After seven months of rigorous flight training Josh was flown across the Atlantic to a base in England. He was assigned to one of the Fighter Groups in the US Army 8th Air Force, and by the end of 1942, after some additional training, he was flying the P-47 Thunderbolt fighter on escort missions for bombers, attacking railroads, bridges, and oil refineries in occupied France, Belgium, Holland and Poland, targets that were vital to the German war machine.

Josh never forgot what his mother had told him. He often thought about the people in those towns and villages, people who might have been killed if he hadn’t attacked the German military from the air. The medals he received – a distinguished flying cross and silver star - were sent home, along with his letters and his wages. He wrote every week to his mother, to Bridget, and to Vinny. He wanted to know what life was like back in the States, though he seldom told them about his life and death existence during the war.

Back home the entire country had rallied to support the war effort. Factories were converted to build planes, tanks, and munitions. Josh’s mother formed a group of women to promote war bonds and establish local health programs through the Red Cross; Vinny and his parents closed their deli to work in the shipyards; Bridget volunteered in the hospitals to help with the wounded.

For Josh, their support lifted his spirit, and though he badly missed his home, his mother, his friends…after eighteen months of war an innocent eighteen-year-old kid had become a dedicated, seasoned fighter pilot.

In May 1944 Josh and the other flyers in his squadron were summoned to an urgent meeting at the air base. The commanders of the base stood in front of a large map of Europe stretched across the wall behind them. The map was color-coded; red-white-and-blue American flags dotted portions of the map, while gray-and-black swastikas designated the German positions. The subject was Operation Overlord, soon to be known as D-day, the Allied invasion of Europe.

As the fateful day approached, the pilots shared their hopes and fears, stories about their lives and their families back home. On D-day they would be flying the P-51 fighters across the English Channel and into enemy territory. Josh knew that some of them would never see their families again, and he wrote home often, pouring out his heart to his mother, whose health had been failing for the past year. And then, three days before the invasion, word came that she was dying. That same night Josh spoke to his mother by phone from the base. Barely able to speak, she wanted to know if he was well, if the war would end soon. Josh told her about the impending invasion, how critical it would be to winning the war.

“Have faith dear,” his mother told him. “Come home soon.”

“I want to come home right away. I’ll request a two-week leave from the base commander.”

“No, I want you to stay there. Stay and fulfill your mission. They need you Josh…God bless you.”

Reluctantly, Josh complied with her wishes. He told her that he loved her, that she would always be in his heart, and when he hung up the phone tears poured from his eyes. He knew he would never see his mother again. That night he prayed…for his mother, for himself, and for his fellow pilots. Their fate, and the fate of the world, was at hand.