Sisters in Arms

by Kaia Alderson

  “Maybe. But I just don’t see how we’ll be able to worm Charity out of this one. Before we were able to outsmart these fools because we were stateside with our connections and families close enough to back us up. You couldn’t have better connections than the ones I had through my daddy and you saw what still happened to me. And now we are going toe-to-toe with a high-ranking general? All we’ve got is us over here. Nobody has got our backs, I tell you. We can’t even get a Negro GI to look our way. They’re too busy fawning over every white girl who crosses their paths.”

  “Enough.” The exasperation in Charity’s voice silenced both Eliza and Grace. “Do you two ever stop?”

  “No,” the rest of the group said in unison.

  “You would think they were real sisters,” Noel added.

  “We are all sisters,” Charity said. “Sisters in arms. Ones who could use some sleep. Let’s come back tomorrow refreshed and ready to be productive.”

  “Thank goodness.” Eliza pushed herself to her feet. She hated how the movement was filled with all the caution that a woman twice her age would take. That made her wince even more. Eliza was about to turn twenty-six. Yet the energetic, spirit-filled young woman she had been just three years ago seemed from a lifetime ago. When had she become such an old-timer not just in body but also in mind?

  Chapter 26

  Birmingham, England

  April 13, 1945

  ELIZA PUSHED HER hip against the self-defense instructor’s side and slid her arm around his back. Guy Hughes, at six feet two inches, had to be a solid two hundred or more pounds. Her fingertips only just made it to his waist.

  “There’s no way,” she grunted as she attempted to reach farther.

  “There is and you can,” Guy assured her. “You’ve seen women in this class smaller than you pick me up and throw me onto the ground. If you can’t reach, then you’ll have to figure out how to adjust to make the move work for you.”

  Eliza stretched out her fingers again. She still came up short. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Charity enter the gymnasium. Her mouth quirked a smile as she watched Eliza struggle.

  “Just great,” Eliza grumbled.

  “Here.” Guy guided her hand to the waistband of his pants. “Grab on to me here. Hold on tight.”

  She gripped his pants like it was a lifeline.

  “That’s it. Now, let me have it.”

  Eliza grabbed on to his arm that was closest to her and pulled. She pulled again. The burly Midlander barely moved.

  “What’s the holdup, Jones?” Charity called out to her. “Hug him like you mean it.”

  “Damn.” She let go and stepped away. The last thing she needed was to be heckled by her fellow officers right now. She balled her hand into a fist, then let go. Her fingers shook from the exertion of today’s class. “I can’t do it. You’re too big.”

  “You were fine until the point where you needed to transfer your weight.”

  “I keep worrying that I’ll mess up somehow and hurt you.”

  “As long as I hit the mat, I’ll be fine. Your problem is that you’re in your head too much. You’re worrying too much about the wrong thing. The point is to hurt your assailant. I’m not asking you to bloody kill anybody. Your only concern should be to incapacitate him enough so you can get away.”

  The word “assailant” triggered memories of the drunk man who had attacked her. And of another who had challenged her rank aboard the Île de France. “That’s the problem. Should another man try to hurt me, I’m afraid I’ll be out for blood.”

  Guy gave her a crooked grin. “Attagirl. I knew you had some fight in you.”

  “You got a minute?” Charity had taken their break in practice to approach them.

  “Sure.” Eliza wiped her face with a hand towel, hoping she looked warm from the exertion of pulling on Guy and not from embarrassment. “I was just getting a few extra throws in after class.”

  Guy gathered his things. “See you again in class tomorrow?”

  “You bet.” Eliza nodded and he walked off.

  “I’m impressed with the self-defense program you started here,” Charity said. “You’ve come a long way from the girl I met on the way to training camp. She would’ve been too worried about breaking a nail to grab on to a big guy like that.”

  “Yeah, well, that girl you met on the train has been through some things in the last three years.”

  “Yes, you have.” Charity paused. “Which is why I am concerned about you. Especially now that I’ve seen how physically intense this self-defense class is. You haven’t been yourself since you were . . .”

  Eliza watched Charity’s mouth open and close while she looked for the right words. She hated how everyone wanted to pussyfoot around what happened to her. But Charity was her friend, so she helped her out. “You mean, since Kentucky?”

  “Yes, since Kentucky,” Charity echoed. She looked relieved. “Despite my rank, I’m still your friend. I’m worried about you.”

  “I’m fine,” Eliza said quickly. The medical staff back at the hospital, then her mother, and now her commanding officer had all hinted at without spitting it out that she might need to talk to someone about what had happened to her. She didn’t.

  “Right.” Charity tugged at the hem of her uniform. “Well, I just came by to thank you for your input with the memo. You saved my behind—despite your complaining.”

  Charity’s eyes shone with humor now. Eliza let out a sigh of relief, glad that the awkward moment had passed. She made like she was going to swat Charity with her damp towel. “Well dang, you could’ve said so in front of the rest of the girls.”

  “Perhaps. But I didn’t know for sure until today that that memo would work as a defense.”

  “Wait, today was the day you were supposed to go face the music at HQ in London, right?”

  Charity nodded. Eliza dropped her arm.

  “What happened?”

  “Luckily for me, Butler’s superiors had no interest in generating the bad press that would come with court-martialing me. Once they heard the specifics of the conversation from the both of us and I reminded them of their own words in that memo . . . well, let’s just say that Butler got his behind handed to him.”

  “No way!”

  “Yes, while I was in the room too. Afterward, Butler even chased me down and apologized.”

  “No way!” Eliza repeated.

  “He said, ‘It’s not often that anybody gets the best of me, soldier. But you did, and I deserved it. Please accept my apology. I was out of line. If you have need of anything in the future, do not hesitate to call me.’”

  “What?” Eliza would have given anything to see that. “You, my friend, are a miracle worker . . .”

  Just then, Noel came rushing in. “Charity, come with me. Something’s happened.”

  Eliza and Charity shared a look. The words “something’s happened” never meant anything good. Eliza picked up her pace and followed her commanding officers back to Charity’s office.

  “PRESIDENT ROOSEVELT IS dead,” Charity announced to the hastily assembled full battalion before her. Unlike General Butler’s whims, Charity had decided that this tragic event warranted a full stop to their work.

  A number of the women gasped. Some wept openly, while others attempted to wipe away their tears discreetly. Charity’s words made Eliza’s blood run cold despite first learning the news over an hour ago when Noel had called her and Charity into her office. On a certain level, she wanted to cry. But the tears wouldn’t come. Another part of her wanted to scream. But the sound continued to stick stubbornly in her throat. Eliza swallowed to get it moving.

  Grace, who was beside Eliza, nudged her shoulder with her arm. “Are you okay?”

  “Fine.” Eliza continued to look straight ahead, not budging from her attention posture one hair. It seemed like all the constant things she could rely upon in her life were being snatched away. She could barely remember a time when Franklin Delano Roosevelt hadn’
t been the U.S. president or, before that, governor of her home state. His fireside chats had been a comforting presence on her father’s radio during the bleak economic times of her childhood through now with the shifting uncertainties of war. And when FDR’s words had failed to comfort her, her father’s arms had been there to embrace her and soothe away her fears.

  All of that was gone now.

  Her hands buzzed with an energy that felt like ants marching across her palms. She wanted to push something. Or punch it. Or even claw it with her fingers until the anger dissipated.

  She balled her hands into fists instead.

  “There will be no more work today. We’ll be spending the rest of the day in mourning to honor our commander in chief’s passing. You are dismissed,” Charity commanded. The battalion remained in formation for a few seconds longer before individuals began walking away.

  “I hate when my hands get that way.” Grace extended her own fingers into a series of stretches.

  “Like what?” Eliza wasn’t really interested in whatever oddball hand-care thing Grace obviously wanted to show her. The woman treated her hands like they were her prized possessions.

  “When they get all antsy feeling. They usually get that way when I’m feeling some kind of way and I can’t shake it off. I find the best thing is to do something with them.”

  Now, that got Eliza’s attention. “Something like what?”

  Grace shrugged. “I don’t know. Back home, I’d play the piano—”

  “I don’t want to play the damned piano.”

  Grace took a deep breath and shook off Eliza’s interruption. She reached up to rub the back of her neck. A range of emotions played across her face. Eliza momentarily forgot about her itchy hands. “But that’s not the point, is it? Try writing a letter. Or maybe throw balled-up socks at the wall.”

  “Or pick up a full-grown man and throw him onto the ground.”

  “Wait, what?”

  Eliza waved her away. “Never mind. I’ll see you back at our quarters later. I just remembered that I need to swing by the gym.”

  “Oh, okay.” Grace, oddly enough, looked relieved.

  WHEN ELIZA GOT to the gym, thankfully Guy was still there. “I’d like to give that move I’ve been struggling with another go.”

  Guy held up his arms. “I’m all yours.”

  She spent the next hour successfully throwing him onto the mat.

  Afterward, an exhausted Eliza staggered toward the officers’ quarters. Her body ached but her mind was racing. She had done it. She had picked up and thrown down a full-grown man.

  She felt like a part of herself had been coaxed out of a dark, fear-filled place that had been buried deep inside her. Eliza felt like she could take on the world.

  Eliza pushed open the front door to the sound of whoops and cheers. The noise disoriented her for a moment, yanking her from her own internal celebration. She grabbed a younger officer—a second lieutenant—by the arm. Eliza didn’t know her as well as some of the others. She thought her name was Julia.

  “What in the world is going on?”

  “Get ready to start packing up your things.” Julia grinned. “We’re going to France.”

  “You don’t say. Well, that is good news.” Eliza returned Julia’s grin. “When do we leave?”

  “I’m not sure. Probably within the next few weeks.”

  Eliza let go of the other woman’s arm and continued on to the room she shared with Grace. When she got there, Grace was in an unusually bright mood.

  “Did you hear?”

  Eliza dropped her bag onto her trunk. “About France? Yeah.”

  “I can’t believe it. This is a dream come true. I’ve waited all my life to go to France.” Grace dropped herself onto her bunk with a sigh. “Do you think we’ll get to go to Paris?”

  Eliza sat down and began pulling off her shoes. “Not if there’s a chance that the Germans might bomb us, we’re not.”

  “Don’t be such a spoilsport.” Grace threw a balled-up sock at her. Eliza ducked in time for the sock to fly over her head.

  “I’m not, just being realistic. Trust me, I’m as happy as the next person to be shipped off to France next. That means my chances of getting a decent cup of coffee are about to increase tenfold. But most importantly, it means no more tea!”

  Chapter 27

  Somewhere on the English Channel

  May 8, 1945

  THE EARLY-MORNING FOG over the water was thick as stew. No matter how many times Eliza tried swallowing, the lump lodged in her throat, unbothered. Her body remained tense, on edge. It was too quiet out here. It was too peaceful. She didn’t like being unable to see out over the horizon. Hell, she couldn’t even see the horizon.

  It was her first time out on the open sea since they had arrived in Scotland on the Île de France. The German U-boat chase they had experienced stayed at the forefront of her mind. And how she had broken down afterward. The confidence that had started to reemerge during her last weeks in England began to waver.

  A passing British seaman stopped short when he saw her. “It’s all right, love. No German sub would dare come this far into the Channel now.”

  Eliza responded with an unladylike grunt. She didn’t care how much the onboard crew assured her that the English Channel had been safe for passage since the Allied invasion of Normandy almost a year ago, or that the English Channel was not actually the “open sea,” paling in comparison to the vast Atlantic Ocean. Being out here on the water meant that she was under the control of others—of the ferry crew, of whatever or whoever might be lurking behind or under their vessel. More succinctly, she had no control, and she didn’t like it.

  “A smile wouldn’t hurt, you know. There’s already enough drudgery in the world.”

  Eliza turned her back to the seaman. She stopped herself just short of telling him what he could do with his early-morning cheer. Grace’s no-nonsense demeanor would’ve been more welcome right now.

  Dammit. She clenched her hand into a fist. This wasn’t who she was. Grace was the bitchy one, not her. The darkness within had blindsided her just when Eliza thought she was beginning to feel like herself again.

  An hour later, the fog that enveloped the ship broke to reveal the crumbling remains of a ruined city. Most of them let out gasps at the sight, including Eliza. She was one of the few on board who had visited Le Havre prior to the war. She was shocked at the dissonance. Gone were the medieval towers and spires reaching up into the air; they now only existed within her memories. She remembered the city as a thriving, bustling seaport town when she had passed through with her mother on their way to Paris. Children running through the market stalls just off from the docks where their mothers and grandmothers sold their wares and foodstuffs. There had been so many people then.

  “What happened to all those people?” she whispered to herself.

  And then the most astonishing thing happened.

  As the ferry started to pull in alongside a makeshift dock on the otherwise bombed-out wharf, Eliza heard singing. When they got close enough, she was able to recognize the song as “La Marseillaise,” the French national anthem. That’s when she saw the people.

  The streets were filled with people dancing and hugging in addition to the singing. It was quite the contrast to see women and children celebrating in the streets with tears streaming from their eyes amid the rubble of the port city. The pops of champagne bottles being opened could be heard everywhere.

  Major Charity Adams emerged from an Army jeep waiting near the end of the plank walk. She had a huge smile on her face. “Welcome to France, ladies.”

  Eliza saluted her commanding officer. “Dancing in the streets to celebrate our arrival, eh? How did you manage to pull that one off, boss?”

  “Don’t I wish. No, I have the most wonderful news. The Germans have surrendered. The war in Europe is over.”

  Not one of them waited for the order to be dismissed before they whooped and hollered along with the Fr
ench citizens around them.

  NOT EVEN THE discomfort of the windowpane-less train with holes in its roof that they boarded next could dim their jubilation. And when they marched out in Rouen, it was to the cheers of a never-ending wall of soldiers awaiting them. Evidently, word had spread like wildfire that a WAC battalion was going to be stationed in Rouen. It looked like all GIs within a day’s drive had poured into the city where Joan of Arc had burned at the stake five hundred years ago. Word must have also gotten out that they were a Negro WAC battalion, because Negro soldiers made up most of the crowd.

  “Where’s Susie?”

  “Hey! Hey! Dolores, I see you. It’s me, Ronnie from Hartford.”

  The officers did their best to keep everyone in formation as they marched on. Marching alongside a column of enlisted women, Eliza felt exposed. Each time the excited crowd lining the streets pushed forward, it was she who was jostled, and pushed, and clawed at. She envied those women who were lucky enough to be positioned in the middle of each row, shielded by their sister soldiers on each side.

  “Coming through. Come on, guys, step back.”

  Eliza tried to keep the men at bay by pushing them back with her arm when she could. But even doing that became more and more difficult as the enlisted men’s excitement grew. Eliza felt beads of sweat roll down the sides of her face. Each breath was becoming more difficult to exhale. The energy along the route had changed. The back of her neck tingled. She felt like she was being watched. Like a predator was on the verge of making his move. And she was the prey.

  This wasn’t good. She had to get out of there.

  Another surge of men pushed forward, then pandemonium broke out. A pair of hands gripped her arms and yanked her away.

  “Put me down!” Eliza’s yell was drowned out by the roar of the crowd. She tried to fight, to flail her arms outward. But whoever had grabbed her had her arms pinned to her sides.

  “No use fighting, bitch. I gotcha good. And I know you girls don’t have any weapons.”

  She recognized her captor’s voice. The twang of his accent plucked at her memory. A wave of terror paralyzed her. It was that private from the Île de France, the one she had put in his place when he had refused to acknowledge her rank over him. The one who had called her a “little bitch.”