Elizabeth took the letter from Nathan. Her fingers shook so hard that she nearly dropped it.
“He was flying back from France with a few younger pilots. Most Spitfire pilots only have a life expectancy of four weeks . . . Philip was trying to keep the newer lads alive.” He swallowed hard before continuing. “He radioed in that one of the lads went down into the water. He circled back to see if the boy made it out of his plane, but a German plane shot him down as well. His last radio communication said he was headed into the Channel.”
Elizabeth clenched the letter tight as she clung to those last few words.
“You haven’t confirmed that he’s . . . ?”
“No. Not yet. But he’d be lucky to survive a crash, even on the water. I should know. It’s how I wound up with a limp. I went down just off th
