The year is 1944 and Frankie Brown is shocked, literally, while listening to the weather on the radio. Soon, he’s predicting the weather for friends and the Boston Red Sox. When the U.S. Army finds out, General Dwight D. Eisenhower -- Supreme Commander of the Allied Forces for D-Day -- has other plans for the boy. With the protection of a Lone Ranger mask and the gift of a Magic Case, Frankie and his family are flown across the Atlantic Ocean to England. There, they join Frankie’s dad, who is training as a paratrooper for a secret invasion of France, and Frankie begins the most important test of his life.

The success of D-Day hinges on good weather and Frankie must survive army life, a harrowing parachute jump, and the glare of Winston Churchill to find a small gap in a great storm -- critical for the landing of over 100,000 troops on the beaches of Normandy. As Frankie tries to save the army, he must also save his father who has been trapped behind enemy lines and, in the process, discover the true measure of a hero.

Based on extensive research, Weather Boy revives the spring of 1944 when, according to Churchill, "the fate of the free world hangs in the balance." Boys and girls from 7-12 have loved this story, writing letters with such praise as "Amazing!" "Fantastic!" and "You’re my favorite author." It is my hope that the ten-year-old hero of this story will help bring the legitimate heroism of D-Day to life for children who want to learn, and for their parents and grandparents who want to share.

Weather Boy: A Story of D-Day is Steve McCoy-Thompson’s second novel and first for young readers. He has published articles and essays in a wide range of venues, including the Los Angeles Times, the United Nations Resources Forum, and several periodicals. When not writing, he works as an international management consultant. He lives with his wife and two children in Pleasanton, California, where he is actively involved in the community -- including as Cub Master for a local Cub Scout Pack and as a volunteer in his kids’ class rooms where he had the great privilege of ‘beta testing’ his book.

The story of Weather Boy emerged as one of many stories told to his children on long car trips. It is the author’s hope that the ten-year-old hero of this story will help bring the legitimate heroism of D-Day to life -- for children who want to learn, and for their parents and grandparents who want to share.

Within minutes, the plane reached a thousand feet. Frankie's dad looked at his son and shouted over the engine. "Are you ready?!"

Frankie was not ready, but he would try to be brave.

He watched his dad clip a chord that led from his parachute to a long wire that ran along the ceiling to the back of the plane. Then he ordered the other men to do the same and Frankie watched them clip, clip, clip down the wire.

"When we jump," his dad shouted, "this rip chord will open the 'chute!"

"What if it doesn't?!" Frankie shouted back. He was sure the Lone Ranger never had to jump from a plane.

"We'll be fine," his dad said over the noise of the engine. "Even if this one fails, there's another rip chord right here." Sergeant Brown pointed to a small metal handle that was hooked to a strap on his chest. "I just pull this, see, and the 'chute opens."

"But, but what if it doesn't?" Frankie asked again. He did not want to think the worst, but he couldn't help it.

"Then enjoy the ride!" laughed one of the soldiers.

Sergeant Brown saw his son go pale with fear. "Don't worry," he said. "I pack all my 'chutes myself. They never fail. Okay now, we're nearing the target!"

Sergeant Brown turned his son around and backed him against his body. He took the straps and belts leading from the parachute on his back and then tied and clipped them to the harness that was wrapped around Frankie.

The sergeant waved his arm and a soldier next to him stepped forward. Without warning, he opened the side door of the plane.

Frankie was shocked. A whooshing, sucking noise pulled everyone forward. Sergeant Brown grabbed Frankie so he would not be vacuumed out the door.

A moment later, the air was stable and the soldiers and Frankie relaxed their muscles a little. The sound of the engine was twice as loud now and Frankie could see directly out the door. There was a massive wing and a giant whizzing propeller and, in the distance, a small cloud. Frankie could not believe he was going to fall, or fly, past them.

Because no one could hear, Sergeant Brown waved his arm again. The other paratroopers moved slowly from the back of the plane to the open door. When each soldier was less than a foot away, Sergeant Brown smacked him on the shoulder and shouted into the man’s ear. "Go!!"

Immediately, the soldier jumped into the air. A white cloud billowed from the man’s back as he fell and Frankie knew the ‘chute had opened safely. His dad shouted, "Go!!" again, and again a soldier jumped through the open door. Frankie watched their faces as they flew past him. Some looked scared. Some looked excited. They all looked like high school kids, no older than his friend Travis’ older brother. When the last soldier was gone, Frankie saw only the tops of their parachutes, falling gracefully to earth.

And then, with the plane empty, it was their turn.

Sergeant Brown moved forward stiffly, with a boy between his legs, and Frankie stared from the open door. Far below, he could see green pieces of cloth that were fields, and brown pieces of cloth that were army buildings. He wished he were looking at a soft quilt instead of hard ground.

"Now comes the tricky part!" his dad shouted.

Frankie did not want to hear about a tricky part. Standing a thousand feet in the air was tricky enough.

"When I jump," his dad shouted, "you jump too!"

The plane was traveling so fast that the wind brought tears to his eyes. Frankie held onto his black mask and tried to blink the tears away. He could not see where he was jumping, which was just as well. But he could feel the power of the plane. With the sharp wind in his face and the thunderous engine in his ear, he thought his body might explode.

Frankie's dad threw his arms around the boy. "Stick close now!" he yelled. "Don't go wandering off!" And before the boy could blink again, Sergeant Brown yelled for the last time. "Go!"

Everything was a blur. Frankie had never seen anything move so fast as his own body falling through the sky.

The wind whipped his face.

His eyes watered.

His heart pounded.

The whole world was turned inside out, with Frankie thrown down like a bolt from heaven. He was in a rushing, confusing dream, where up was down and far was near.

In the next instant, the rip chord ripped open. The parachute flew up like a crazy white kite. And the world stopped.

Frankie remembered two years ago in Cape Cod, soon after his dad left for the war, when he woke after midnight from a wild dream. He sat straight up in bed, his heart pounding, and stared at the silence. The opening parachute was the same. From a whooshing, jumbling dream world, Frankie was jerked to complete silence. The only difference was a big one. Instead of lying in bed, he was hanging a thousand feet in the air.

The parachute spread like a round cloud above them. The frenzy of falling had changed to the peace of floating. Nothing was between him and the ground but nothing at all. The air was clean and crisp. The silence was stunning. The world had never looked so beautiful.

"How do you like it?!" his dad said.

The boy could only shake his head in wonder. Below, he could see the other parachutes, floating to the ground like twenty white puffballs.

When they had fallen three hundred feet, Frankie was able to speak. He shouted to the open sky, with a question that had bothered him for days. "Are you scared?!"

His dad answered excitedly. "Of jumping?! No, I love it!"

Frankie thought a moment, as the world glided by and the puffballs fell. He kept hearing the words of the navigator, from his plane ride across the Atlantic Ocean. Wouldn’t catch her up there, she’d said. So Frankie shouted the real question; so his dad would have to hear. "The Nazis," he yelled. "There's no cover!"

They fell another hundred feet before Sergeant Brown found his voice again. "Lots of cover!" the sergeant yelled back to the sky. "I've got your prayers, don't I? All the cover I need!"

Frankie wanted to believe his father, but didn't say a word for the rest of the fall.

The green fields and the brown buildings floated up to him. He saw a dot that became a cow and another dot that became a soldier. As they approached the top of a line of trees in the distance, his dad shouted again. "Don't look down! Look straight ahead and let your legs go weak! When the ground hits, roll with me like a rag doll!"

A second later, the top of the trees came level with his eyes and then . . .

KA-BUMP!

Sergeant Brown rolled quickly, but carefully over the boy and Frankie found himself on top of his father’s stomach. It was strange to be lying so still after so much excitement.

When he caught his breathe, Sergeant Brown let loose with a yelp. "Whoooo - wheeeee!"

Frankie copied as loud as he could. "Whoo - wheee!"

They both sat up and stared gleefully into each other's eyes. "Well," his dad said. "That should clear your head!"

Frankie smiled behind his Lone Ranger mask, until he remembered why his head needed clearing. Now that he was back on earth, he wanted to keep falling.