In the darkness, the ten men stood together near the nose of the Upstairs Maid. She was factory-new. They had named her, and they had paid thirty dollars to a sergeant for the fine naked blond painted on her nose. She was the best B-24 bomber in the business, she was their plane, and they were proud of her. And each one of them had wondered, privately, whether someday she would fly them back to the States, or whether somewhere out there in the Pacific,...