The Sky Above Us Read online

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Praise for The Sea Before Us

  Books by Sarah Sundin

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Special Order of the Day

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  Excerpt of the Next Story

  Note from the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Discussion Questions

  About the Author

  Back Ads

  Back Cover

  List of Pages

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  Praise for The Sea Before Us

  Sunrise at Normandy #1

  “Sundin displays her usual knack for weaving historical detail into a rousing war drama in this enjoyable launch of the Sunrise at Normandy series. Sundin’s lively book combines heart-pounding war action with inspirational romance to great effect.”

  Publishers Weekly

  “The author of When Tides Turn kicks off a new wartime series, mixing her usual excellent historical research with fast-paced, breathtaking suspense.”

  Library Journal

  “With a commanding grasp of naval history, Sundin spotlights women in the war effort and immerses readers in the ups and downs of naval missions and military exercises as she leads up to a riveting climax in the waters off Omaha Beach.”

  Booklist

  “The Sea Before Us is another deftly crafted gem of a novel by Sarah Sundin and showcases her genuine flair for creating a simply riveting and entertaining read from beginning to end.”

  Midwest Book Reviews

  “Sundin’s research is fantastic and her historical research is second to none.”

  RT Book Reviews

  “With a pitch-perfect balance between history and the fine-tuned elements of story, The Sea Before Us stands out as superior in WWII fiction. Faith anchors the narrative with realism and sensitivity, while Sundin’s meticulous attention to historical research around the massive D-day invasion shines to the level of a master storyteller. It’s at once engaging, emotional, and a strong series debut. I couldn’t put it down—and when it came to the last page, I didn’t want to.”

  Kristy Cambron, bestselling author of The Lost Castle and the Hidden Masterpiece series

  “Once again Sarah Sundin delivers a powerful World War II story in The Sea Before Us. History comes to life through Sundin’s characters, who cope with the trials and dangers not only on the fields of combat but also in their personal lives. This great combination of dramatic history and likeable characters will keep you turning pages to find out what happens next.”

  Ann H. Gabhart, author of These Healing Hills

  Books by Sarah Sundin

  SUNRISE AT NORMANDY SERIES

  The Sea Before Us

  The Sky Above Us

  WINGS OF GLORY SERIES

  A Distant Melody

  A Memory Between Us

  Blue Skies Tomorrow

  WINGS OF THE NIGHTINGALE SERIES

  With Every Letter

  On Distant Shores

  In Perfect Time

  WAVES OF FREEDOM SERIES

  Through Waters Deep

  Anchor in the Storm

  When Tides Turn

  © 2019 by Sarah Sundin

  Published by Revell

  a division of Baker Publishing Group

  PO Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287

  www.revellbooks.com

  Ebook edition created 2019

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.

  ISBN 978-1-4934-1658-5

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Contents

  Cover

  Praise for The Sea Before Us

  Books by Sarah Sundin

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Special Order of the Day

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  41

  42

  43

  44

  45

  46

  47

  48

  49

  50

  Excerpt of the Next Story

  Note from the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Discussion Questions

  About the Author

  Back Ads

  Back Cover

  1

  Off San Francisco Bay, California

  Saturday, October 2, 1943

  Wars weren’t won with caution, and aces weren’t made in straight and level flight.

  Lt. Adler Paxton tipped his P-39 Airacobra to the right and peeled away from the poky formation.

  “Paxton? Where’re you going? We’re not in position.”

  Adler ignored Lt. Stan Mulroney’s voice in his headphones and thrust the stick forward.

  Five hundred feet below, Lt. Luis Camacho’s flight of four P-39s grazed the top of the fog bank moseying toward the Golden Gate Bridge. By the time Mulroney found a position he liked, Cam would spot him and dive away into the fog.

  Adler wouldn’t wait that long. He lined up his tail with the afternoon sun, the engine thrumming in its strange position behind his seat. Most of the pilots in the 357th Fighter Group didn’t like the Airacobra, but Adler had taken to it. They had an understanding.

  The fighter plane screeched down to its prey at one o’clock below. Adler pulled out of his dive and aimed his nose just forward of Cam’s nose. If he’d had any bullets, Cam would’ve flown right into them. Maybe the wreckage of his plane would’ve hurtled out of control and taken out another Airacobra or two like bowling pins. A pilot could dream.

  He spoke into the radio. “Howdy, Cammie. Got you. Perfect deflection shot.”

  “What?” The wings waggled below. “Paxton? Where’d you come from?”

  “Out of the sun and into your nightmares.” Mama would scold him for cockiness, but it was part of the game. Besides, he’d never see Mama again.

  He tightened his chest muscles against th
e pain, then sent Cam a salute and wheeled away.

  Good-natured curses peppered the radio waves, but Camacho would pull the same move on Adler, given half a chance.

  Alone again in the sky, Adler got his bearings and headed for base. The twin orange towers of the Golden Gate Bridge tempted him as always.

  He’d beaten the fog, and the air and waters were calm for once, so he succumbed.

  “Come on, darlin’. This may be our last time.” In a few days the 357th was transferring to bases in the Midwest, and soon they’d head overseas. Into combat. Finally Adler could do some good.

  He eased the plane into a shallow turning dive, aiming for the center of the bridge between the towers.

  Down he went to seventy-five feet, his prop wash whitening the wave tops. Plenty of clearance, but the folks on the bridge wouldn’t know that. He shot a glance to the pedestrians pointing and gawking, and he chuckled. Folks needed entertainment with the war on.

  The girders rushed by over his clear canopy. He whooped, pulled back the stick, swung over Alcatraz, and did a neat roll over Treasure Island and the Bay Bridge.

  Nice day for flying. Strange thing about the San Francisco Bay—autumn was warmer and clearer than summer.

  Even though Adler had spent the better part of two years in California, he still hadn’t gotten used to the hills in summer, toasted to tan. Not like the green of the Texas Hill Country.

  A cheek muscle twitched. Nothing there for him anymore anyway.

  Adler contacted the control tower at the Hayward Army Airfield and made a smooth landing. After he and the crew chief finished the postflight check, Adler pulled off his flight helmet and life vest, slung his parachute pack over his shoulder, and strolled toward the equipment shed.

  Major Morty Shapiro, the squadron commander, ambled toward him, tall and lean and angular. “Good flight? Heard you bounced Cam.”

  “Sure as shooting.”

  “Mulroney’s not happy with you.”

  “Neither’s Camacho.” Adler sent him half a smile.

  Shapiro didn’t send even a quarter back.

  “All right.” Adler dipped his head to the side. “But I saw an opportunity and took it. Got in a great deflection shot.”

  “Your specialty.” Shapiro’s eyes narrowed. “Pull a muscle?”

  “Hmm?”

  Shapiro pointed to Adler’s chest.

  He paused, his right hand caressing his left breast pocket as if he’d indeed pulled a muscle. Yes, the scrap remained pinned inside, the fabric that had torn from his fiancée’s dress when she’d fallen to her death.

  Adler rolled his left shoulder. “Reckon I shouldn’t have done those extra forty push-ups in calisthenics this morning.”

  Shapiro glanced behind him toward two men in dress uniform crossing the field. “There he is. Paxton, I want you to meet our newest pilot.”

  “Want me to show him the ropes?”

  Shapiro’s gaze slid back to Adler. “Actually, he’s an ace. Nick Westin. He flew a tour in the Pacific.”

  The competition, then. Adler studied the two men. Westin was a big man, his chin high, a swagger to his step, a plume of cigarette smoke trailing behind him.

  Adler had no intention of coming in second again, not that being first would be easy with all the hotshot pilots in the 357th. “Who’s the other fellow?”

  “New staff officer. Fenelli’s the name.”

  Little guy, clipped step, soft about the face. The squadron needed pencil pushers to keep the planes in the air, and Adler would greet him as warmly as the ace.

  “Capt. Nick Westin, I’d like you to meet Lt. Adler Paxton.”

  The little guy stuck out his hand.