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Liam Little knew the Battle of Midway.
He knew the aircraft. He knew the carriers. He knew the date June 4, 1942, and what that date meant for the war in the Pacific and for everything that came after. He had read about it in the big aviation book, and then in the Midway book his father had left on the kitchen table, and he had thought about it for weeks.
But this time, Liam is not going alone.
Ellie wants in. She has a walkie-talkie, a sideways seat in the cockpit, and absolutely no intention of being left behind. She is three years old and completely certain.
Together they fly into the vast Pacific sky above the greatest naval battle in history. Below them, aircraft carriers cut white wakes through an ocean that has no edges. Torpedo bombers fly west without fighter escort, slow and brave and outnumbered, into fire that should stop them. High above, dive bombers roll over the top and plunge straight down, and the sky changes forever in five minutes.
Somewhere in all of it, a voice on the radio says three words.
Scratch one flattop.
Ellie is listening.
