Hope from the Sky

Paris was sorrowfully silent that June morning in 1940. Two-thirds of its people had fled. Only a thin line of tense, motionless Parisians with brimming eyes watched German tanks, guns and troops converge on the Place de l'Etoile. When Nazis clumped around the Arc de Triomphe and past the Eternal Flame sheltered above the Unknown Soldier's tomb, then swung haughtily down the broad Champs-Elysees, France's cup ran over.

Two years later, on June 12, life, even in bitter defeat, went on. In the Marine Ministry and dozens of other ancient Parisian structures Nazi vultures flapped about their task of feeding on the body of France. Nazi troops were forming ranks for their regular noontime parade from the Arc de Triomphe down the Champs-Elysees. Frenchmen impassively performed their daily routine.

Then, a few moments before noon, something happened. At third-floor level, a plane roared defiantly up the Champs-Elysees. Before the Arc de Triomphe it zoomed, then dipped in salute to the Unknown Soldier, dropped a huge, weighted tricolor. Circling, the plane thundered back down the Champs-Elysees. At the Place de la Concorde it swerved toward the Rue Royale and sent shell after cannon shell smashing into German military headquarters (once the French Ministry of Marine). The plane vanished to the northwest, followed only by a few feeble tracer bullets.

When Parisians spotted the plane's boldly blazoned Free French Cross of Lorraine, they cheered hysterically. They waved and fluttered handkerchiefs from sidewalk, window and rooftop. In a few brief moments an audacious British pilot (Flight Lieut. A. K. Gatward) had transformed the week's sad anniversary into a day of excitement and hope.

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