Chapter 33

That bright Sunday afternoon, Bud was in his room, gluing wing struts into his Spitfire and listening to the Redskin football game on his small radio, the one his sister had given him for Christmas last year. The Redskins were losing, and Bud's right forefinger was stuck to a wing when he heard the announcement.

"This is a bulletin from the Associated Press," said a rather breathless voice, "Japanese aircraft have attacked and bombed Pearl Harbor in the Hawaiian Islands. There are many casualties."

Bud's head snapped around, and he pulled the whole wing away from the waxed paper as he started to run from the room, scattering straight pins and wing formers. He stopped to peel the balsa wood structure off his finger.

"I repeat," the hollow-sounding voice announced, "according to the AP we are at war. Japanese planes have bombed Pearl Harbor. Stand by for another bulletin."

Bud put the twisted half-wing back on his desk and ran down the steps, missing several on the way. His father was sitting in his usual chair under the orange-shaded lamp, still reading the Sunday paper.

"Did you hear?" Bud yelled pointing at the silent radio.

"Hear what?" his father asked, looking over his eyeglasses.

Bud snapped on the radio and twirled the dial as it warmed up, watching the glowing green eye above the knob dilate and expand rapidly. He stopped on the station where the Redskin's game was being broadcast and said, "They bombed Pearl Harbor, Dad. Listen, listen."

Two men were talking about the first half and Sammy Baugh's below-par performance.