Frank collapsed on his cot across from where Walt lay.“Isn’t she? How was your landing?” Walt tossed a baseball up and caught it right over his bare chest.“As you said. Bounced all over the place. Don’t know why the B-17 doesn’t have the tricycle landing gear we trained on in Albuquerque. It’ll take time to learn.”“Got to keep the approach straight.”“Yeah.” Frank sat up and unbuttoned his khaki shirt. “Mail came?”“Yep. Sorry, nothing for you today.”“Get anything interesting?”Walt groaned, long and low. “Letter from George. Had a great wedding trip, loves married life, getting his materials ready to teach history at Antioch High.” He tossed the baseball up.Frank intercepted it. “Why the groan?”Walt sat up and ran his hand through his hair, damp from the desert heat. “His girlfriend—I mean, his wife—added a note about Allie.”“Yeah?”Walt glanced around the smoky barracks, glad no men were in earshot. “Dorothy blabbed. Betty’s mad at Allie, says she’ll never speak to her again.”Frank threw the ball across to Walt.
