“So where are we going?” Marcia asked as they got into the truck. “We’ve been invited to Carrie’s tonight,” he answered as he started the ...ruck. “We’re supposed to watch a couple of movies, and she’s ordering some pizza.” His hand strayed across the space separating them in the truck and he gripped her thigh with a friendly squeeze. As usual, his hand strayed north and this time she didn’t slap his hand away as he began to play. The traffic was light and it took no time at all to get to. He began a slow hobble, all the while keeping alert for any sounds of an approaching patrol. He couldn’t see any sign of his downed plane and hadn’t seen any other parachutes during his landing, but that didn’t mean he was safe. This was 1942 and he was a downed Canadian airman in occupied France. Until he was back across the English Channel, nowhere was safe from enemy patrols. After what seemed an eternity, he reached the trees and collapsed into some thick brambles. His ankle throbbed and. More

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