Night bombing. That's the way it should be, Anderson found himself thinking. He always felt so exposed flying over enemy territory in broad daylight. Of course, this was probably only a one-time opportunity. Apparently the brass was sick of keeping the Americans grounded because of fog during the day. The nights had been clear, so off they went.

Anderson did a last minute check over his plane. Dinah had a few patches here and there, but other than that, she was beautiful. Anderson was proud to be her pilot. If only she had a different purpose.

What? Back to that again?! Anderson growled at himself. Earlier that morning he had found himself questioning what he was doing, bombing innocent civilians. It took him all afternoon to remind himself that the Germans were the enemies! They did the same thing to poor innocent British civilians. Besides, he wasn't going out to bomb a city tonight. No, his objective was a train station in Dusseldorf- used to transport munitions and troops. A perfect military target.

"Ten minutes before take off, Captain," Private Jenkins announced, coming up behind his commander. Anderson nearly jumped out of his skin. He grabbed hold of himself and whirled around to face his subordinate.

"Thanks, Hank. Where's everyone else?"

"Still in the rec hall, sir. Listening to the radio."

Anderson felt his cheeks burn. "It'd better be the BB F'ing C!" Marching past Jenkins, Anderson made his way to the rec hall and burst through the door. Just as he thought… Berlin Betty, with Corporal Dawson at the radio. "ATTENTION!" Every man in the room snapped to attention and saluted. Anderson's eyes rested on Dawson, narrowing dangerously. When he spoke, his voice seethed with fury. "Can anyone explain to me why, with only ten minutes to take off, you're all in here, listening to that Nazi on the radio?"

The men squirmed and suddenly found their army-issue boots terribly interesting. Dawson, unable to escape Anderson's murderous glare, cleared his throat. "We… we were just trying to unwind before we go out tonight…"

"Listen to me, and listen carefully Corporal- unless you want to loose a stripe and be on KP for the rest of your career, I suggest you turn that damned radio off and get to your plane. The same goes for the rest of you. Move out!" The men shuffled their feet, but didn't readily obey. Anderson stomped over to the radio, his hand stretched towards the knob and… stopped. For some stupid reason that he couldn't quite explain, he felt himself get sucked in. The alluring voice of Berlin Betty danced in his ears, forbidding him to turn off the radio. She was spewing the same old lines, the same old propaganda, but he found himself mesmerized. It wasn't until a loud whistle shrieked through the air that he was able to tear himself out of the daze. The radio died as he quickly flicked off the switch. Regaining his composure, he turned to his men. "Move out!" he repeated the line he had said only a minute ago. Funny, it had felt like so much longer.

His crew was waiting for him when he reached the plane. Dawson, his navigator, avoided eye contact. Anderson ignored him. Everyone else seemed ready, although a little disheartened. Maybe, as their commanding officer, he should give them an uplifting speech- inspire them a bit. But that would be hard, considering he didn't feel too enthusiastic himself. "All right boys, let's get this over with," was all he could manage. Good job Teddy, he berated himself, way to motivate them.

Anderson waited until the rest of his crew was aboard before pulling himself into the cockpit. The controls seemed foreign to him, but he managed to taxi the massive plane down the runway and pull it into the air.

No one made an attempt at conversation. Anderson focused on the hum of the engine. It was peaceful, soothing. It was a perfect night for flying. The full moon cast its silvery light on the waters of the England Channel below him and there wasn't a disagreeable air current to be found. It became apparent, as they approached Germany without one single shot from the ground, that this mission was going to be a milk run.

So what was with this nagging feeling he had?!

"This is ridiculous," Anderson growled, much louder than he intended. Dawson, who was beside him plotting out a course, gave him a strange look.

"What is sir?"

"Nothing," he muttered in reply. He noticed Dawson fidgeting in his seat. "Ants in your pants?"

"No sir," Dawson answered. "It's just that… well…"

"Spit it out."

"Well… permission to speak freely sir?"

"For the next ten minutes until we reach our target," Anderson replied warily. He had a horrible feeling he knew what the corporal was going to say.

"Sir, do you know what our target is?"

"Yes…"

"It's a train station. You know, it's not just used to transport military stuff. Civilians might use it too. I mean, there could be kids down there or little old ladies or-"

"At midnight?"

"That's not the point sir. I just… I can't do it. I mean, what did the Germans ever do to us? Nothing, that's what. I mean, sure they've bombed the British… but they haven't done anything to the Americans! All I'm saying sir, is that… well, it just seems wrong."

"He's right," Anderson's co-pilot Lieutenant Richards added. Anderson raised an eyebrow as he looked over. Richards rarely said anything, but there was an undeniable conviction in his voice that resonated within the small cockpit.

"That's just dandy," Anderson spat sarcastically. "Let's just turn around right now. Or better yet, let's just take the plane right on down and surrender." His eyes grew wide when he saw the hopeful look on the other men's faces. "Now wait a minute!"

"'There's a glorious future in store for the Third Reich,'" Dawson recited.

"That's it! After this mission, that we are completing, and after we get back to the base, I will personally destroy that radio and put you on KP for a year! And then I'll have you digging latrines!" Anderson shouted. "I can't believe you actually said that!"

"And I can't believe you're actually going to go through with this! Bombing civilians-"

"It's a military target, Corporal! I don't like the idea of bombing orphans and widows any more than you do, but this is our job, understand!"

"No, Sir, I don't."

If he hadn't been strapped into his seat, Anderson would've throttled the corporal at that very moment. He would have to settle with shooting daggers at him with his eyes. "How close are we to our target?" he demanded. Dawson's mouth tightened into a thin line. Anderson glanced over at Richards, only to be met with the same look of determination. Great- a mutiny. "Listen, I don't need you to give me directions- I can follow the rest of the formation. And I don't need you to co-pilot for me either. If you don't want to be a part of this, I suggest you make your way back, sit down and shut up."

Dawson undid his strap and pushed himself onto his feet. Shooting his commander a dirty look, he ducked out of the cockpit and disappeared. Anderson muttered under his breath. The United States Army had a newly demoted private.

Suddenly, Roberts' voice crackled over the intercom. "I won't do it," the bombardier stated.

"What?!"

"I just spoke to Dawson, sir, and I won't do it."

"Me neither," another voice said.

"Or me!" came the cry from the rest of them. The only one he didn't hear was Jenkins- a private for Pete's Sakes. He'd be the only one to come out of this with his stripe intact!

Now what was he going to do? His officers training hadn't covered this. A mutiny? This was ludicrous! All right, it was time to approach this logically- if any logic could be found in the mess.

Anderson forced himself to take several deep breaths. He turned in his seat to address his men, only to find Dawson standing (as well as he could in the cramped cockpit) behind him, with a gun in his hand.

"We can't do this, sir. It isn't right. We're taking the plane down. Now."

"You're crazy!"

"Just take your hands off the controls, sir," Dawson said flatly. Slowly, unwillingly, Anderson dropped his hands into his lap. Dawson peered out the side of the plane, surveying the ground below. "Hey Mike," he said to Richards, "you see that field up ahead? Take us down." He turned his attention back to the Captain. "We're going to land and we're going to surrender. And we're going to spend the rest of the war in a POW camp where we can't cause anymore harm."

"I'll have you court-marshalled," Anderson threatened.

"Fine, but it'll have to wait until after the war. Take her down Mike."

It was like some sort of bad dream. Anderson couldn't do anything but watch as the ground seemed to get closer and closer. What was worse was the fact that he felt strangely relieved!

The ground was dangerously close now. Anderson braced for impact and glanced over at his co-pilot. Richards' eyes met his and for a moment, Anderson could see a wave of uncertainty. It took one quick look at Dawson to reaffirm their decision. Without another thought, Richards brought the plane to the ground. The planed bumped off the dirt before skidding to a halt.

An eerie silence fell upon them. Anderson couldn't believe they had actually done it. This had to be a bad dream. But reality quickly asserted itself with the sounds of German voices. He didn't have to speak the language to know what they were saying.

Slowly, Anderson got out of his seat and turned to his insubordinate corporal. "All right, Dawson, we're here. Lead on." Dawson's composure faltered as the demands for surrender grew louder. He suddenly felt panicked and began to shake. Anderson felt his blood boil. "Move!" he snarled, pushing Dawson forward. The corporal stumbled out of the plane and raised his hands into the air. The others joined him and they all stood, silently staring at their captors.