{"product_id":"2940013740389","title":"Death into Life","description":"TEN thousand boys in the upper air. Squadron upon squadron, their\u003cbr\u003eintricate machines thundered toward the target, heavy with death.\u003cbr\u003eDarkness below; and above, the stars. Below, the invisible carpet of\u003cbr\u003ethe fields and little homes; above, and very far beyond those flashing\u003cbr\u003estars, the invisible galaxies, gliding through the immense dark,\u003cbr\u003esquadron upon squadron of universes, deploying in the boundless and\u003cbr\u003eyet measured space.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIn one of the bombers, seven boys. Seven young minds in patterned\u003cbr\u003eunity; each self-cherishing, but all knit inwardly together by fibres\u003cbr\u003eof steel-tempered comradeship. And all equally imprisoned, body and\u003cbr\u003emind, in their intricate machinery.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSeven boys, and by strange chance a moth. It had strayed, no doubt,\u003cbr\u003einto the plane when the crew were taking their places. Since then it\u003cbr\u003ehad wavered hither and thither, up and down its prison, from one domed\u003cbr\u003etransparent turret to another, teased by some obscure longing, needing\u003cbr\u003ethough unwittingly a mate. Searching, softly colliding with now this\u003cbr\u003eyoung human cheek now that, kissing each one like the fluttered\u003cbr\u003eeyelash of an invisible beloved, it spent the numbered seconds of its\u003cbr\u003elife in vain. Or tremulously it thrust with feeble pressure against\u003cbr\u003ethe prison windows, drawn by the pin-prick lights of the sky; but\u003cbr\u003econceiving no immensity, no galaxies.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe seven boys too had their own, their more articulate yearnings.\u003cbr\u003eThey craved the life that was normal to their human, and more\u003cbr\u003econscious, but unfinished, nature. And like the moth sometimes their\u003cbr\u003eminds impotently fluttered at the prison windows, vainly questioning\u003cbr\u003ethe stars.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTHE REAR-GUNNER\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe rear-gunner had never heard of galaxies. Even the stars were for\u003cbr\u003ehim little more than drifting lights. He knew, of course, that they\u003cbr\u003ewere suns; but what of it? The fact oppressed him. Shunned, it had\u003cbr\u003esunk almost too deep for memory. And though, on nights like this he\u003cbr\u003ecould not help remembering and wondering, after a moment's blankness\u003cbr\u003ehe was bored. The stars, he felt, didn't help matters at all. Down\u003cbr\u003ehere on earth it was hell, though streaked tantalizingly with\u003cbr\u003eunfulfilling joys, with sex and beer and the bitter shattering ecstasy\u003cbr\u003eof air-fighting. There were moments, too, rather frightening but\u003cbr\u003esomehow exalting, when something deep inside one seemed to take\u003cbr\u003epossession, so that the whole of life changed its colour and became\u003cbr\u003eterribly important, and one kicked oneself for being such a waster.\u003cbr\u003eBut they didn't last, those moments. They were probably due to\u003cbr\u003edigestion, or glands or something. No, down here it was hell; and up\u003cbr\u003ethere, just those blank stars. And now, to make things worse, he was\u003cbr\u003estarting a cold in his nose. Already it tickled and exasperated him,\u003cbr\u003eand already his head was none too clear. Would it spoil his nerve?\u003cbr\u003eWould he muff his part in the show? Whatever happened, he must not let\u003cbr\u003ethe crew down. That really mattered. Mattered? Why 'mattered'? For a\u003cbr\u003emoment an abyss of emptiness opened before him, but he gallantly leapt\u003cbr\u003eit. Hell! He didn't know why it 'mattered', but it did; it mattered\u003cbr\u003eterribly that the crew should do well. Then, remembering an earlier\u003cbr\u003eraid, when the air round the plane was all fire and hammer-blows of\u003cbr\u003eblast, he felt an inner sinking. Of course the odds were that the\u003cbr\u003ewhole seven of them would come through safely. But some crews would\u003cbr\u003enot. And sooner or later--He pictured the plane ablaze.","brand":"WDS Publishing","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":47070258495728,"sku":"2940013740389","price":2.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0737\/7593\/9824\/files\/2940013740389_p0.jpg?v=1763589605","url":"https:\/\/shop-qa.barnesandnoble.com\/products\/2940013740389","provider":"Barnes \u0026 Noble (DEV)","version":"1.0","type":"link"}