The roar of the engines filled Tom's ears as he guided the bomber through the dark night sky. This was it, his final mission. After tonight, he'd never have to fly over enemy territory again.
Photo by Terence Burke on Unsplash
Tom gripped the control wheel, squinting through the glass to see the target in the distance. The munitions factory glowed orange against the black landscape, smoke belching from its chimneys. It was the last major supplier for the enemy's forces. If they could take it out, the tide of war would finally turn in their favor.
"Stay sharp, boys," Tom said into his radio. "We're approaching the drop zone."
His crew chimed in their acknowledgements as they neared the pivotal moment. Years of training had led up to this night. Every bombing run was dangerous, but this one even more so. The anti-aircraft weapons guarding the factory were relentless. They had to fly in fast and low to have any chance of surviving.
Tom wiped his sweaty palms on his flight suit. Next to him, his co-pilot Mark scanned the skies vigilantly. The empty bomb bay lurked below their feet, waiting to release its explosive payload.
"Ready for your signal, Captain," came the voice of Kelly, the bombardier.
Tom steadied the bomber into position. "On my mark..." He tracked the distant factory, planting his fingers on the trigger. "Now!"
He fired, releasing the bombs into the night. Within seconds, bursts of flame erupted around the target as they found their marks. The explosions rattled the plane, turbulence shaking the wings.
"Direct hit!" Kelly confirmed.
Tom banked away, relief washing over him. They'd done it. The munitions plant was destroyed.
But as quick as the triumph came, alarm pierced through. A blast rocked the bomber's tail, the plane lurching violently to the side. Dark smoke trailed behind them.
"We're hit!" Mark yelled, wrestling to keep control. The bomber was still flyable, but they had to get out of range. Tom pointed them toward home, pushing the engines as hard as they could go.
The skies lit up around them as a web of anti-aircraft fire converged. Tom weaved and ducked, trying to lose their pursuers. The bomber's frame shuddered under the barrage.
With a loud snap, part of the left wing sheared away, spiraling into the darkness. The plane tipped precariously to the side, sending loose items flying. Tom's heart hammered against his ribs.
"We're going down!"
He scanned the control panel desperately, but there was no way to steady their descent. The ground spun closer as they plunged from the sky. His eyes locked with Mark's, stark terror in both their faces.
This was it. After dozens of successful missions, their luck had finally run out.
"Brace for impact!" Tom yelled.
The bomber smashed into the ground, skidding through trees and dirt. The terrible screech of metal filled the air until everything went silent.
Ears ringing, Tom blinked through a daze. He inhaled acrid smoke, squinting through fractured glass. Mark lay motionless in his co-pilot's chair. Behind them, the plane's tail was a twisted wreck.
Tom's body screamed in pain, but he knew they had only seconds to escape before the wreckage caught fire. With desperate effort, he pulled himself from his chair and shook Mark's shoulder.
"Mark! Mark, wake up!"
When Mark didn't respond, Tom scrambled from the cockpit, stumbling through the radio room toward the nearest exit. He had to get to the others, had to get them out...
He turned the corner and froze. Kelly stared back at him with blank eyes, pinned beneath a collapsed beam. Blood pooled on the floor below him. Swallowing back grief, Tom pushed on. Two more crewmen lay dead ahead, thrown from their seats on impact. Tom was the lone survivor.
With trembling hands, he released the emergency exit, dropping weakly to the ground. Every labored breath reminded him of his own broken ribs. He knew he had to put distance between himself and the bomber before enemy troops arrived.
Fighting through agonizing pain, Tom limped away from the burning wreckage. He made it twenty yards before his legs gave out, no longer able to support him. He collapsed on the dark, dusty earth.
This was it. After dozens of successful missions, after helping turn the tide of war, he would die alone in enemy territory. He thought of his sweetheart Emma back home. The engagement ring he carried with him, waiting for his return. The life and love they had dreamed of sharing after the war finally ended.
Tears streamed down Tom's dirt-smudged face. He wouldn't get to grow old with Emma after all. His crew was gone. There would be no rescue this far behind enemy lines. The only hope left was that his sacrifice had helped bring peace. That others would make it home, even if he did not.
His weeping gave way to a fit of coughing. Each breath grew harder than the last. As his vision dimmed, he clutched the ring in his pocket one last time. Slowly, beneath a canopy of foreign stars, Tom's gaze went still. His hand slipped down to the ground, limp fingers releasing the ring. It lay glinting in the dust beside him.
The last flight was over.
