My mother was a war bride. I was a baby boomer. Why? Because the young man who was to become my father signed up for the Army Air Corp the day he graduated from high school. Instantly he was off to training and quickly found himself flying B-17 Bombers over Germany. For many years my dad couldn’t talk about the war. I know he suffered from war dreams. In fact, it wasn’t until I was a grown woman back for a visit that dad first shared this story with me as we chatted at the kitchen sink. Mother had never heard it before. It was like he was finally opening up and he wanted me to preserve this tiny, sweet piece of the war for him, a true story about dropping the food bombs to innocent, trapped and starving victims below. When I showed him my suggested manuscript (one of a dozen versions) he said to add the part about the planes flying low enough to buzz the windmills. I'm sorry we didn't make it to print during his lifetime, but I'm certain Dad is pleased with Iwan’s wonderful illustrations and he is probably as happy as I am that this project is finally accomplished.