out help wherever possible.
“I hope it’s not bad news,” Frances said kindly, glancing up from her typewriter.
