“Look!” he exclaimed in a voice tense with emotion. “The Tomahawk is going after that plane from behind! He—
“Nope.” He let loose a low hiss of disgust.
“He’s gone into a power dive.”
It was true. All the planes had been high, perhaps up 15,000 feet. Now the Messerschmitt slipped into a dive that took it half the distance to earth. The American boy was ready to dodge and run for it when just as suddenly as it had gone into the dive the Nazi plane came out of it to level off just above the farm home.
“Look!” Brand gripped his companion’s arm hard. “He’s dropped a bomb!”
Terror stricken, fascinated, white-hot with anger, the English boy watched a silver spot against the dark blue sky go down—down—down.
And on the hillside, far above her home, tall, slender, beautiful twenty-year old Cherry Ramsey, with the color gone from her cheeks, also watched the terrifying missile speed from the sky.
“Where will it strike?” Her alert mind registered the question her lips did not speak, while her eyes took in the house, the barn, the out-buildings, the orchard—every spot dear to her childhood.
And then the silence of the countryside was torn by a sudden burst of sound that made the very hills tremble.
For one full moment while the trio on the hillside kept their places, breathless, expectant, a cloud of dust and smoke obscured the view.