Chapter EightMoonlight enveloped Gerard, and air whistled past his ears as he drifted toward the earth, his parachute ghostly against the night sky. They’d had two days in England to prepare for their drop into France. London was fatigued and dust filled from the Blitz and twelve months of air raids, but the British citizens carried on, proving their resilience to Hitler and his forces.
Gerard searched among the stars for the white expanse of Emily’s chute. Fluttering movement to his left, and he twisted his neck to look. Slightly above him and several hundred yards away, she hung among the risers of her rig. Please give her a soft landing, God. Gripping his own risers, he lowered his chin then tucked in his elbows. Would the Creator of the universe listen to him? He hadn’t prayed in mont
