As Sher’s spirit left for the stars, an Indian girl, who had just turned thirteen, lifted her head to the round window on the port side of the SS Werner Von Braun, a US ore ship named after the Nazi who invented the V-2 Rocket. As the current head of NASA, Von Braun had, just that summer, become a national US hero as the orchestrator of a rocket ship that shot men to the moon and back. Five men had already r***d the girl that evening, so her eyesight and mind were ragged, but she could have sworn, had she anyone to talk with, that she saw a spinning wheel in the charcoal sky across the bay on the shoreline. Pressing her cheek into the cool glass, she blinked repeatedly until her eyesight cleared and only the shoreline and sky existed where she’d just seen the bright wheel. The Indian girl
