by Sarah Sundin
Early studied her, eyes wide, mouth parted. “You defused a riot. All by yourself.”
Mellie glanced upward. “I had help.”
“Well . . .” Early dipped his chin and slowly raised a salute.
“Thanks.” She gave him a quick smile, then went back to work. Adrenaline pulsed in her veins and would aid in the mop-up, but once it defused, she’d collapse.
Maison Blanche Airfield
“A riot on your plane?” Captain Maxwell ran his hand through his sleek black hair.
Mellie sat on the edge of a chair in the squadron headquarters building, her arms and legs weak from the ordeal. “Yes, sir. But we put a stop to it.”
“Put a stop to it? You never should have let it start.”
“Be fair, Frank.” Lieutenant Lambert rested her hand on the back of Mellie’s chair. “Emotions run high on those POW flights. You know Sergeant Early does not give praise lightly, and he said she did a brilliant job and stopped it all by herself.”
Maxwell spun and looked out the window to the darkening sky. “That’s her problem. She thinks she’s still in the jungle. She wants to do everything by herself.”
Mellie blew out a breath. “Independence is an important trait in a flight nurse, isn’t it?”
He turned, planted his fists on the desk, and leaned on them. “Within limits, Blake. Within limits. Vera and the others know their limits. They don’t smear cactus on wounds, try to stop riots single-handedly, or perform amputations.”
“Amputations?” Lieutenant Lambert circled the chair and stared down at Mellie. “You never performed an amputation.”
Mellie looked back and forth between Maxwell and Lambert. Her mouth opened and closed. She’d never discussed Sesame’s procedure with anyone.
The surgeon cocked an eyebrow at her. “Captain Abrams of the 908th Engineers told me how lucky I was to have such a skilled little nurse in my squadron. Seems you chopped off a dog’s tail and did some pretty embroidery.”
The chief nurse groaned. “Mellie . . .”
She leaned forward. “Sir . . . ma’am, the dog had been shot. The tail was broken clean through. The doctor on duty refused to treat the dog, and it seemed cruel to let him chew it off and get infected. I only needed to snip through some skin and soft tissue.”
Maxwell crossed his arms and looked down his nose at her. “So you performed a surgical procedure. You used valuable supplies on a dog. And you didn’t have a doctor’s order, much less a vet’s. That’s just a little outside your scope of practice, isn’t it?”
Tingles zipped through Mellie’s cheeks. “Yes, sir. I suppose it is.”
“What did I say would happen if you stepped outside your scope of practice again? I’d send you home.”
Lambert twisted her hands together. “Don’t be hasty, Frank. And remember, that’s my decision, not yours.”
“So make it. She doesn’t know her place.”
The chief turned to Mellie. Her brown eyes alternated between scolding and pleading. “You know better. Please don’t do anything like that again.”
Mellie’s throat thickened, and she swallowed hard. “I won’t, ma’am.” But how could she allow the sick and wounded to suffer when she knew how to help them?
“Thank you. I don’t appreciate being in this position. I shouldn’t have to defend my nurses.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am.”
“You’re dismissed.” She waved her hand to the door.
“Thank you, ma’am.” Mellie darted for the door and gasped from the stab of pain in her ankle.
Kay stood outside the building and waved. “Hiya, Mellie-bird. Heard you had a riotous day. I’m so proud of you.”
Mellie ventured a smile although her muscles quivered like jelly. “Maxwell doesn’t share your opinion.”
“Never mind him. He’s frustrated from a lack of marital relations.”
“Kay!”
She laughed, and her green eyes glittered. “You know it’s true. But it’s fun to shock you.”
“Glad I amuse you.” Mellie gave her half a smile.
“Are you limping?”
“I sprained my ankle at Tabarka.”
“You poor thing. Let’s get you back to the barracks.” She dangled an envelope in Mellie’s face. “This will make you feel better.”
The letter Tom passed to Grant. It seemed so long ago, but fresh pain at Tom’s rejection ripped through her. He might have had the sun in his eyes, but if he had any interest in her, the conversation would have lasted longer.
Kay held the barracks door open. “Want some privacy?”
“Privacy? Around here?”
“I’ll keep the girls out. Get that foot elevated. You know what to do.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.” Mellie climbed onto her bunk, bunched the blanket over the railing at the foot of the bed, and propped her leg on top.
Tom’s writing filled less than a page. Mellie suppressed disappointment and read the letter.
My own dear Annie,
Pardon the lack of small talk, but I have to get right to the point or I’ll lose my nerve. Annie, we’ve been writing for seven months. I’ve seen into your heart and let you into mine. I’ve never met a woman like you.
I’ve been in love—unrequited love—before, but I’ve never felt like this. I’ve never seen your face or heard your voice or watched your gestures, but I feel I know you well. Annie, I think I’m in love with you.
This tears me up inside. If my feelings don’t drive you away, what I’m about to say next probably will. I want to meet you. In the meantime, I want to come clean. I want to tell you my name and send my picture, and I want to know your name and see your picture. You say most men don’t find you attractive, but I’m not like most men. I know I’ll love what you look like.
“Oh, sweetheart.” Mellie leaned against the whitewashed wall. Her heart throbbed in aching rhythm with her ankle. “No, you don’t.”
32
El Aouina Airfield
Tunis, Tunisia
June 8, 1943
Quincy tossed paper scraps onto Tom’s desk and headed to the tent entrance. “Have fun with your report.”
“Sure.” Tom sorted the scraps. As always, Quincy gave him disjointed, incomplete, and sloppy information for the platoon reports. Each week it got worse. Tom only had one more month to regain respect, and Quincy knew it. What good was Tom to the battalion if he couldn’t even put together decent paperwork?
He drummed his fingers on the desk. The solution meant bending Newman’s rules.
Tom glanced down at Sesame curled up beside his desk. “Let’s do some bending.”
Sesame lifted his head. His stump of a tail tapped the dirt floor, a heartbreaking sound. At least the wound had healed well, thanks to Mellie’s expert, cool little hands.
Tom shook his head hard, got to his feet, and grabbed a notebook. He headed outside and welcomed the hot, dry breeze.
The engineers had their hands full at El Aouina. Allied bombers had pockmarked the former Luftwaffe airfield. Almost a month after the surrender, and carcasses of German and Italian aircraft still littered the base. But the Allies needed the field soon. The scuttlebutt pointed to an invasion of Sicily.
A roar built up to the south. Tom turned to watch.
A B-17 Flying Fortress zoomed down the dirt runway, a cloud of tan dust in its wake. The graceful four-engine bomber lifted off the ground and tucked up its landing gear. Most likely headed out to bomb Pantelleria, the Axis-controlled island halfway between Tunisia and Sicily.
Tom passed the burned-out hulk of a German cargo plane.
Cargo planes. Thank goodness El Aouina wasn’t a site for medical evacuation. Mellie Blake tempted him too much.
He grimaced. He hadn’t seen her for almost a month, and he hated the fact that he knew how long it had been. The last time he saw her, he’d been careful to limit their interaction.
So why did he feel bad?
How could he have explained his
shortness? “Sorry, Mellie. I find you too attractive, so I can’t talk to you. I don’t want to betray the woman I love. What’s her name? I don’t know.”
Yeah. That would sound crazy.
Maybe it was crazy. Tom skirted a large bomb crater. Several men scampered inside. On the rim a man with a movie camera scanned the depths of the crater, where an aircraft engine poked out of the soil.
Tom let out a low whistle. That must have been some blast. He’d survived enough air raids to picture the scrambling men and burning planes and screaming wounded and geysers of flame and dirt.
He gazed east, as if he could see across the straits to Sicily. What awaited him there?
Sesame bumped his leg.
Tom ruffled his ears. “Thanks for keeping me alert, boy.” He continued on his way.
Ferris’s squad worked on a runway, filling and grading. Tom hailed him.
“Hi, Lieutenant. What are you doing out here?” Suspicion lowered Ferris’s voice.
Tom flipped open his notebook. “Filling in details for the weekly report. Quincy gave me the data, but you know how bad his handwriting is.” Why disparage Quincy by telling everyone he sabotaged Tom with flimsy data?
Ferris chuckled. “His handwriting stinks.”
A few minutes, and Tom had everything he needed. He thanked Ferris, clapped him on the back, and headed for the next squad’s area, farther down the runway. Felt good to be around the men and the work, to be part of the operation again, even if he just gathered numbers.
He’d tell Annie in tonight’s letter. The pace of the correspondence had increased since he declared his love. She even said she “entertained the notion of similar feelings.”
When he read that, he’d let out a loud whoop and startled Sesame and all the officers in the mess. He made some feeble comment about the Pirates’ latest victory. Last time he read Annie’s letters in public.
Granted, she was cautious and concerned. One section of the letter he read last night wouldn’t leave him: “How can it really be love if we’ve never met? What if you can’t stand my hair, or I’m too fat or skinny, or I have an annoying gum-smacking habit, or my voice grates on your nerves, or we don’t have that chemistry everyone talks about? If we aren’t attracted to each other, I’m afraid our friendship might become extremely awkward, and I couldn’t bear to lose your friendship. No, it’s best if we never meet.”
Tom couldn’t imagine that happening. Maybe his mother was right and he’d set himself up for a broken heart, but he doubted it. He loved the woman inside, and he had a gut feeling he’d like the outside as well.
He approached Kovatch’s squad. A roller compacted the earth from a recent repair, and Tom had to shout his request twice. The sergeant grumbled about having to provide data he’d already given Quincy, but Tom persisted and prevailed.
The minor victory put a bounce in his step as he strolled down to the next work site. Sesame stopped, snapped his head to the side, and loped off to the hunt.
Two men walked in Tom’s direction along the runway: Lieutenant Reed and—
And Larry Fong.
Tom’s breath caught. He’d heard Larry had returned to the battalion yesterday, reassigned as Reed’s platoon sergeant. Reed’s former sergeant had been seriously injured by a land mine the week before.
The longer Tom waited, the harder this would get. “Lord, give me the right words.”
Larry didn’t limp, thank goodness, but when he saw Tom, his step faltered.
This wouldn’t be easy, but it was the right thing to do. Tom raised a hand in greeting.
Reed responded. Larry didn’t.
“Hi, Reed. Hi, Larry. I’m glad you’re back.” Tom wiped his free hand on his trousers and swallowed hard. “May I have a word with you?”
Larry’s mouth flattened into a thin line, but he glanced to Lieutenant Reed.
“Go ahead, Fong, but make it snappy. Or as your people say, ‘Chop, chop.’” Reed clapped his hands and walked away.
Larry’s shoulders tensed, and Tom winced.
Once Reed was out of earshot, Tom addressed Larry. “It’s good to see you. How’re you feeling?”
“Fine.” Larry directed his gaze somewhere beyond Tom’s left shoulder.
Tension ate like acid into his stomach. “I can’t believe what Reed said. I’m sorry you have to work with that.”
“At least I know where I stand.”
Tom absorbed the punch. “Listen, I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am for what I did. I could have killed that sniper. But I was afraid I’d turn into my father, MacGilliver the Killiver. That paralyzed me. But I wasn’t thinking straight. This is combat, not Skid Row.”
Larry’s gaze skewered Tom. “So I’m supposed to feel sorry for you? Excuse what you did?”
“Absolutely not. There’s no excuse for what I did. I put my reputation over your life. That’s unforgivable.”
“I’ll say.” His gaze skittered away, but his mouth relaxed.
“Irony is, my reputation is in worse shape than if I’d shot that sniper.”
“Good.”
Tom sucked in a breath between clenched teeth. Always helped the pain. “The worst part is knowing you suffered because of me. I might as well have pulled the trigger myself.”
Larry directed an intense look at him.
Too intense. Tom studied the low foothills to the west, the hills many good men died to claim. “The Lord forgave me, and I hope someday you’ll forgive me, but I’ll always regret it.”
“God keeps telling me I need to forgive you.” Larry’s voice came out low and gravelly.
Just as Annie’s sin had consequences, so did Tom’s. “Forgiveness doesn’t have to mean restoration. This cost me your friendship, the friendship of the best man in this outfit. I know that. I understand.”
Larry’s boots shuffled in the dirt. He let out a long breath. “You aren’t smiling.”
A weight dropped off Tom’s shoulders. “Neither are you.”
“Yeah? It’s hard to smile with three holes in your leg.” A hint of humor colored his voice.
Tom turned back to him. “Ever try to smile with a big whopping hole in your head? I must have one. My brains fell out.”
A quick smile crinkled Larry’s eyes. Then he dropped to his knees and clucked his tongue. “Hi, Sesame. I missed you, boy. Say, what happened to your tail?”
Back from a fruitless hunt, Sesame put his front paws on Larry’s knees and licked his face.
“Reed. That’s what happened. Out hunting. Thought Sesame was a rabbit and shot him.”
Larry gave the dog a good rubdown. “Poor boy.”
“Second time in two months someone I cared about got shot. Least this time it wasn’t my fault.”
Larry pressed his forehead to Sesame’s and rubbed the dog’s ears. Not a word.
Tom shifted his weight from one leg to the other. “It’ll never happen again. I promise.”
One last scratch for Sesame, and Larry stood. “I’d better get to work.”
“Yeah.” Tom’s right hand twitched and lifted, but one glance from Larry screamed it was too early for a handshake. Instead, Tom gave him a deep, respectful nod. “See you around. It’s good to have you back.”
“Thanks.” Larry saluted so fast it looked like he swatted a mosquito on his forehead. And he was gone.
Tom drew a long, shaky breath. Not easy, not the best result, but he’d done the right thing.
33
Casablanca, French Morocco
June 12, 1943
Officers from the 802nd MAETS and the 64th Troop Carrier Group clambered out of Army trucks onto the palm-lined sidewalk of the Boulevard de Paris.
Finally a flight to Casablanca. Mellie savored the contrast of white buildings, green palms, and blue sky. The cool weather in French Morocco contrasted to the heat of Algeria and Tunisia, and it energized her, as did the promise of seeing the ancient walled town and the modern French section.
A Remain Overnight rew
arded the demands of the long flight. From Casablanca, their patients would catch a hospital ship stateside for convalescence. No one knew where or when the next invasion would come, but first the hospitals in North Africa had to be cleared.
Captain Maxwell put two fingers in his mouth and blew a sharp whistle.
All chatter stopped.
“Thank you.” He held his hand high. “It’s five-thirty. Be back here at nine o’clock. We return to Algiers early tomorrow.”
“Phooey. There goes my fun,” Kay said, and Vera and Alice giggled.
The surgeon swept his hand over the boulevard. “As in all cities, safety is an issue here. Stay in groups of six or more. Every lady needs at least one male escort for safety as well as a female escort for propriety.”
Mellie’s fingers went cold. Groups? What if she couldn’t find one?
The crowd divided into thirds. Vera, Alice, and Kay attracted a crowd of men eager to escort them, including Captain Maxwell. The word nightclub bounced around.
Kay shot Mellie a glance and bit her lip. “Join us?”
Mellie managed a crooked smile. A nightclub held no appeal, nor did the company with the exception of Kay. Besides, Kay shouldn’t feel obligated to babysit her when she deserved a night out. “It’s okay. I’d rather see the sights.”
Kay’s gaze circled the remaining groups, and she frowned. “If you change your mind . . .”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.” She patted Kay’s arm and stepped away, but her stomach flopped around. No group would welcome her.
The six nurses from the other flight and their boyfriends formed a tight-knit clique even Georgie and Rose couldn’t crack, and Georgie and Rose . . .
Mellie gripped her hands together to stop the shaking. Georgie and Rose stood with Clint Peters, Roger Cooper, and Bill Shelby, Cooper’s copilot. They studied a map and chatted about sights. Just the group Mellie would enjoy.
If she were welcome.
Georgie sent her a furtive look, and Mellie’s cheeks heated. Unlike Rose, Georgie spoke to her occasionally.