Bombardier Mike Arpaia yelled "Bombs away!" over the interphone, and followed it with a sigh of relief that came all the way from his fleece-lined boots. The Flying Fortress Mischief Maker was riding 20,000 feet over Reims airdrome and, even as Mike's bombs were thundering into the hangars and repair shops crammed with German planes, heavy gray clouds were closing in and blotting out the field.
A gap in the thick overcast had opened up just in time to let Arpaia do his act. Even that miracle would have been wasted except for...
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