The War that Saved My Life by Kimberly Brubaker Bradley

Hitler had figured out he couldn’t land his invading army until he’d
conquered the Royal Air Force. Otherwise, our planes would bomb his ships
and troops while they were landing. Once he’d gotten rid of our planes,
invading England would be easy. The Germans had a lot more airplanes and
pilots than the British did. They had different kinds of planes, though, and
their fighter planes had shorter ranges than ours. This meant that they could
only reach the southeastern corner of England before they had to turn back for
more fuel. They could only shoot our planes and bomb our airfields in Kent.
The airfields were their main targets. Every plane they destroyed, whether
in the air or parked on the ground, brought them one step closer to invasion;
every runway they destroyed gave our pilots one less place to safely land. Our
airfield was hit that very first day; the bombs ripped through two storage
sheds and left craters the size of small tanks in the grass runways. Fortunately
all the air crews found shelter. Once the all-clear sounded, the crews worked
through the night, shoveling debris into the blast holes. By morning planes
could safely land again.
It was July, and the world was green and lovely. I rode Butter through
fields of waving grass, up our hill to where I could see the blue sea glittering
in the bright sunlight. Wild roses grew in the hedgerows, and the air felt
heavy with their scent. The breeze blew and I could feel perfectly happy,
except that now I always watched for planes as well as spies. They hadn’t
come in daytime yet, but I knew they could.
Susan didn’t like me riding out, but she didn’t want to forbid it either. Our
home was so close to the airfield, I figured I was safer farther away. When I
said so, she looked grim. “I should send you away,” she said.
It was hard enough to cope with Susan. How would I ever cope without
her?
What if we got sent back home?
I stared at the tips of my shoes. “I can’t leave Butter,” I said.
Susan sighed. “You survived without a pony in London.”
I lifted my gaze to look at her. I had survived. Maybe. Could I do it again?
Back in that one room, I hadn’t known all I was missing.
“I know,” Susan said softly. “It’s why I’m keeping you here.”
“There’s things worse than bombs,” I said, remembering what I’d heard
her say before.
“I think so,” Susan said. “And Kent’s a big place, they can’t bomb every
inch of it.” But she looked out the window toward the airfield, and her eyes