Harry, Stuart and Erin stood at the hedgerow fence separating Hampton Airfield from the Winslow farm. Hidden in the dark, the children listened to both the wayward Spitfires circling in the air and the flurry of activity on the ground. All across the airfield, Harry heard men shouting to each other, trying to determine a course of action.
Then, Colonel Harrison's commanding voice echoed through the darkness, calling the others to join him on the hardstand. Crowded together, the commander demanded suggestions on how to bring the RAF fighter planes in safely.
"Simms and Gainey are going to run out of fuel and crash if we don't do something immediately," Harrison told the others gathered on the dark runway.
Still eavesdropping at the hedgerow fence, Harry felt a tug. It was Erin. Frightened by the Colonel's remarks, she clutched Harry's arm. Tightening her grip, the small flashlight she carried shifted in her hand, shining into Harry's eyes.
"If only a flashlight were enough to light the entire field," Harry mumbled to himself.
While Harrison and the others loudly debated how to land the Spitfires, Harry tried to listen. But the engine of an approaching fire truck, preparing for the worst, droned over their conversation.
As the truck turned, the sweeping headlights glared on the men and women standing at the edge of the field. In the light, Harry recognized Colonel Harrison, the radar operator, several of the flight controllers, and even his sister, Susan, huddled on the hardstand.
The scene on the airfield reminded Harry of the fuel truck head lights shining on Simms and Gainey earlier, when the two pilots were first preparing for their flight.
Harry watched as the headlights from the fire truck illuminated the entire hardstand, the same as before.
Erin's grip on Harry's arm tightened even more, and once again the flashlight in her hand flickered in his eyes.
"That's it!" Harry shouted. "Truck headlights!"
"What do you mean?" Erin asked.
"Headlights!" Harry repeated. "They could use a bunch of truck headlights to light the runway!"
"That's a great idea, Harry," Stuart replied. "Let's go out there and tell them."
Harry hesitated, realizing his sister, Susan, stood on the hardstand. "But if we go out there, Susan will tell mother we were at the airfield tonight, instead of on our way home."
Immediately, Erin started to scold Harry. "You wouldn't let getting in trouble with your mother stop you from helping the pilots, would you?"
"She's right, Harry," Stuart urged. "Regardless of your mother, you have to tell them about the headlights. We'll go with you, if it makes you feel better."
Above them, a choking Spitfire engine made a popping sound. Before wasting another moment, Harry and his friends jumped over the hedge and ran to the hardstand, yelling.
"Headlights, Colonel. Use truck headlights!"
Colonel Harrison and the others were startled by the three screaming children rushing from the darkness to join them. Alarmed to see her younger brother and his friends, Susan grabbed Harry and Stuart by their arms and tried to herd the children away.
"Harry," Susan snapped, "you children are supposed to be home in bed. We've got a real problem here, with no time for play."
"But, Sis, we can help!" Harry shouted. "Everyone, listen to me. Use the headlights of the trucks to light the field!"
"Yes," Stuart and Erin shouted in support, "headlights will do it."
Susan continued pushing the children away from the hardstand. Again, Harry pleaded for the Colonel to listen.
"Headlights, Colonel," the Winslow boy hurriedly explained. "Use truck headlights to line the runway for the Spitfire pilots."
"Susan, stop!" Colonel Harrison shouted. "Harry's got the answer. We'll line the strip with headlights. It's the best solution, by far."
Harrison yelled his orders for everyone to hear. "I want every truck and car we have out on the airfield with its headlights directed to form a runway. And I want them out there now!"
At Colonel Harrison's command, everyone scrambled to bring as many vehicles to the field as possible. Recruiting more drivers as they went, the base swarmed with trucks, cars, tractors, and even motorcycles heading out to the landing area. In an instant, Harry's simple plan went into action.
Unaware of the steadfast efforts happening on the ground, the RAF pilots in the air continued their blind approach. Both Simms and Gainey braced for a dangerous forced landing. The failing condition of Gainey's Spitfire had left them no choice.
Inside his cockpit, Gainey struggled to concentrate. Gasoline pooled around his feet. His eyes watered and his head pounded from breathing the fumes. Frantically glancing from side to side, Gainey continued his desperate search for a familiar landmark.
Descending through the black night, Gainey gasped when a group of lights suddenly traced paths on the dark stretch ahead of him. Miraculously, the odd dance of lights on the field below combined to form a makeshift runway.
Quickly locating the lights, Captain Simms realized they were far short of the landing strip. Simms urgently called a warning to Gainey.
"We're short, Brian! We're short of the runway, give her power and climb."
Simms slammed his throttle open and pulled back on the stick. Gainey, too, recognized their approach was tragically wrong. The Lieutenant tried to gain altitude by pulling on his controls. But when he shoved the throttle to his engine forward, instead of hearing the familiar roar of more power, Gainey's engine sputtered.
His fuel spent, Lieutenant Gainey was committed to landing. Struggling to control his dying Spitfire, he aimed for the safety of the lights, but winced when he heard tree branches scrape across the belly of his plane. Realizing he just cleared the line of trees at the far end of the airfield, Gainey quickly flipped the switch to lower his landing gear. The wheels of the Spitfire reached for the ground, and locked into place. While the engine coughed and popped, the tires pounded on the turf with a tremendous thud.
Truck headlights glared through the glass of Gainey's canopy as his plane rolled along the inventively illuminated runway. His engine, starved for fuel, seized, and the propeller stopped before the young Lieutenant could turn his plane around at the end of the makeshift landing strip.
Choking from the smell of gasoline, Gainey rolled back the canopy and gulped for fresh air. From the seat of his Spitfire, he waved to the flock of flight mechanics already crowding around the plane. A moment later, one of the crewmen helped the dizzy pilot out of the cockpit, and handed him a broken tree branch.
"This was caught in your tail wheel, Lieutenant!" the crewman exclaimed.
Gainey grabbed the stick and replied with a broad smile, "I'll keep it for good luck!"