by Garry Ryan
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978-1-927063-50-7 | 2014 May | 232 Pages
ABOUT THIS BOOK
The fires of the Second World War are beginning to burn down, but legendary Canadian aviatrix Sharon Lacey is not out of danger just yet. Complications enter the young ace’s life as deep-seated racial and class prejudice, potential fifth columnists and even her own killer code of honour threaten her hard-fought reputation, while a new and wonderful secret might just prove to be her undoing.
Meanwhile, across the Channel in Fortress Europe, new weapons have started rolling off Nazi production lines, and the characteristic buzz of the deadly V-1 flying bomb fills the air.
In the second act of his Calgary Herald-bestselling Blackbirds trilogy, Garry Ryan pits his intrepid heroine against an array of deadly new foes and challenges, proving that in war the enemy may wear the same uniform as your own.
Tuesday, June 13, 1944
”There!” Sharon pointed south and east. The aircraft was grey, flying at a bit over two thousand feet.
“It’s fast.” Edgar looked over his shoulder toward London.
“Sounds like someone with the green apple quick step shitting into a forty-five-gallon drum,” Ernie said.
“It’s got an odd silhouette. It looks like the engine is mounted near the tail.” Sharon shaded her blue eyes with her right hand.
“It looks awfully small for an airplane,” Ernie said.
“It must be some kind of jet propulsion engine,” Edgar said.
Ernie nodded. “I’ve heard of that. Never seen one, though.”
They walked around the other side of the hangar to keep their eyes on the aircraft. Sharon stood in between Edgar and Ernie. She was shorter than either of the men, but their posture revealed that they deferred to her.
The aircraft’s engine stopped and it nosed down.
“Get down!” Edgar grabbed them both, pushed them to the ground, then covered their bodies with his.
“What in Christ’s name are you doing?” Ernie huffed.
The answer was an explosion. The ground heaved. There was a whistling sound. When they got up and brushed themselves off, there was a piece of shrapnel the size of a dinner plate stuck in the hangar wall. It sizzled in the wood about four feet from ground level.
Ernie looked at the ragged chunk of metal, then at Edgar. “How did you know?”
Edgar shrugged. “It was coming from the direction of France, headed toward London, and it wasn’t one of ours. A reasonable conclusion.”
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