“Look, Rosa!” Norma exclaimed. “Aren’t they wonderful! Like a flock of beautiful white pigeons!”
There was no need to say “Look” to the little Italian WAC. As if in a hypnotic trance, she stood with eyes glued on the flight of planes.
“See how they circle!” Norma herself was entranced. “This is like war. This is how they will come sweeping in after escorting a bomber squadron in Africa, or China, or who knows where. That’s the way they’ll look when we watch them beyond the seas.”
“Yes, this is war,” was all that Rosa said, as one by one the fighting planes taxied across the field into position.
Like a troop of boys the fliers came walking across the field.
“Bill is in flight training right now,” Norma said, all excited. “If only he were in that group!”
“Who’s Bill?” Rosa’s eyes left the planes for an instant.
“Oh, he’s just Bill.” Norma laughed. “But he’s not here.”
Always interested in any person in uniform, Norma moved closer to the joking, laughing group.
“How young they seem!” she said, half aloud. It shocked her to think that some day, perhaps not too far away, from the blue sky, shot out of his plane, Bill would come hurtling down, tumbling over and over like a stick thrown into the air crashing at last to earth.