“It wouldn’t be a war zone without some danger, now, would it?” Lee tightened her helmet strap as she jumped in.
They bumped over potholed dirt roads, past scattered farms separated by rock walls. A serene setting if it weren’t for the bullet holes and heavy-artillery wreckage. Pockmarked terrain spread in every direction, and the big guns boomed louder as they drove on.
To their left, the crashing sea was littered with half-submerged vessels and debris. Lee soon filled one page of notes, then two, as best she could considering their bouncing over the gullied road.
As they drove along, she noted more truck convoys headed to the front. Bulldozers prepared to clear the land for the American tents and control centers to follow.
“As for this collection station … what’s the difference between that place and the field hospital?”
Private Day scratched his head. “Well, that’s where the triage is given to the boys. The medics—”
“Triage?”
“Oh.” He glanced suspiciously at his passenger. “That’s the first diagnosis, where the medics decide who lives and who dies. I mean, they do their best on the front, but … you know, some of those poor guys would never make it to the hospital alive. They’re the real heroes of this war, the medics. I swear I’ve seen those Krauts target their red cross just as much as anybody.”
The ambulance shook as they drove over a rough spot. The soldier swerved hard to get around it, smashing Lee against the door. The bumpy ride didn’t seem to faze him.
“Anyway, they don’t get the chance to do the best bang-up job out there, so the wounds need to be redressed and splints refitted at the collection station. They also give plasma to the boys in shock. The worst off are sent back to the field hospital. Others who can travel farther are sent to an evacuation hospital.”
Lee jotted his words in her notebook then leaned her head toward the open window, catching her reflection in the side mirror. She took in a breath of the sulfur-smelling air and noted more hedges and more signs: attention aux mines and gefhr minen hung near fields blooming with poppies and daisies. She wrote down those descriptions too. Unhindered beauty in the midst of heartache.
Then she paused, realizing the note may have as much to do with the changes she felt within as the surprising beauty of the war-torn land around her.
The ambulance bounced under her. She looked up and saw that the road was now full of potholes—big ones. She imagined the smoke-tailed bombs whistling through this blue sky and landing here, on this road, in those fields. How many had there been?
She tucked her notebook in her pocket and clung to the metal doorframe, certain one large bump would toss her out the window.
Overhead a scattered formation of B-17s was returning to England after a bombing run. The driver gave them a silent salute as they flew over.
Then the ambulance turned a corner to an area even more shattered than what they’d just driven through. Where once farms were thriving and prosperous, now was only scarred crimson soil. Where once stood a forest of mighty pines, as old as the Continent, now were slit trenches and foxholes. Lee pictured the battle—our boys hunched in foxholes firing on German boys in theirs. Many had died, for a cemetery spread out before them, row after row of fresh mounds of dirt.
Lee weakly pulled out her camera. She thought about the redheaded soldier on the beach. I promised. And despite wanting to curl into the seat like a scared child, she lifted her head, pointed the lens, and—
“Get down!” the driver shouted, pushing her head to the seat, making her drop the camera onto the floor. He stamped on the gas, and the ambulance surged forward as bullets pelted the side.
Lee screamed as her forehead hit the dashboard.
“Hold on!” the driver yelled. “And shut your trap.”
She moved to the floor of the truck, squeezing her body as tightly as she could beneath the dashboard.
“Dear God, help!” she cried out. I promise I won’t be this stupid again.
More gunfire erupted. There had to be multiple shooters out there. A stinging sensation shot up her ankle. “I’ve been shot!” She instinctively grabbed for the spot, anticipating blood gushing out. The ambulance shook with the boom of nearby artillery fire.
“Hold on, lady!” The driver’s rugged hands gripped the steering wheel and made a quick jerk to the right; then he slammed on the brakes.
The vehicle spun and skidded to a stop. Without even asking if she was okay, the driver jumped out. The gunfire had lessened, but maybe the Germans were just waiting for the perfect shot. The back doors of the ambulance opened, and she heard voices outside.
“How many?” the driver asked over the clacking of gurneys being loaded and the patients’ moans.
“Six. This one’s the worst.” It was a medic’s voice, and she knew she should get a shot … see the collecting station. Her fumbling fingers attempted to retrieve the camera from where it had slid under the seat. A pit grew in Lee’s stomach. Unable to reach it, she buried her head in her hands. I’m pathetic. My father was right … I’m not cut out for this job.
The driver jumped back into his seat. “Ready, lady?” He didn’t wait for her response before he turned the rig around.
“What are you doing?” Lee shouted at him. “We’re not driving through that again, are we?”
The driver punched the gas. “Got to. These guys are hurt bad. If we don’t get them into surgery, they’re not going to make it.”
The ambulance rumbled again over the rough road.
“Oh Lord, oh Lord, please,” she muttered over and over as the truck picked up speed. They hit one bump after another; fast enough for her to know they were still in danger, but slow enough not to jolt the wounded passengers.
An explosion sounded to the right.
“That’s the big guns,” the driver said. A hunk of shrapnel hit the hood of the truck. “Lousy Krauts!”
“Hurry, hurry.” She grasped her helmet as they hit another hole, and her head slammed into the dashboard again.
The ambulance finally slowed, and she was certain they must have blown a tire. Every muscle in her body was tensed, waiting for what would happen next. She was sure the Germans were advancing on the ambulance. They’d grab her out and push her to the dirt. Would they take her as a prisoner of war? Or would her body soon be one of those buried in that field?
“Is it a flat tire? Are they close?”
Another explosion rocked the ambulance, though farther away than before.
The driver cursed. “Lady, calm down, will ya? We’re out of the danger zone. There’s a truck up ahead, so I had to slow down. You can look now.”
“But the explosions. They’re still firing on us.”
Another burst rang in her ears, and she crouched even tighter into her knees. Suddenly, tears began streaming down her face. “They won’t stop, will they? Not till we’re dead!” She sobbed even harder. Oh, God, why did I come here? Why did I do this?
The driver reached over and touched her back. “Look, lady.” His voice was gentle.
But then came another explosion.
“Take a look. Those aren’t the Krauts. Those are cows.”
“Don’t!” she cried. “You’re making fun of me.”
Another explosion sounded.
“See?”
“Really, lady. Cows. Not even German cows.”
“Cows?” She dared to lift her head to peek out the window.
“Yeah, they’ve been sent out in the fields to find the booby traps and mines.”
“They’re blowing up cows?” She scooted on her knees, brushing off her pants.
The vehicle started to move once more. “Better than blowing up people. Look, the hospital’s ahead. You better get off those floorboards.”
Lee didn’t listen, but instead turned to check her ankle. It was bleeding, all right, but not from a bullet. Instead, a piece of sharp metal on the door had dug in good.
The ambulance stopped, and the driver cle
ared his throat. “Uh, lady.”
Lee glanced up from her place on the floorboard to see a handsome, gray-haired man staring into the cab.
“Colonel Stiles!” She scooted onto the seat, already feeling the heat rising to her cheeks.
He cracked the door opened and motioned for her to climb out.
“I came to check on you, Lee. Or should I say Correspondent O’Donnelly? One of the nurses said she saw you heading to the collection station, and I have to admit I was a bit worried. I mean, what would I tell your father if you had been hurt?” The colonel laughed. “But I see, dear, you were taking the necessary precautions.”
Lee’s hand shook as she tucked a wayward strand of hair back into her helmet. She didn’t know what bothered her more—being in a vehicle that had just been fired upon, or being found on the floorboard by the very person who’d allowed this assignment.
Her mind searched for an explanation, and she turned to watch the driver and another medic open the doors to unload the men. The first man they pulled out was a sergeant. His clothes had been cut away, and his face was stricken and pallid under the dirt.
“I, uh, wanted to experience the system of retrieving injured soldiers from near the front. I thought it would add to my story.” She turned back to the colonel, pulling together all the poise she could muster. “But you were right.” She laughed. “It unnerved me more than I imagined.”
The colonel winked and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Your mother wrote and told me to keep an eye on you. How about a boat ride back to England? It’s been a tough four days. Then, when we reach the outskirts of Paris, I’ll send for you again. Deal?”
Lee knew four days ago she would have fought for the right to stay. She would have insisted on being taken to the front and argued that a woman could do a man’s job equally as well. That was before seeing the beachhead. Before washing the face of that unconscious soldier. Before having the Germans shoot at her.
She crossed her arms over her chest, feeling the pounding of her heart, and realized that fear was even more powerful than any pride she could muster.
“Just make sure I can be there when you take back Paris.” She attempted to hide the quiver in her voice. “I suppose I could be ready to leave in …” Suddenly Lee remembered the French woman’s assignment. “… in two days. There’s still some more nurses and such I’d like to interview around here.”
“Two days, and a boat ride will be ready for sure.” His gaze softened. “You’re doing okay, aren’t you?”
“Yes, Colonel Stiles. You can write my mom back and let her know I’m just fine.”
Eddie followed Vinny and José into the Knightsbride Studio Club. They had a forty-eight-hour pass and had gussied themselves up in their class-A uniforms in preparation, catching the train to London.
Eddie couldn’t help but feel handsome and distinctive in his pinks and greens, with his crushed hat set at a jaunty angle. He even swaggered a bit, wondering if a cute English girl would spot his 8 Air Force patch on his sleeve and the crew wings and ribbons on his jacket.
“Have a Scotch, Eddie? My treat.” Vinny turned a chair backwards and straddled it, leaning up to the café-type table.
“Nah, soda’s fine. Gotta get you two lushes back to the hotel, after all.” Eddie chuckled. “Heard about the time you two dopes went on liberty without me, and ended up snoozing at the park when the bombs came in.”
José leaned back in his seat, then folded his hands behind his neck and closed his eyes. He bobbed his head gently to the melody of the cocktail pianist. “Yeah, I remember that night in the park. I was dreaming about the Fourth of July. Never occurred to me that the dream was a bit too real. The Fourth is when Maria and I met, you know, at a barbecue at her brother’s house.”
José smiled, and Eddie knew he was thinking about that night, reliving it in his mind. José didn’t go into details, and he didn’t need to. The content grin on his face told all.
Eddie glanced around the room casually, so Vinny wouldn’t catch him scoping the scene. As much as he insisted he didn’t want to find a girl in England, Eddie always kept his eyes open just in case God had a different idea.
The song ended, and Eddie stood up. “Hey, Sam,” he called over the café’s noise. “How about ‘And the Angels Sing’ by Benny Goodman.”
“Sure thing, Joe,” the pianist answered, his fingers gliding across the keys. As the melody played, the pianist leaned into his microphone. “We meet, and the angels sing….”
The music filtered into his ears, yet Eddie felt as if the song were playing for everyone but him. It was his favorite. Or at least it had been back in high school. He looked at Vinny and José as they each ordered another Scotch, and he could see it in their eyes too. The song took them back to days of innocence and safety. Days unlike today.
“Here’s to Danny O’Harlen’s crew. God rest their souls.” Vinny lifted his Scotch and took a long swig, his face showing a slight pinch as he swallowed.
The image of the plane flipping in awkward angles toward the ground came to Eddie, but he focused instead on the musician’s voice, hoping to wash it away.
He glanced around the room at the pretty girls and soldiers. And he knew that if anyone were to study the three of them, they’d never suspect what they’d just lived through. Oh, sure, they could most likely guess they’d been on a raid recently, but their personal experience—the Kraut fighters they shot down, the bombs dropped, even the aching fear was known only to them. It made it sort of special, that way. Like their little secret.
“Kinda strange, isn’t it?” Vinny commented.
“They have no idea, do they?” Eddie added.
“Our other world five miles high.” José reached for his glass.
“We kiss, and the angels sing,” the pianist continued, and Eddie closed his eyes, wishing he could remember this time and place forever. Yet also wondering if there’d ever be a time when others would be here toasting him.
By the third day at the field hospital, Lee had already sent enough material back to Lyle for two stories, but still she waited. With security as tight as it was, she had no idea how the Frenchwoman’s contact would ever find her.
She’d eaten breakfast in the mess tent with the “fellas”—if you call dried eggs washed down with coffee as thick as syrup breakfast. But she liked eating with the others. Helped her to get to know who she was writing about. In the past couple of days she had grown more relaxed. In fact, as long as there weren’t bullets flying her direction, she was fine. Still, she was glad to be going back to England today—with the wide Channel separating her from the big guns.
After breakfast she’d taken the first shower since she’d arrived—in a portable unit with ice-cold water. Who cared that it was so chilly it sucked out her breath. It felt good to be clean.
Now she sat in the cluster of nurses’ tents, propping herself against a log in the sun and letting her damp hair dry. Around her, off-duty nurses also lounged. The worry lines that had creased their foreheads inside the medical tents had faded as they slipped out of their starched white uniforms. A few nurses rolled up the sides of their wall-tents. They wore only long handle, GI underwear. Others lounged in their khaki uniforms.
As she relaxed, Lee noticed one of the farm boys who’d been delivering food to the camp. What is he doing near the nurses’ tent? From behind a tree, he was studying her. When her eyes met his, he lifted a loaf of bread, motioning her to come. Lee slowly rose and approached. She kicked a pebble across the packed dirt as if her heart wasn’t pounding in her chest.
He leaned close as he handed her the bread. “Comet says leave dees bag near de trench.”
“The slit trenches, as in the toilets?”
The boy nodded.
“What if someone finds them?”
“No. My sister she wait. She watch.” The boy shook his head. He was young, not more than twelve or thirteen, with light brown hair that flopped on his forehead as he spoke.
How
did you get involved in this? Lee wanted to ask. Do you have your mother’s permission?
For the first time, Lee questioned if she was doing the right thing. That day on the bench she had wanted something, anything, to fill the ache she had inside for those back home. And when this woman approached, telling Lee she was involved in helping to support needy, hungry people in France and Belgium—and even those in the underground—it seemed so simple.
Lee had agreed to become an unpretentious courier, and she even offered to throw in a few items of value to support their cause. But now? Now that she was actually here, Lee wondered what she’d gotten herself into.
Still, what could she do? She’d come this far.
“Okay, it’ll be there in five minutes.” Lee took the bread and hurried to the tent she shared with three nurses. She glanced to the door to ensure no one was watching. Out of the musette bag she removed a smaller bag made of coarse black fabric. She opened it and peered inside. Playing cards. A board game. A belt buckle. She’d been told they contained special maps used to help Allied airmen escape from German-occupied territory. And along with those items, Lee threw in her sapphire necklace, a pearl bracelet, a gold ring—things Rondi had packed for Lee so she wouldn’t be caught without when “dining with the important generals.”
Lee scoffed at the memory of her sister’s note, then pulled out a scarf. It had been an expensive gift from her brother Roger, hand-painted silk. It was her favorite, something she’d packed herself.
“All for the cause.” She double-tied the knot on the top of the bag, bunching it as tight as it would go. Then she slipped it under her uniform shirt, pushing out the image of one of the last times she’d seen her brother—at the crime scene, investigating the death of an alleged spy. The blood. The body. Is that what happens to those who try to butt in where they shouldn’t be? What have I got myself into?
No one paid any attention as she hurried toward the slit trench, hidden behind the roses and hollyhocks that grew naturally in the cratered field. She shooed away a bumblebee with her hand and forced herself to use the latrine, then left the black bag sitting to the side, nearest to a small cluster of trees.
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