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'The Americans have a new bomber. The Flying Fortress. We will soon fight it when they attack our cities...'

Otto was posted back to France after a year.
His Russian escapade was over.
In that time he became a man.
A cold blooded aerial killer.
His affair with Ace was history.
She was in a grave.
Shy was his lady.
He only had eyes for her.
Just like his love.

There was little time for romance.
Allied bombers attacked.
Ferocious battles where death ruled.
Otto led his squadron to stop them.
They had to be victorious.
He had to beat win.
All would be lost if they failed.
It was a contest.
Like his earlier one in love.

Blue sky formed a balance.
Cold blooded and utterly merciless.
Otto killed without thinking.
Almost a robot.
This was different from Russia.
They never had flying battleships,
each with a dozen lethal guns.

The mission tempo was great.
Three times a day they rose to fight.
One time Otto got two B-17s and a B-24.
Then his luck ran out again.
Another war wound.
A 50 cal slug in his thigh.
He almost bled to death.
His cockpit was red with blood.
A hundred stitches saved his leg.

Finally, time with his lady, Shy, again.
My love, I thought you were lost.
You're hurt.
I'll care for my injured pilot.
My love will heal you.
Nobody will ever hurt you again.
I won't let them.
I'll soothe away your pain.

Otto was grounded.
He yearned to fly.
And endured love.
Unending and unconditional.
Slowly he healed.
Shy watched him like a hawk.
Otto belonged to her.

They reminisced about their past.	
Happy times then and now.
Three months to kill.
Kissing, making love, talking, dreaming.
They wanted to get married.
But knew it was impossible.
Shy was part Jewish...

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