Below, he thought he could see an airstrip. He checked his watch: 1820 hours. Plenty of time before dusk. In his mirror the other three planes on patrol with him were lined up in echelon, their twenty-five pound Cooper bombs in silhouette, two under each wing.
He dropped a couple of thousand feet. It was definitely an airstrip and he could make out bombers in their sandbagged parking bays, their black crosses clear through the netting that had been draped over them. He became angry, thinking of Lucy, wondering if these were the planes that had bombed the Australian CCS. Now he was lower he could see the flattened grass of the airstrip between the two lines of parking bays. It stood out as clearly as if it had been marked with paint. At the end of the strip he could see one of the bombers
