by Sarah Sundin
Tom charged forward. “Sir, all I need is—”
A small hand clamped onto his arm. Mellie swung around and stepped into his path. “Tom, wait.” She looked up at him with the strangest expression, her eyes narrowed and probing.
His jaw hardened. “I will not fail him. He depends on me.”
Mellie’s gaze melted, the sweetest curve turned up her lips, and she swayed closer. Just a bit, but his pulse pounded like a jackhammer.
“I have—” The words turned to powder in his mouth. Why couldn’t he function in this woman’s presence? He swallowed hard and moistened his lips. “I have to help him.”
She gave a few slight nods, then looked to the back of the tent where the doctor had gone. “I’ll see what I can do. Wait for me outside.”
Tom nodded. He couldn’t speak anyway. He headed outside, back into the fresh hot air. Sesame struggled in his arms. “Ssh, boy. It’s okay. We’ll take care of you.”
A few minutes later, the tent flap rustled, and Mellie came out with a white bundle. “Come with me.” She walked at a brisk pace toward a C-47.
“A doctor over there?”
Mellie shook her head. “Dr. Sayers is the only one working today. I’m not a surgeon, not a vet, but I’ll see what I can do.” Her voice wavered.
Tom caught up and looked hard at her until she turned her gaze to him. “I trust you. I know you’ll do your best.”
Her smile twitched in a vulnerable way. “Thank you.”
He winked, anything to relax her. “Don’t you have real patients?”
She shook back the black waves of her hair to reveal a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Sesame isn’t real? I didn’t know you had imaginary friends.”
Nope, anonymous friends. And he’d better watch himself.
Mellie climbed through the cargo door of the C-47, and Tom followed. She unrolled a bundle of towels wrapped around a canteen of water and an olive drab canvas pouch. Then she opened the chest in the back of the plane. “They weren’t ready for us when we landed. We won’t load patients for two hours, so I have plenty of time.”
“Okay.” Plenty of time. Up to two hours. The thought frolicked in his heart, then skidded to a stop in his brain. He jerked his gaze to the hurting little dog in his arms. “It’s okay, Sesame. Everything will be okay.”
“Absolutely.” Mellie laid a towel on the floor of the plane. “Lay him here, but keep a good grip on him.”
Tom did so. Sesame’s legs scrabbled around, but Tom held him down and cooed at him.
Mellie poured water over the wound and worked away dirt. “His tail is broken.”
“You’ll put a cast on it?”
One side of her mouth bent up. “No. It’ll have to come off.”
“Come off? His tail? You can’t do that.”
Mellie leveled her gaze at him. “It’s broken clean through. Only a hinge of skin and soft tissue holds it in place. If I don’t cut it off, he’ll chew it off.”
Heaviness pressed on his chest. He rubbed Sesame’s head. The dog panted and looked up at him with trusting eyes. “Poor boy.”
“He’ll be fine. It could have been much worse.” She dabbed the wound with an iodine-soaked gauze pad.
With one hand firm on Sesame’s head, Tom stroked his shoulders. Tawny fur covered his back and sides and the top of his tail, while the underside of his body and tail were white. His tail used to swirl like cream being stirred into coffee. But no more.
Mellie sprinkled powder on the wound. “Sulfanilamide, to prevent infection.”
“Uh-huh.” The men carried sulfanilamide in their first aid packets, although few could pronounce it.
“You’ll need to hold him down.” Mellie filled a syringe. “I’m giving him something to sedate him, maybe make him sleep so he won’t chew out his stitches.”
“Okay.” Tom sat with his full weight on his left leg and threw his right leg over Sesame’s haunches. His bare, hairy leg. Why did this have to happen when he was half-naked?
Mellie drew her lips between her teeth. “Medications don’t always have the same effect on animals that they do in people. I guessed on the dose, based on his weight, but I honestly don’t know how it’ll affect him.”
Tom’s hands dug into the fur over Sesame’s shoulders and neck. What would he do without his dog? He cleared his throat. “But he needs it.”
“Yes.” She sent him a tentative glance.
He nodded his permission.
She injected the medication. Sesame yipped, and Tom exerted steady pressure to restrain him.
Mellie unrolled the canvas pouch and lifted a pair of gleaming scissors.
Tom jerked his gaze to the side. “It’s okay, boy. I’m right here.”
Scissors snipped. Tom braced himself against the sound and held his dog in place.
Sesame looked up at him with wild, questioning eyes. His tail. His beautiful tail.
Tom stroked his dog’s head. “What will he do without his tail?”
“Excuse me?”
“He loves his tail. It’s who he is, his identity.”
Mellie stayed quiet so long, Tom shot her a glance. He must have sounded stupid. She gave him a soft, sweet look, full of understanding. “That’s not all his identity, is it?”
“I—I don’t know.”
She bent down to her stitchery. “You love him and he loves you. Isn’t that a big part of his identity?”
Sesame’s gaze fixed on Tom, seeking guidance and protection and answers. “Yeah.”
“And he’s got his—” She frowned. Her forehead bunched up. “Well, does he do anything around here? Any roles, any jobs?”
“Yeah. He does a lot around here, carries messages, things like that.”
“He doesn’t need his tail to do that, right? He’s loved. He has a purpose. He’ll be fine.” She gave him a penetrating look and the subtlest of smiles.
As if she’d seen. As if she understood.
Understood that his question about identity didn’t apply just to Sesame but to him.
31
Tabarka Airfield
May 13, 1943
“Everything looks great.” Mellie tugged on the litter rack in the back of the C-47.
Sergeant Early huffed. “I know what I’m doing.”
She gritted her teeth, then relaxed her jaw so her voice would come out softly. “I know. I’m impressed with all you men do.”
“The feeling ain’t mutual. You dames do nothing but get the men hot and bothered.” Early jumped out the cargo door and marched away.
She lowered herself out of the plane. It was almost time to load patients. Over the last few days, the Allies had swept over the German and Italian armies in Tunisia. Yesterday they had signed an official surrender, effective today. The hospitals teemed with patients, both Allied and Axis, and air evacuation ran in earnest.
Mellie crossed the runway, careful to walk the seams of the planks so her shoe heels wouldn’t fall through the holes that perforated the steel like ticker tape. Tom said the holes made the planks lighter, helped in drainage, and provided grip for the planes’ wheels. She smiled. Had Tom touched this plank? Why, she could almost hear his voice in her head.
“Thanks, Grant. Appreciate it.” About two hundred feet away, one man addressed another. He sounded like Tom. He looked like Tom.
“No problem,” the other man said. “Any excuse to see Kay.”
“Yeah. Well, thanks again.”
Mellie’s breath caught. She’d witnessed Tom pass a letter for her. Even better, he walked in parallel with her.
Her heart angled her path toward his. When he looked her direction, her tongue froze, but she raised her hand in a tentative, ridiculous little wave.
He tipped his hand to the rim of his helmet, nodded, and continued on his way.
Mellie halted and gaped at him, her heart as pierced as the planks. He didn’t want to talk to her? The man she loved didn’t even acknowledge her? She was a fool, a deluded fool.
&n
bsp; She strode toward the hospital tent. Maybe he didn’t recognize her from that distance.
Yet she recognized him, the way he walked in his gray-green herringbone twills, the way he held his shoulders and chest. She knew how those shoulders felt in her arms. She knew the feel of his bare chest under her hands, the heat and strength.
Her cheeks warmed. He’d pulled away from her that day, and now he didn’t even say hello.
Who was she kidding? He could never love her.
Her right foot wrenched to the side. She cried out and crumpled to the ground.
Her stupid heel had gotten stuck in the planking. Why didn’t the Army Nurse Corps supply practical shoes?
Footsteps pounded toward her.
Oh no. Tom. He’d consider her a silly female who feigned injury so men would come to her aid.
She wiggled her foot out of the shoe. Her ankle throbbed.
“You okay?” Tom knelt beside her. “Mellie? Oh, it’s you.”
“I’m fine.” She didn’t meet his gaze, afraid her eyes were red. She swiveled her ankle. Not broken. A strain, maybe a mild sprain.
Tom chuckled. “That’s why you waved. I didn’t recognize you. The sun was in my eyes. Sorry. You must think I’m rude.”
Mellie ventured a glance into his eyes, even bluer against a tan. He must have had more days at the beach. In his swim trunks. She lowered her head and rubbed her ankle. “Perhaps a bit rude.”
“Sorry.” Tom worked her shoe out of the hole. “Maybe you should keep the high heels at home.”
His grin prodded up a shaky laugh. “If I did, I’d be barefoot.”
Tom brushed dirt off the shoe and handed it to her. “I’ll loan you some combat boots.”
“I’d accept if they came in my size.” She worked the shoe back onto her foot and winced at the pain.
“Are you hurt? ’Cause I could reserve a spot for you on this flight.”
Why did he have to smile? It was the most glorious, agonizing thing. She forced herself to play along and send him a wink. “I already have a reservation.”
“Smart woman.” He got to his feet and offered his hand.
Nothing to do but take it, although the feel of his warm, callused strength sent shivers through her more painful than the twinges in her ankle.
She tried not to favor her right foot. “How’s Sesame?”
“He’s great.” Tom pulled off his helmet and ran his hand over his sweat-damp hair. “He slept real well that day, and I kept him busy. He didn’t pull out his stitches. Doc Abrams will take them out in a few days. He admired your handiwork.”
“Doc Abrams?”
Tom motioned with his thumb over his shoulder as if a physician stood behind him. “Our battalion doctor. Anyway, thanks for all you did.”
“I’m glad I could help.” Mellie couldn’t tear her gaze from his determined expression. When he fought for his dog with Dr. Sayers, he showed he’d learned from his mistakes. Strength bolstered his kindness, and she loved him deeply.
Tom plunked his helmet back in place. “I’d better get back to work. Good seeing you.”
“Same here.”
He saluted and left her.
All alone.
“Sing it loud, boys.” In the bottom litter on the left, Sergeant Benson launched into “The Star-Spangled Banner.”
As she made her way down the aisle, Mellie cringed, and not from the pulsing pain in her ankle. On any other flight, she’d welcome singing. On this day, with the war in North Africa at an end, the men deserved to celebrate.
But not when their celebration taunted the defeated enemy.
Irritated murmurs in German rose from some of the litters. Mellie didn’t think it wise to mix Allied and Axis patients on the same flight, but two armed MPs stood guard in white helmets at the front of the cabin.
Mellie knelt beside Benson’s litter. “Excuse me, Sergeant. I appreciate your patriotism and understand your joy, but please wait until we’re on the ground. Things are tense.”
Benson added a smile to his handsome face. “To the winners go the spoils.”
“Yes, sir.” Mellie patted his arm. “But save the spoils for later.”
He waved her off with a glint in his brown eyes and sang “Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammunition.”
Mellie sighed and straightened up. She’d never seen the enemy so close. Other than their unfamiliar uniforms and languages, they could be American boys. One looked scared, one looked sad, and two Italians seemed thrilled to be done with the war. But a German soldier in the litter above Benson gave icicle looks that chilled Mellie to the bone.
She returned to the rear of the plane to get the flight manifest for the final round of vital signs. Every bump burrowed into her ankle. She’d need to elevate it tonight so she wouldn’t miss work.
“Hey, boys, get your raspberries ready,” Benson shouted. “You know it—‘Der Führer’s Face.’”
Mellie’s hands fisted. That was too much. It was one thing to rejoice over victory, another to make fun of the enemy.
“Schwester! Schwester!” The icicle-eyed German motioned for Mellie.
She didn’t speak a lick of German, but she knew he wanted silence.
The man lay on his litter, his hand clamped over his mouth. Not his ears. The ice melted from his eyes. “Schwester, ich werde mich übergeben.”
The man’s green skin tone communicated clearly. “I’ll be right back, sir.” She added some hand motions.
Early was helping patients in the front of the cabin, so Mellie dashed to the medical chest in the back, grabbed a rubber basin, and returned to her patient.
He grabbed the basin in both hands, leaned over the side of the litter, and retched.
Mellie stroked the blond hair on the back of his head and spoke soothing words he wouldn’t understand.
All around, men made noises of disgust and turned away.
“What’s the matter, Kraut?” Benson said from right below. “Can’t stomach defeat?”
Laughter rewarded him, and he belted out the next verse of “Der Führer’s Face.”
Mellie ducked down to meet his eye. “Stop it, Sergeant.”
“Just having fun. Join in.” Benson waved his arms and conducted his GI chorus.
Mellie rolled her eyes. But the plane would land in half an hour and she’d be rid of this lot. She addressed her patient, who seemed to be finished. “Do you feel better? Gut?”
He lifted his head. Mellie wiped his blotchy pale face with a gauze pad. His eyes gave her the shivers, so cold, so hard, so hateful. She knew what the Nazis thought about half-breeds. Thank goodness she’d been born an American. Her racial heritage earned teasing, not death.
“May I?” She held out her hands for the basin.
His eyes narrowed, and his upper lip curled. He leaned over the side of the litter and dumped the basin onto Sergeant Benson.
Benson cried out and sat up, spewing curses as vile as the basin contents.
Mellie glared at the German and pressed his shoulders. “Lie down.”
She bent to clean up Benson, but he’d unfastened his securing strap. He swung his legs to the ground and stood.
“No, sir! You shouldn’t stand.”
He shoved past her, flung his body on top of the Nazi, and pressed his fouled blanket over his enemy’s face.
“Sergeant, no! You’ll smother him.” Mellie tugged his arm. “Help! MP!”
A crowd blocked the aisle and cheered Benson on. The MPs carried guns, but they couldn’t shoot the men in the aisle. Sergeant Early barked commands over the crowd, but no one listened.
Panic scrambled in Mellie’s chest. The German thrashed beneath Benson’s weight, but he wasn’t strong enough to throw him off. Mellie wasn’t strong enough either. She searched the crowd for one man who would fight for what was right.
She found none.
Benson tightened his grip. “This is for Yates and Caruthers and Jacoby and all the other good men you filthy Krauts killed.”
A strange idea filled her, nothing she could have thought of herself, so unnatural and illogical it had to come from above. She obeyed. She laid a firm hand on Benson’s shoulder. “That’s right. He deserves it.”
Benson turned wild eyes to her, eyebrows twisted.
She leaned closer. “He deserves to die. He’s a barbarian.”
“Yeah,” Benson chuffed out, arms firm over the struggling man’s face. “Barbarian.”
“I’ve heard what they do.” Mellie locked the strongest gaze she could muster on Benson’s red face. “They shoot their prisoners.”
“Yeah! They do.”
“They shoot their prisoners. Unarmed men who surrendered honorably. They show them no mercy. We wouldn’t do that.”
“No.” His voice came out clipped. Horror jolted through his eyes.
“We wouldn’t do that. We’re better than that.” With gentle pressure, Mellie eased him to the side. “We aren’t barbarians. We treat our prisoners honorably. And this man is our prisoner.”
A wash of emotions flooded over Benson’s face. He stared at his hands.
Disappointed cries resounded through the plane.
Mellie guided Benson down to his litter. The German lay limp.
“Sit down! All of you!” Mellie swept the blanket off the man’s face and pressed her fingers to his carotid. Still had a pulse, and his chest rose and fell. “What do you think this is? A prize fight? This is a man’s life.”
Early and the MPs shouldered their way through the crowd.
Mellie addressed the MPs. “Get these men seated and quieted.” Then she turned to Early. “Get the oxygen equipment. Now.”
She knelt down to check on Benson. “Are you all right?”
He held his hands in front of his face. “I’m a . . . I’m a . . .” Blood soaked through his pajamas over his abdomen.
Mellie folded back his pajama top and the gauze dressing over his gunshot wound. He’d burst his incision. She headed toward the medical chest for gauze and plasma.
She squeezed past Early coming down the aisle. “Give the oxygen to the German. He’s still breathing, thank goodness.”