High in the sky overhead black dots blossomed like death flowers blooming in the sky.
The bombers kept coming.
The anti-aircraft bursts moved into their path. Death reached up into the sky, plucking with taloned fingers for the black vultures racing with the wind. Reached and found their goal. One plane mushroomed outward in a burst of smoke.
Craig knew it was a direct hit, apparently in the bomb bay, exploding the bombs carried there. Fragments of the plane hung in the sky, falling slowly downward.
Up above the anti-aircraft, midges were dancing in the sun—fighter planes. They dived downward.
Abruptly a bomber fell out of formation, tried to right itself, failed. A wing came off. Crazily the bomber began spinning.
Black smoke gouted from a third ship. It began losing altitude rapidly.
The others continued on their course.
Michaelson suddenly appeared on the bridge.
How he got there, Craig did not know, but he was there, jumping around and waving his notebook in the air. Michaelson was shouting at the top of his voice.