by Sarah Sundin
“All right.” She ducked outside before anyone could join her. The soldier who showed them to their tents mentioned engineers fixing up the base. Tom said ten Engineer Aviation Battalions worked in the theater, which meant a 10 percent chance he was at Ponte Olivo. If he was, Mellie wanted to implement her plan.
What if Kay was right? What if confidence made her attractive? If they were stationed together and spent time together, maybe Tom could come to see her in a new way. And if he did, she could reveal her identity.
Besides, her heart yearned for him. She hadn’t seen him for two months.
A crew of men dug a slit trench between tents. Mellie paused, drew a deep breath, and approached. “Excuse me, gentlemen?”
“Say, it’s a dame.” A short man leaned on his shovel and puffed out his bare chest.
“Hiya, dolly, whatcha doing tonight?”
“No fair. I saw her first.”
Mellie laughed as the men gathered around. They must not have seen a woman in months. If only she could get Tom’s attention this easily. “I wanted to ask a question.”
A red-haired man winked at her. “Why yes, I’m free tonight.”
Mellie wagged her head at him, but she smiled. This group helped her confidence. “I wanted to know what unit you’re with.”
“The 908th Engineer Aviation Battalion. Best unit around.”
Her chest expanded with hope. “Is Lt. Tom MacGilliver around?”
“Gill? Figures. Everyone wants to see Gill.”
Mellie nodded. “Is he around?”
“Sure.” He pointed down a few tents. “Over there with the dog.”
She restrained her smile so she wouldn’t look too lovesick. “Thank you.”
The man she loved stood outside a tent and read from a clipboard. Unlike most of the men on the airfield, he actually wore a shirt.
Mellie stopped, her heart full. She’d be content to watch him all day and memorize his gestures and expressions.
He ran his hand down over stubble on his cheek, shifted from one leg to the other, sniffed, and flipped a page on the clipboard.
It almost felt wrong to know him as she did, inside and out. He didn’t know she’d read all his letters and had seen into his heart.
Sesame sat beside Tom, his head pressed to Tom’s knee and tipped up to watch his master, as if worried about him.
Mellie straightened her shoulders. Time to take her own advice and be strong and of good courage. Confident. She could do this.
She put on a smile and walked up to him. “Well, hi, Tom. What a nice surprise.”
He startled. His mouth hung open. “Hi. Hi, Mellie.”
“And hello, Sesame.” She leaned down and held out her hand to the dog. “Do you remember me, little guy? You probably don’t want to.”
Sesame nosed her hand and let her scratch him, but he didn’t budge from Tom’s side.
“What are you . . . ?” His Adam’s apple dipped to his open collar. “Why are you here?”
He didn’t want to see her, but Mellie propped up her smile and pointed toward the runway. “Evacuating the wounded, of course.”
His eyes looked strange, almost cloudy. “We’re only twelve miles from the front.”
Mellie relaxed. He was only concerned for her safety. “All the more reason to be here.” She tilted her head. It looked flirtatious when Kay did it, but Mellie felt silly.
“This isn’t a good place to be.” His cheeks were pinker than usual.
“They said it was safe.” Her stomach twisted. This wasn’t working.
“They say a lot of things.” He looked past her, toward the far end of the field. His body swayed in a circle.
Something didn’t feel right. Mellie shoved aside her disappointment and studied him. “Tom, are you all right?”
His gaze turned back to her but didn’t latch on. “I’m fine. I need to get back to work.” He stepped to the side and stumbled.
Mellie grabbed his arm to brace him.
He cried out and flinched.
She let go, but heat radiated through her hand, and not the pleasant heat she’d felt when dancing with him. “What happened? You’re hurt.”
He hugged his left arm to his abdomen and scrunched up his face. “Okay, I got wounded the other day. Just a scratch.”
Mellie pressed her hand to his forehead. “You’re burning up. Let me see.”
“See?” He opened bleary eyes.
“The wound. Let me see.”
His chest caved in, and he sighed. “Bossy woman.”
First nice thing he’d said all day, and she smiled. “That’s right. Now, let me see.”
His eyes drifted shut. He fumbled with buttons and shrugged his shirt off his left shoulder. A gauze bandage covered his deltoid, bunched up and soiled.
“Tom! When was the dressing last changed?” She gently unwound the gauze.
He shrugged his good shoulder. “Don’t know.”
She leveled her gaze at him. “Has it been changed?”
Another shrug. He looked to the side.
“This is more than a scratch.” Mellie inspected the wound. A ditch ripped through the mass of the deltoid muscle. “How did this happen?”
“Securing the field. Sniper.”
“Oh my goodness. Thank God you’re alive.” But the wound was red and inflamed.
“I need to get back to work.”
“You need to see a doctor right now. This is infected. It’s in your blood. You should be in the hospital.”
His eyes sprang open. “Hospital? No. I can’t. Got work to do.”
She laid her hand gently on his forearm and gave him a soft smile. When men were sick, they were either babies or stoics. “How can you work like this? You’re in pain. You have a high fever. You can barely stand up.”
“I’m fine. Can I have my bandage back?”
She held it behind her back. “Absolutely not. It’s soiled. We’re going to the doctor right now. At the very least you need a clean bandage and some sulfa pills.”
Tom pulled his shirt back onto his shoulder but didn’t button it. “Doc gave me some pills.” His gaze skittered away.
“Are you taking them?”
He pressed his fingers to his temple. “I gotta—I gotta get back to work.”
Cold fear oozed into her heart. This was more than manly stoicism. He wasn’t taking care of himself. As if he didn’t care. “Tom, you need to take those pills.”
“I know.” He headed down the path between the tents.
Mellie felt dizzy. Something horrible had happened. Something worse than the injury and infection. Even though he refused her help, she wouldn’t let him lose his arm, wouldn’t let him die.
“Lieutenant Blake!” The chief nurse waved from the entrance to Mellie’s tent. “Hurry up! Get to the plane. We’ve got an evac flight.”
Mellie grimaced. Not now. She had to help Tom. “Be right there.”
She dashed back to the crewmen who helped her earlier. “Excuse me. Please have the doctor see Lieutenant MacGilliver. It’s urgent. He’s very sick.”
“Sick? Why?” The red-haired man sauntered up to her. “Did he turn you down for a date? Must be sick if he did that.”
Her cheeks warmed. Did they think her that forward? “Excuse me?”
A tall skinny man nudged his pal. “Figures, Red. The hero gets all the dames, doesn’t even appreciate it.”
“Hero?”
“Sure, dolly. Haven’t you heard? The other day, clearing out that bunker.” Red pointed to the end of the field. “Shot five Italians—boom, boom, boom, boom, boom. Got them each right in the heart. Five bullets, five corpses. Lived up to his name.”
The tall man laughed. “Got our own Killiver.”
Mellie gasped and whipped her gaze toward where she’d last seen Tom. He’d killed five men in battle? Oh dear, what he had to be going through.
Her fear solidified into ice. “Lord, help him.”
36
Ponte Olivo Ai
rfield
July 18, 1943
Tom crept down the concrete tunnel, a pistol in each hand.
He darted into the bunker. Larry curled on the floor, clutching his leg. Tom shot him.
Annie sat in the corner, writing a letter, her face shrouded in darkness. He shot her.
“No, Tommy! Stop! Smile!” His mother walked to him, arms outstretched. He shot her.
His father twirled a pistol in each hand like a Wild West gunslinger. “That’s my boy. My son’s just like me.”
Tom shot him over and over, both guns, but he wouldn’t, he wouldn’t, he wouldn’t die.
“No!” He jerked awake, breathing hard, tangled in his bedroll, clammy with sweat.
Sesame whimpered beside him in the half-shelter rigged next to the perimeter wall.
“Sorry, boy.” Tom lifted a leaden hand and patted the dog’s head. All he wanted was sleep, but Luftwaffe bombing kept him awake, and when sleep came, it only brought nightmares.
He pushed himself up to sitting. His arm and head throbbed, and his skin felt on fire.
The bandage slipped down to his elbow, and he scooted it up and tightened it. He’d used the gauze in his first aid kit rather than see Doc Abrams. The doctor would send him to the hospital, and Tom couldn’t let that happen.
He checked his watch, strapped around his good arm. Already 0745? He needed to report to duty in fifteen minutes, but first he had to deliver his letter.
Tom eased his shirt on. He hated the extra layer of heat but he had to conceal his wound.
He crawled out of the half-shelter and stood. The world swirled about, and he braced himself against the wall.
Sesame bumped his knee, as if to push him back to bed.
“Sorry, boy. Stuff to do.” Tom shoved his feet forward, but his knees wobbled. If only he could keep some food down. Regardless, he had a letter to deliver and men to lead.
Down at the runway, medics loaded patients onto C-47s. Going there was risky but necessary. He had to find a pilot.
Grant Klein inspected the tire of one of the planes.
“Hi, Grant. Could you deliver another letter?”
“Hey, there’s the man of the hour.” He grinned. “Glad you’re on our side, Killiver.”
Only decades of hiding his emotions kept him from screaming. “The letter?”
He shrugged and pointed to the next plane. “Just give it to Kay. She’s over there.”
“All right.” But the distance stretched long before him. His gelatinous legs refused to walk in a straight line.
“Tom! Tom!” a woman called behind him. Mellie.
He turned too fast. Vertigo overtook him. He collapsed to his backside and flopped onto his back like a dead cockroach.
“Tom! Oh dear. Oh no.” Mellie dropped to her knees beside him, along with a man.
Doctor Abrams.
“No.” Tom rolled to his side and pushed up on his good elbow.
“No, you don’t.” Doc Abrams pressed Tom’s chest so he lay flat on the ground.
Tom groaned and closed his eyes, trapped on the rough, gravelly asphalt. “Asphalt. Good surface.”
“Thanks for finding me, nurse.” The doctor unbuttoned Tom’s shirt.
“Oh dear. I’m glad I found you when I did.”
Tom forced his eyes open. Mellie leaned over him, black curls shining around her face. She looked so pretty. So worried.
He lifted his hand to pat her cheek, but he still held Annie’s letter.
The letter! “I need to—I need to give this to Kay.”
“Kay?” Mellie stared at the envelope.
“The flight nurse. You know who she is?”
Mellie nodded and took the letter. “I’ll give it to her.”
“Thanks.” At least she didn’t ask questions. Then he’d have to explain the woman he loved to the woman he was attracted to.
Not that it mattered anymore. Nothing mattered. He was going to die.
The doctor swabbed the inside of Tom’s elbow. So wonderfully cold. Then a needle poked through. “He needs to be hospitalized immediately.”
“No.” Tom rolled away from his grip. “No hospital. Leave me alone.”
Mellie pushed him back down. “The 93rd Evacuation Hospital?”
“No. He’ll need at least two weeks of treatment. Can we evac him today?”
“Um, yes.” Mellie pulled her lips between her teeth. “I have room on my plane. But you’ll need to clear it with Captain Maxwell.”
“I’ll do that right now; send a medic with a litter. Go ahead and load him up. I gave him morphine to calm him down, ease the pain.”
Tom grabbed the sleeve of Mellie’s blouse. “No. You can’t do this. I can’t leave.”
She gave him a gentle smile. “How can you stay here? You’re almost delirious with fever. You’re no good to your battalion.”
“No good.” He flopped back to the asphalt. Pebbles poked the back of his head. “I’m no good at all.”
“Hush. That’s not what I said.” With an icy hand, she smoothed his hair back from his forehead. Felt really good. “You can’t work now. You need to heal and rest.”
“No good. No good at all.”
“That’s not true.”
“It’s true. I’m a killer. You know that?” He tried to fix his gaze on her. “You hear I killed five men?”
“I did.” Her hand cupped his cheek, as cool as water. “I heard the enemy shot at you and your men, you begged them to surrender in their own language, but they refused. You single-handedly cleared a bunker. They give out medals for actions like that.”
“No. No.” He shook his head, grinding gravel into his scalp. “Don’t deserve a medal. Deserve to die.”
“Don’t talk like that. Ssh. Ssh.” She sat up straighter. “Oh good, the litter. Thank you, gentlemen.”
The medics rolled Tom to the side, slid the litter under, then hefted him on. They fastened straps across his chest and thighs.
“No.” Tom pulled at the straps. “Don’t. I gotta work. Sesame. What about Sesame?”
Mellie took his hands in hers. “I’ll get someone to watch Sesame. You need to get well.”
Tom squeezed his blazing eyes shut. “I don’t want to get well.”
“Think, sweetheart, think. You need to get well for Sesame. He loves you. So does your mom. And so . . . you need to get well for them, for the people who love you.” Her voice cracked.
He couldn’t open his eyes against the heavy weight of morphine. Sweetheart? Why did nurses talk to patients like they were children?
Something wet on his forearm. He cracked his eyes open. Sesame whimpered and licked his arm. “Hey, boy. Someone will . . .” Who? Who would take care of him?
The medics lifted the litter.
“Mellie! Mellie!”
“Right here.” She walked beside him. “What is it?”
“Larry. Sgt. Larry Fong. He likes Sesame even if he doesn’t like me.”
“I’ll tell Dr. Abrams. Don’t worry. We’ll take care of him.”
“Good.” And his mom would get by. She’d be better off without him to worry about.
“I’ll be back in a minute.” Mellie winked at him. “Don’t go anywhere.”
Tom managed a smile. Between the morphine, the straps, and the burly medics, he wouldn’t be going AWOL, as much as he wanted to.
The litter rose, jiggled, and Tom entered the dark, stuffy interior of the plane, filled with the smell of unwashed bodies, blood, and a touch of vomit.
The medics clamped the litter in place along the right side of the plane, with two litters below him. Morphine surged warm and drowsy in his veins. Why couldn’t it be cool instead of warm?
“How are you doing, Lieutenant?” The big-chinned medic spoke—the man who’d been rude to Mellie the day Tom met her. “Got a fever, huh?”
“It’s nothing.”
“Yeah. Well, we’re out of aspirin. Everyone is. Chew this.” He held out something that looked like wood. “Willo
w tree bark. Lieutenant Blake’s a genius. Did you know the first aspirin came from willow tree bark?”
Tom’s gaze swiveled around, uncooperative. “Lieutenant Blake?”
“The flight nurse. She’s the best.” He prodded the bark between Tom’s lips and sent a furtive glance down the aisle. “Chew. And don’t go blabbing about this in Tunisia. We don’t want to get her in trouble.”
“No.” Apparently Mellie had won the fellow over. Tom bit down. The bark tasted dusty and bitter.
“She’s back.” The medic headed for the front of the plane. “Say, Lieutenant, I gave him the bark.”
Tom made a face and gazed up into the nurse’s brown eyes. “It’s worse than his bite.”
Mellie let out a chime of a laugh. “Oh, you’ll be just fine, Tom.”
He shook his head. He didn’t want to be fine.
“Comfortable?” She pressed her hand to his cheek. “I don’t think you need a blanket.”
Tom tried to smile, but his cheek only twitched under the coolness of her hand. Why did she have to be sweet to him? “My dog?”
“Sesame’s with the doctor, and he’ll get him to Larry.”
“Good. I can die in peace.”
“Don’t talk like that.” She squeezed his hand. “You’re not going to die. We’ll get you fluids and sulfa. A few days, and you’ll be fine.”
He turned his head away. “I don’t wanna get well.”
“Of course you do. The fever’s talking.”
“No. No. It’s a bad line, my father’s. Needs to end.”
“Nonsense. You’re a fine man.”
He fought against the comfort of her shaking voice and her hand stroking his cheek. He didn’t deserve comfort. “Just like him. Never thought I was. Same. Needs to end.”
“Tom MacGilliver, look at me.” She turned his head and got within six breathtaking inches of his face. “Look at me. Listen to me. You’re not your father. You’re a wonderful man, full of compassion and strength and honor.”
He covered her hand with his. Her gorgeous mouth twisted in concern. Even now with his lips on fire—even now he wanted to kiss her. What kind of man was he? “Honor? No.”
“Yes, honor.”