Rose of Anzio - Remembrance (Volume 4): a WWII Epic Love Story

by Alexa Kang

  The driver drove on. A grim and solemn mood now settled on everyone riding in the back of the truck. Jesse looked around at all their faces. Clearly, everyone felt like a louse for leaving behind one of their own. They must be wondering too. If they were ever injured and needed help like the soldier back there, would their own army leave them behind?

  The injured soldier diminished from their view. Helpless, Jesse looked on. His guts were all knotted up. He felt so powerless. He couldn't change the wounded soldier's situation. He couldn't change his own situation.

  The pops of sniper shots cut through the air before they had gone far. Behind them, the private first class from the straggling group of soldiers from the 142nd had run out to try to retrieve the wounded soldier. Another sniper shot knocked him to the ground, killing him instantly before he could reach the man he had tried to save.

  "Tell everyone behind to keep moving!" Anthony shouted to the radio operator.

  Jesse slumped down in his seat. He felt so tired. Tired of it all. Tired of everything.

  Fox made a wisecrack. "Guess we're not 'out of the woods' yet."

  No one laughed. The convoy drove on with Ed Ferris staring back at the woods, in shock at the instant slaughter of the private who could have been him.

  14

  Late in the afternoon, Fran walked into the 33rd Field Hospital's makeshift administrative office and unexpectedly found Aaron standing behind the typist giving out instructions while she prepared a document. Aaron and the typist both looked up when Fran entered, then returned to their work without acknowledging her further.

  Feeling awkward, Fran stood in place. She crossed her arms and hugged the folder she was holding tightly against her chest as though it could shield her. It didn't. Everyone seemed to be ostracizing her.

  This wasn't fair. She had done nothing wrong. She was only doing her job when she reassigned staff members to the hospitals up north.

  She gathered her composure and walked over to Lieutenant Dillard, a matronly looking nurse who handled administration and logistics, and put the file she was holding on Dillard's desk. "Here you go, Lieutenant Dillard. I've reviewed the staffing schedule for next week. I see you've downsized the number of nurses for each shift. Why?"

  "We haven't had as many patients, Captain," Dillard said. "Our landing here has been so smooth. Most of the boys are here because of the flu, not because of combat injuries. I thought we should give our nurses some time off while we can. They've all been working so hard this year."

  "Nonsense," Fran said, raising her voice. She wanted Aaron to know that she had really come to the administrative office for a work-related matter and not because he was here. Another part of her also wanted him to be aware that she was here, doing a good job as always. "We have to be prepared at all times. We're still at war. Things can turn disastrous without a moment's notice. We can't risk being short-staffed."

  "I did put at least two people on call per shift."

  "That's not good enough. Redo the schedule and staff the hospital the way we normally do."

  Dillard dropped her shoulders and picked up the file. "Yes, Captain."

  While they talked, Aaron left the typist and headed toward the exit. Fran watched him, wanting to speak to him but unsure how. "Captain." He gave Fran a cordial acknowledgment as he passed her. She stood rigid, unaware that she was twisting the pen in her hand over and over.

  "Is there anything else, Captain?" Dillard asked.

  "No. That'll be all," Fran said, barely paying Dillard any attention. She gathered her wits and quickly left the room. Everything had changed completely since Aaron returned from Naples. The good rapport she had had with him was gone. He had become aloof and distant. They no longer had breakfast meetings every morning or afternoon tea at the end of the day. They never worked alone together anymore. He had invited Dr. Bernstein, another high-ranking surgeon, to assist with hospital supervision. If he must meet with her, he would always invite Dr. Bernstein to join as well.

  He never asked her how her day was going either anymore.

  She couldn't understand. How did everything turn out this way? Ellie Swanson was gone. Everything should have returned to the way it used to be. What went wrong?

  No doubt, Aaron was displeased with Ellie Swanson's departure. Fran knew he thought she should have consulted him first. She was prepared to explain her decision, and to help him understand the military's dire need for support up north, but he never asked her about it. He wouldn't give her a chance to defend her decision.

  Even if he held a grudge against her for sending Ellie away, he couldn't possibly think that he still had any more chances with Ellie Swanson, could he? Swanson was now so far away.

  Back in her own quarters, Fran took off her hat and loosened her collar. There was nothing she could do for now. Aaron needed time, that was all. He hadn't gotten over the idea that Ellie was no longer here. He'd come around. At least this was what she told herself.

  And if he didn't come around...Well, if he was determined to give her the cold shoulder, then it would confirm all the more that what she had done was justified. Why should he get a chance with Ellie, when Fran herself couldn't get a chance with him? Why should Ellie Swanson be able to waltz into the hospital, and without the slightest effort, take away the only man Fran had ever wanted in her life? Why should she let Ellie Swanson take it all away, when this was the one time that she had entertained the prospect of sharing her life with another person?

  She lifted the blanket folded on top of her cot and picked up the chipped wooden heart she had taken from Aaron.

  Let all three of them be losers then. She didn't have to be the only one losing out. They could all bear the same pangs of disappointment.

  "Tessa! Tessa!" Tyler Renfield called out to Tessa at the mess hall, where she was writing a letter to her parents. "So glad I found you." He sat down across from her, excited. "I only have a few minutes before catching my ride back to the front. I wanted to show you this." He put his sketch pad in front of her. "You can send it to Captain Ardley."

  She glanced at the sketch. It was a comic drawing of her sitting inside the airplane cabin, looking pouty and grumpy. Next to the illustration, he had written, "Tessa leaving Rome and Anthony."

  "Here. See?" He flipped to the next page. "This is the second one." The sketch on the following page showed an exaggerated illustration of her holding out her arms and blowing kisses of little hearts, with "Tessa when Anthony's letters arrive" written across the top of the page.

  "I'm not sending him this," Tessa said. "You made me look ridiculous."

  "You have to send it. He needs to know how much you miss him."

  "No! You're terrible." She looked at the drawing again. Her indignant amusement changed to sadness.

  "What's the matter?" Tyler asked.

  "Nothing." She put down her pen. "I just haven't gotten any letters from him in weeks."

  "They'll come," Tyler said. "Mail's been really slow for everyone. I haven't gotten any letters from my folks either. I'm sure he's written you lots of letters by now."

  Tessa gave him a grateful smile. What Tyler said was true. Mail had been exceptionally slow since they had arrived in northern France. Sometimes, she felt almost cut off from the rest of the world. The First Army was constantly on the move. Unlike Anzio where the battle had stalled in a single location, the army units here never stayed in one place long enough for the mail to get to her.

  Actually, mail delay was the least of their problems. Since the First Army battalion's breakout at Saint-Lô, their troops had been moving so fast that the evacuation hospitals could not keep up. At one point, the infantry's front line had extended as far as a hundred and fifty miles ahead of the closest evac hospital. The army could not transport patients there in time for immediate surgeries. To accommodate the changing circumstances, the medical command had moved all the field hospitals as far forward as they could behind the infantry troops. The field hospitals were now giving treatments and p
erforming surgeries that had been given and performed only at the evac hospitals before.

  At the fast rate they were moving, Tessa could not be sure where she would be at the end of each day.

  Right now, she was in Falaise. The First Army had liberated this town a few days ago. Unfortunately, their swift victory did not lighten the damage caused by the war. On her way here, she saw entire villages destroyed. Ruins, rubble, and abandoned army equipment lay in piles as high as buildings, obstructing the roads. Thousands of dead human and animal bodies spread all over the streets, attracting swarms of flies and maggots that reveled in the stench of decaying flesh.

  Anthony must be seeing the same things where he was too. On the table, a copy of the Stars and Stripes featured the headline, "Seventh Army Takes Toulon, Marseille." The paper reported that the Seventh Army was also advancing in southern France at rapid speed.

  Maybe, like he said, the war would come to an end soon. She could only hope.

  While she was thinking, Ellie had come to join them. "Tessa, Tyler."

  "Lieutenant Swanson," Tyler greeted her back.

  Ellie gave him a quick smile, then said to Tessa, "I need your help."

  "Yes?"

  "There's a new patient in Ward 8. I'm having a hard time getting any of the nurses to look after him."

  "Why's that?"

  "They're afraid of him," Ellie said. "He looks intimidating."

  Tessa and Tyler looked at each other, perplexed. After all the horrific things they had witnessed in this war, what more could intimidate the nurses?

  "He's got tattoos."

  "Half the guys here got tattoos." Tyler laughed. "Every navy guy's got some on his skin. I'm thinking of getting one myself. A tattoo of a K-ration. Right here." He pointed at his stomach.

  "Be serious." Tessa slapped him lightly on the arm.

  "His tattoos are different," Ellie said. "There are also rumors that he's the son of a mafia boss. I don't know if this is true or not. Anyway, the women are uncomfortable going near him. I don't want to force anyone. I'd take care of him myself, but I've got so much work on my hands. I have to arrange to transfer the patients with contagious diseases out of here and finish up the reports on the ones with battle fatigue so they can be evacuated." She looked pleadingly at Tessa. "I really do hate to put this on you, but do you mind?"

  "I'll do it," Tessa said without hesitation.

  "Thank you," Ellie said, relieved. "His name is Victor Cardozo. Everyone calls him the Blade. You only have to administer his treatment. You don't have to do anything more than that."

  "Leave it to me," Tessa assured her. She was curious to find out how frightening this man might be.

  "I'll see you both later then." Ellie gave Tessa another look of gratitude and took off.

  "I better get going too," Tyler said. He tore the two drawings he had made for Tessa from his sketch pad and gave them to her.

  She made a face at him, feigning displeasure at the way he had depicted her. "Goodbye. And be careful."

  "You be careful," he said. "Watch out for the Blade." He made a face too, pretending to be afraid.

  She shook her head and watched him leave. Smiling, she folded his sketches into her own notepad and left the mess hall to go to Ward 8 to check on her new patient.

  Housed temporarily in an old French hospital, Ward 8 appeared no different than any other patients' ward set up by the 51st Field Hospital. The advantage of being in an actual hospital building was that they could put the patients on real beds rather than easily movable cots on the floor. Today, the ward was no more overcrowded than usual. Everything appeared normal. Tessa scanned the room for the patient she had come to see. Her eyes swept over the soldiers who were playing a poker game in the first row of beds near the entrance, to the ones in the back who were neither sick nor injured, but were exhausted by battle and had come to sleep. On the other side of the room, a gravely wounded soldier groaned.

  She continued to look around until her eyes settled on a man with a broad face and thick lips. Right away, she knew he must be the Blade. A large man, he had the rough, low-class look of someone who had spent a life in the company of people on the wrong side of the tracks. Shirtless, the raw strength of his bulky, muscular arms and shoulders laid bare on full display. He sat on the bed like a dangerous predator, ready for a hunt. Or a kill.

  Tessa approached him. Like an animal in the wild, he immediately sensed Tessa's presence. His eyes, sharp and penetrating, picked up every trace of movement in his vicinity like the eyes of a hawk. By instinct, he reacted to anything that presented itself as a threat or a challenge…or a potential prey.

  Wary, but undeterred, Tessa walked toward him. Up close, she could see why Ellie had mentioned his tattoos. Tattoos were common among soldiers. Many of them liked to brand their unit's insignia on their bodies as a badge of honor. Often, they liked to pierce onto themselves sentimental symbols and images of bravado too. Graphic illustrations of women in seductive poses were also commonplace.

  The body art tattooed on the Blade was something else. Tessa had never seen such depictions of the grotesque. A large image of a slit inked in deep red ran down his chest over his heart like a savage cut that had ripped open his body. Emerging from the slit, a haunting demon threatened to tear his way out. The demonic image was accompanied by another tattoo on his arm, which depicted an open mouth with long, saw-like teeth, covered in blood.

  Nonetheless, neither of these images came close to being as gruesome as the one on the right side of his abdomen. The tattoo was designed around an old gunshot wound. It was an ugly wound with coarse, scaly scars. Rather than hiding what remained of the former injury, the tattoo showcased the wound by portraying those scars as the scaly eyelid of a reptile. In the center, a pupil of a pinkish yellow shade was added on the wound itself to give off the appearance of real open flesh. The entire image was revolting.

  No wonder the nurses didn't want to come near him. Poor Ellie. She had enough to deal with already, getting used to working in a new hospital and learning to manage the medical staff. She didn't need more trouble like this man.

  Tessa walked to the end of his bed. The least she could do for Ellie was to take the problem of this vulgar man off her hands.

  "Sergeant Cardozo." She picked up his medical charts hanging on the end of the bed. She could sense him watching her, observing and studying her. Ignoring his attention, she flipped the blanket off him to reveal his legs. She then took one direct look into his eyes and proceeded to straighten his leg and unwrap the bandages around his thigh.

  Her boldness surprised him. Intrigued, he asked, "What's your name, sweetheart?"

  "It's Lieutenant Graham to you," Tessa corrected him.

  Cardozo sneered. Tessa did not react, but continued to apply medication to the wounds on his leg. When she finished, she looked casually at the tattoo on his abdomen. He clasped his hands behind his head and leaned back to show it off, waiting for her to squirm. Instead, she reached out and rubbed the pinkish yellow spot. Her unexpected action startled him and he flinched.

  "What?" Tessa asked. "Does it still hurt? Should I put some medication on it? Or maybe I should stitch it up?"

  "Hurt?" he snorted. "That little wound's nothing."

  Tessa touched the wound again, this time to examine it. "It's an old wound," she said. "You got it before the war."

  He didn't deny it. As Tessa proceeded to wrap his leg with clean bandages, he asked, "You're not afraid of me?"

  In fact, she wasn't. She could tell that this man had an unusually strong instinct to survive. As a nurse, she was one of his keys to heal and survive. Calmly, she replied, "Afraid of you? Why? Should I be? Why should I be afraid of you when I'm the one helping you heal?" She filled a syringe with morphine. "You should be afraid of me." She gave him a mischievous smile and showed him the needle, then inserted it into his vein.

  When she finished, she gathered the medical equipment and walked away. Behind her, Cardozo muttered, "Son of
a gun."

  15

  Twenty miles outside of Montélimar, the Orion strike team convoy slowed down and pulled to the side of the road. To Anthony's disappointment, they were unable to catch up to Klaus before reaching the city. And now, an order had come for them to halt and wait. In Montélimar, the 36th Division had been battling the Germans for days. More 36th units were still on their way. The army command had instructed Anthony to hold position until the 36th made a breakthrough.

  The task force settled into an abandoned house in the back of a field away from the main road. Coming into the area, Anthony could imagine how scenic this place must have once been. To get to the house, they had to pass an old vineyard. He could almost see the wine growers harvesting grapes beneath the sun shining on what could have been a picturesque landscape. If such an idyllic setting had existed, the war had ruined it. The people who had lived here had long since disappeared. Across the vineyard, brown weeds and wild grass intertwined and tangled with old grape vines. All were dry and dying under the heavy summer heat.

  His unit had reserved for him a bedroom on the second floor as his sleeping quarters. On the old bed, Anthony sat down and removed his boots. The bed wobbled. He would have to take it easy or it might fall apart. He sighed and dropped his body onto the mattress. The stale and musky smell from the mold on the walls was stifling. He would have to keep the windows open for the night.

  As bad as the conditions were, he already had it better than everybody else. The other officers on the strike team had to share rooms or sleep on the floor. The higher ranking soldiers had taken over the main rooms, and the junior soldiers had to camp in their pup tents outside. Before they could rest, they had to dig themselves foxholes for their own safety.

  The perks he enjoyed as captain didn't come without a price. It was lonely being the leader of the highest rank. He had to be mindful to keep his distance and never socialize with the men he commanded. Everything he did, he had to do alone. He read alone, ate alone, rested alone. Even the ranked officers he used to be friendly with, like Garland, had distanced themselves from him since he had become the CO.