Taken

Chapter One THE SKIES OVER GERMANY, 1945 Captain Russell Keys peered out into the expansive blue, his hands on the wheel of the B-17 that shook and rattled around him, bearing its heavy load of ordnance. To his left and right, he could see other planes, a squadron of Flying Fortresses in box formation, his own plane distinguished from the others only by the red devilpainted on its nose, along with the words "Where Angels Fear to Tread." "Navigator," Russell said crisply, "how's our time?" "We've regained the two minutes, sir," the navigator answered. "Good work." Russell glanced at his copilot, Lieutenant Lou Johnson. "Welcome to Germany, Johnson," he said. Johnson patted the Rita Hayworth pinup he'd taped to the metal frame of the otherwise unadorned cockpit."You hear that, honey?" he said with a broad smile. "We're in Germany." Russell looked at the altimeter, then lowered the nose and began his descent to ten thousand feet. "There it is," he said after a moment, his gaze now fixed on a large factory thousands of feet below. "Pilot to bombardier, the plane is yours." The bomb-bay doors opened and the bombardier began his count. "Five.'' "Four.'' "Three.'' "Two.'' "One.'' The plane grew eerily light as the heavy bombs filled the empty air beneath it, falling to the ground, where Russell could see them exploding in silent flashes far below. Johnson let out a loud whoop, but Russell paid no attention. His focus was on the war-torn earth, swept with flame and smoke. "Load delivered," he said quietly when the last of the bombs had fallen. "Let's go home." He nosed the plane upward into what seemed a perfect, tranquil sky, so different from the ravaged earth, the wars of man. Up here it was calm and quiet and serene, and if you closed your eyes you could almost make your-self believe that the earth's ancient conflicts and rivalries might one day come to an end. "Lights!" Russell recognized the voice of his top gunner. "What's that, Toland?" he asked. "Lights, sir. Blue ones." Russell looked at Johnson quizzically. "They're following the plane," Toland said. "They just flew up and started tailing us." Russell saw Johnson's face tighten. "Navigator," he said. "You see any lights?" "No, sir," the navigator responded immediately. Johnson released a quick sigh. "Wait," the navigator burst in suddenly. "Now I see them. Three. Four. Right in front of us. Not in range yet, but . . ." Russell felt a curious urge seize him. "Let's get a look at these lights." He banked the plane slowly and the lights swam into view outside the cockpit window, blue globes about six feet in diameter that hovered without motion. They appeared both dense and airy, heavy and at the same time weightless, and in this physical contradiction, Russell sensed that nothing he'd ever known or read about could explain them. Johnson's eyes widened in wonder. "What the hell are they?" "I don't know," Russell answered. His voice filled with awe. "But they're beautiful." For aCook, Thomas H. is the author of 'Taken', published 2002 under ISBN 9780440241263 and ISBN 044024126X.