from out of nowhere . . .



Flying Blind


June 15, 1944 0200 hrs


In the half-light, made all the more sinister by the rain-heavy approach of storm clouds across the face of a moon not long for this night, and without even a glance at his watch, he knew it was just the perfect moment in an all-too-perfect plan. Unconsciously shifting the weight of the package to ease what Fate had burdened him with, he stared out beyond the open maw of the hanger doors, toward all that remained of the final solution no one else had the guts or conviction to accomplish. Second thoughts had no place on a stage set by a world gone mad, and only the sane ever knew from which direction victory would finally show its elusive face, and it was ours.

Easing out from beneath a fuel-soaked shroud of canvas, where he had waited with the patience of stones for hours, he moved with long-practiced stealth from the cavernous hanger, toward the phalanx of planes sitting in the darkness out on the tarmac, like some ghostly flock of birds waiting for the promise of sunrise. After surveying the seemingly endless ranks of aircraft, he finally spotted the one that mattered most by the tail number now scorched into his memory, and smiled, knowing that this particular bird was never going to kiss the sky again.

Just as the last fleck of moonlight faded from the night, and armed with a righteous intent that would surely re-write the pages of an unknown future, he hefted the package over his shoulder, and headed for the back of the plane, while quietly humming the last refrain from the national anthem, and thinking, there, but for the grace God . . .





created for a freelance writing/editing assignment on oDesk in August of 2011 . . . as an intro for a biography/screenplay for some long-forgotten client,  which failed to make the short-list . . .





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