Ten.

Our bomber was the only one left, the others victim to the numerous anti-aircraft guns on the ground.

Nine.

The timing had to be perfect. One second off and the war was lost.

Eight.

The enemy factory loomed up ahead, its silhouette etched out across the dark sky.

Seven.

Dozens of brave pilots lost, just to get me to the target. There were too many sacrifices. Too many.

Six.

A now familiar scent filled the plane. A brand-new hole had appeared in the side.

Five.

Sweat dripped down my forehead. There was no room for error.

Four.

My thumb hovered over the launch button.

Three.

I knew this was my last mission. The controls were sputtering and smoking.

Two.

I thought of everything I had cared about, everything I had fought to protect. I glanced at the button. It was now or never.

One.