"Easy Tare three-five-seven, do you read me?"
     I jolted awake at the sound of a radio call and held the S-phone out hopefully, trying to figure out if I had only imagined it. The grandfather clock in the corner said three o'clock in the afternoon.
     "Easy Tare three-five-seven?" A New York accent.
     Giddy with excitement, I held down the button and answered, "This is Peter Fox 280. I hear you loud and clear."
"Herr Ziegler!" I exclaimed, running to the door and calling down the steps to wherever he was, "I hear them!"
The man on the other end of the radio said, "Peter Fox, I'm with the Air Force 109th Division here to pick you up. Charlie Fox sent me."
I smiled. That was Benjamin.
"Thank you. What is your position?"
"Turning downwind to runway two-four. Is the runway clear?"
     "Affirmative, soldier, I'll be out there in a minute," I answered, hearing the whir of the engine above the mansion, "What type of aircraft are you in?"
     "The P-51 Mustang, Ma'am."
     I raised my eyebrows in surprise and grinned. I knew that plane like the back of my hand, but the Women Air Force Service Pilots didn't have many chances to take them on missions like the men. The thought of flying in it again was exhilarating.
"I'll meet you out there," I said softly, standing to my feet and holding the giant S-phone in my hands, the canvas strap pulling around my neck as I hurried down the stairs.
Setting the machine on the table and picking up my bag from the shelf by the door, I noticed Herr Ziegler's shoes by the door, so he obviously hadn't gone outside to see the runway.
As reluctant as I was to awaken the older man from a nap, I didn't want to leave without letting him know.
"Herr Ziegler," I called, "I'm on my way out the door. Thank you so much for your hospitality. "
I began making my way down the long hallway towards the bedrooms, but something in the kitchen caught my eye, and I did a double take.
He was dead. Lying on the floor, blood spilled all over his expensive kitchen, Herr Ziegler's limp body reached for three gruesome stab wounds in his abdomen. I screamed.
     Stumbling back from the horrible scene, I searched for the murderer and fumbled for the gun in my bag, breathing hard.
     Outside, I could hear the P-51 Mustang screaming down the runway. I'd just inadvertently led that pilot into a trap...one that had already killed Herr Ziegler.
     Trembling in fear and clutching my revolver, I ran out the back door towards the runway when a gunshot rang out. I ducked and dropped the bag with all of my belongings.
Memories of being shot down in my plane flooded my thoughts, and I felt as though I was back over the French countryside, other women in my detachment screaming over the radios, blood splattered across my window as I was thrown around the cockpit. It was a massacre, and I was lucky to have escaped with my life. I can't do this again.
     The man who had shot at me was wearing a white shirt with suspenders, a Nazi badge on his hat.
     A hired spy-hunter, I imagined, but the fact that he seemed to have targeted Herr Ziegler and left before even investigating upstairs made me wonder if he even knew that he had just stumbled upon the Duchess of the Allies.
     The American man had opened the roof of the plane at the end of the runway, preparing to get out and help me.
     "Stay!" I screamed to him, attempting to shoot at the attacker, "Get the plane ready for me!"
     I couldn't leave the S-phone transceiver in the house for the Nazis to take; they would have access to every Allied transmission that tried to contact them.
     Running back into the mansion, I picked up the S-phone and smashed it against the staircase, tears streaming down my face at the sight of Herr Ziegler's vacant eyes staring right at me.
     The spy-hunter burst into the room, guns blazing, and I dove for cover in the kitchen. My knees slid along the blood soaked tile and I reached desperately for one of the knives in the drawers. The pilot outside probably thought I had gone insane.
     A bullet splintered into the wall inches from my head as he chased me through the house, eyes alight with the thought of being the man who caught the American spy.
     I felt a bullet graze my neck and shatter the mirror behind me, and I shot blindly towards the attacker with blood in my eyes.
     He fell back, hit in the stomach, and I seized the opportunity to make my way towards the back door.
     Stumbling out the door, I grabbed Herr Ziegler's emergency bag with his false identification papers, pictures of loved ones, codes and runway information, and whatever else he knew would help him if he needed to make a quick getaway.
     A little late for that, I thought miserably. I sprinted towards the plane with bags in both hands. On the side of the plane, the name Geraldine was painted in yellow and white letters, as though it was a carnival ride.
     "Come on, Mrs. Tallmadge," the American soldier cried, helping me stand on the wing and jump into the tiny backseat.
     Pulling up my skirt so I could move around better, I took his hand and carefully slid into the leather seat directly behind his, my flight control panel between us.
     He began to turn around in his seat to help me, but I cried, "Just go! Get us off the ground. I'm fine."
     I reached for my headset so we could talk to each other over the roar of the engine, and buckled into my seat as we began picking up speed on the runway.
     Blood poured from my neck and it felt like I'd broken the stitches in my side again, but all I could think about was Herr Ziegler. He had died, and I had not. I felt responsible.
     I watched the control panel in front of me with my head back, trying desperately not to go unconscious.
     Once we were climbing comfortably in the air, the pilot turned back to look at me and said, "I'm Captain Charles Davis. What just happened?"
     "Spy-hunter," I panted, "I'm sorry; I put you in danger without knowing it."
     He grabbed something from below his seat and passed it back to me, guiding the plane with the control stick.
     It was a nice leather jacket with the American flag stitched on the side, the name Tallmadge on the breast. It was Benjamin's.
     "He said to bring it in case you didn't believe that I was sent by the OSS but, given the circumstances, you cooperated quite well, Ma'am. Use this to stop your neck from bleeding."
     I smiled a little at what Ben would say if I returned his jacket covered in blood. "Oh, come on, Lou!" he'd cry, "That was expensive." We would both know that he hadn't paid a dime for it, and the OSS would give him another within a few days.
     Trying to calm my adrenaline and shock, I took big, gasping breaths. I was sweating profusely, but my teeth were chattering.
"Ma'am," Captain Davis said over the headsets, "We are going to be picking up tremendous speed over the next few minutes. If you feel the need to faint, make sure your head is secured so you won't hit the window."
I laughed a little at his anxiety over having a woman in the plane. "I think I'll be quite alright," I said weakly, "I'm a Mustang pilot as well, Captain."
He looked back at me incredulously and exclaimed, "You can fly?"
     Pressing the sleeve of Benjamin's jacket to my neck and holding the broken stitches in my side with my other hand, I nodded slightly.
"That's impressive. Are you doing alright, Ma'am?"
"Don't worry about me," I managed over the roaring din of the Rolls Royce engine, "Just get us out of Germany."
In truth, I was pretty sure I was going into shock and that, if we reached 437 miles per hour, the pressure and forces would cause me to lose consciousness.
"Is the Resistance member who owned the runway we just came from okay?" he asked softly, "I usually hear him over the radio."
Tears came to my eyes at the thought of Herr Ziegler's body lying there on the floor. I could have saved him, if I hadn't been so focused on myself.
"He's dead."
     "I'm sorry. It's my fault, isn't it?" he said melancholically, "That Nazi wouldn't have come if he hadn't seen my plane. I'm so sorry, Mrs. Tallmadge."
     I tried to answer but a wave of nausea overtook me, and I gasped for breath as pain shot through my body. More blood spilled from the wound on my neck, and I began to think that I'd bleed to death before we even reached England.
"Ma'am?" he stammered when he turned back to find me even more covered in blood than before, "You need to get to a hospital. I'm going to take us-"
"No," I shouted, taking my control stick and undoing the turn and descent he was beginning to make. "I'm fine. You're not landing in enemy territory, Captain; I won't allow it."
He turned to look at me incredulously.
"Mrs. Tallmadge, you will die if you don't get medical help. I'll just bring her down and then-"
"And then what?" I countered, my hands trembling uncontrollably as I pressed the leather jacket to my throat, "The Nazis don't have very good hospitals in their extermination camps, sir. Just keep going. Please, I demand it."
Captain Davis groaned. "Are you like this with your husband as well?"
I couldn't help but smile a little, answering, "I suppose. Does it bother you, sir?"
"I'm not used to ladies taking the controls from me, Ma'am. But then again," he added, "you are technically my copilot, so I guess you have a right. Major General Tallmadge is going to kill me."
     I took a deep breath and adjusted my seat straps, slouching down and trying to manage the pain all over. "He won't kill you; he'd tell you to do whatever I said. And I'm saying to keep our heading and forget that I am even back here, Captain."
     He sighed but listened to me, staying quiet but checking on me nervously every few minutes. I was miserable, and in more pain than I had ever been in now that my adrenaline had worn off, but I kept silent.
Just as we began to reach the edge of Germany, a loud rumble could be heard behind us, and I turned around to find a Nazi fighter following closely.
     "Captain," I said tightly, "you've got a Messerschmitt 109 on your six."
He cursed under his breath and flipped a switch on his control panel, causing a small whirring sound beneath us. He was firing up the guns.
"Do you have a plan?" I asked as we accelerated, the other plane tailing closer and closer.
"Not really, Ma'am," he admitted tersely, "I have never done anything like this before. Mine was more of a transport and administration job."
Wonderful, I thought to myself, we're both going to die.
"Do you know the inverted vertical reverse maneuver, Captain?" I asked, holding my side in pain as he tried to shake the German with a sharp right turn.
He looked back at me in panicked surprise. "We can't do that, Ma'am. I've heard of it, of course, but I don't know how."
"I do. If you control the weapons, I'll take the control stick and rudder pedals."
I wasn't quite sure if I could handle the maneuver in my condition, but this highly ranked officer wasn't much help in the heat of a dogfight. Benjamin would absolutely die if he knew what I was about to try.
"Alright," he relented, "Oxygen masks. Then it's your airplane, Ma'am."
I strapped the clunky mask onto my face and took the control stick on the seat between my legs.
All around us, the German's missiles flew past the window. I was desperate to get out of his range and in front of him.
Taking a deep breath and muttering a small prayer, I pulled the control stick into my gut as far as and quickly as I could. Captain Davis and I were pressed back into our seats violently as we climbed rapidly, and I cried out in agony as blood splattered on the window to my right from my neck. The plane stalled, and the Captain hit his head on the glass above us.
I pushed down on the rudder pedals with both feet. We were now facing the earth below us, my loose hair hanging down all around me. The propeller itself forced the plane to make an almost complete 180 degree turn.
We were free falling for about two thousand feet with our airspeed practically nonexistent, before I pushed the control stick forward again, neutralizing the maneuver.
Captain Davis looked back at me in astonishment as we found ourselves behind the attacker and at a much lower altitude. We had disappeared from the German's line of sight.
"Shoot!" I screamed over the headset barely hanging on my head, trembling uncontrollably from G-forces and absolute terror, "It's your airplane now. Just shoot him and get out of here!"
He pressed us forward in pursuit and shot continuously at the fighter in front of us, and smoke began to stream from the tail. The Messerschmitt was falling to the earth, and I watched as the pilot bailed out of the flaming plane.
"Let's get out of here," the Captain muttered, turning back towards our heading and removing his oxygen mask. I did the same, and leaned over the edge of my seat to throw up up. The pressure change from the drop was too much for my body, apparently.
When we were certain the danger had gone and the Pyrenees mountains could be seen in the distance, Davis Charles turned to me with raised eyebrows.
"I've never seen anything like that in my life, Ma'am. I'm impressed."
"Thank you," I said weakly, putting a hand to my stomach as if in a daze, "I think I'm bleeding."
"I know, Mrs. Tallmadge."