by Alexa Kang
Anthony looked over at Klaus, then the group of German prisoners. "It's too risky traveling with this many prisoners in the dark. We don't have enough men as guards. If we run into more German troops on our way back, we might lose them. We can't risk losing Klaus."
"What do you want to do?"
"I think we should hold them here. We'll radio command to send another squad at least. We'll take them back to battalion tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?" Warren said in disbelief. "We can't wait that long. Command's going to want to know everything he knows, now!" He leaned closer to Anthony and whispered, "We've got to get everything he knows about the Amerika Bomber. That's why you're here, remember?"
The Amerika Bomber. Warren was right. Finding out what information Klaus had about Amerika Bomber was mission critical. Could they securely bring Klaus and all the German soldiers back to Montélimar at night? They would have to keep the headlights off to avoid drawing enemy attention. But what if they got lost? He looked back at the road they had followed to get here. This was unfamiliar territory. They'd have to be very careful finding their way back in the dark. Could his men handle it?
Anthony glanced at Klaus again, then at his men. Jonesy was still pointing his gun at Klaus. Jonesy might be up for it. Fox would do whatever he ordered. So would Edmond. Edmond had adapted very quickly since joining the company. He had learned the ropes about how to fight and survive in only a few short weeks. He was brave too. He wouldn't hesitate to do what was needed to win the battle and save his brothers-in-arms, just like the private who had run out to save the wounded soldier Anthony had left behind in the woods.
Like the private who had run out to save the wounded soldier…
He couldn't put Edmond at risk like that.
"No," Anthony said. "It's too risky. I don't want to put our men in any more danger if we don't have to. We can wait till tomorrow morning."
"We can't wait," Warren said. "We're losing time. If the Germans know Klaus's been captured, they'll change their plans. Everything Klaus knows might become useless."
Still thinking of the private who had died saving the wounded soldier, Anthony remembered the three soldiers tied to the Panzer. Montélimar had been a long, exhausting journey. Did he have it in him to order his troops to put their lives on the line one more time?
He felt Klaus's penetrating gaze on him. Anthony stared back. Klaus gave him a cold but cautionary smile.
No need for unnecessary bloodshed. I don't want my men to die any more than you want yours to.
Anthony didn't want to push on. Klaus was making him stressed and agitated. "Let's wait. One night won't make any difference."
Warren disagreed. "It could mean a world of difference. It could mean winning or losing this war."
Anthony could not bring himself to do what his friend wanted. His mind was exhausted.
Frustrated, Warren said, "Fine. I'll take Klaus back then. You can bring the rest of the prisoners back tomorrow."
"But…"
"You don't want to travel with a group in the dark. I understand. I'll take him. Just lend me your driver. We'll be able to travel faster with just one jeep, and we'll be less conspicuous. It's the best option."
"I can't let you do that. That's too dangerous."
"It's not up to you," Warren said. His voice was more resolute than Anthony had ever heard. "I'm the intelligence officer. This is my call. There's too much at stake. You've done your job. Now I'll do mine."
Anthony wanted to persuade him otherwise, but Klaus was still watching him, observing him. The German commander's unshakeable gaze irritated him.
"Fine." Anthony relented. He didn't want to argue anymore. "Take him back. Take my driver. Tell command to send us more troops tomorrow."
"Will do." Warren left him and walked toward Klaus and Jonesy. Anthony followed to organize his team to restrain the prisoners and to settle in for the night. As Warren walked Klaus away with his pistol pointing at the prized prisoner, Anthony could still feel Klaus's eyes on him. Although he didn't want to admit it, Klaus impressed him. He had seen Klaus in action several times already. The German had an extraordinary clarity of mind. He could always calculate what should be his next move regardless of what threat he was under.
The German's exceptional abilities weren't all that Anthony admired. He and Klaus shared something in common. Klaus admitted there was no way he could've gotten away from the Orion strike team. The Americans were known to observe the Geneva Convention. His decision to surrender ensured the safety of all the German soldiers who were with him. Whatever Klaus might be, he was a leader who looked out for his men.
The strike team soldiers took the other German prisoners away. The last to follow was Jonesy, who smiled at Anthony and held his fingers up in a V sign.
Anthony smiled back, but he felt uneasy. Something didn't feel right. The end to their mission came too easily. He couldn't shake the feeling that everything was not over. Maybe it was just exhaustion. He tried to put his anxiety away as he went inside the farmhouse to check if Klaus and his men might have left any valuable information or weapons behind.
While Anthony surveyed their loot, a commotion broke out outside. He could hear his driver shouting at the top of his lungs and the others yelling back. Anthony hurried outside. "What's going on?"
"Captain Hendricks, sir!" His driver shouted. "Captain Hendrick's been shot!"
"What?" Anthony demanded to know.
"Klaus got away. I was already in the driver's seat and I'd started the engine. Captain Hendricks was coming and he tripped. Klaus grabbed his pistol when he fell. I tried to save him but by the time I got out of the jeep, Klaus had already grabbed him by the neck and pointed the gun at his head. He threatened to kill Captain Hendricks if I didn't turn the jeep over to him. So I did." He paused to catch his breath.
"What happened?" Anthony shouted.
"Klaus got in the car, then he shot Captain Hendricks anyway. Then he drove away."
Anthony's ears started ringing. He ran toward the field where the jeep that Warren had gone to had been parked. The other soldiers followed. Warren was lying on the ground. Jesse was kneeling next to him but not doing anything. Anthony ran over to them. Seeing the stream of blood down the side of Warren's head, he felt goosebumps on the skin of his arms. His legs weakened and he knelt down next to them. "Warren!" He shook Warren's body. "Warren! Warren!"
Only Warren's lifeless eyes stared back at him.
"He's gone," Jesse said.
Gone? They were talking only a moment ago. Anthony pulled Warren's body up and held him. How could this have happened? How could he have let this happen under his watch?
This is all my fault. Anthony thought back to their conversation before he agreed to let Warren take Klaus away. If only Warren had listened to him…No! If only he had tried harder to convince Warren to stay. Damn it! Why didn't he try harder? He should have tried harder. He knew Klaus was a dangerous man. He should've known better than to let Warren take the risk.
The sky darkened. Jesse pulled out his flashlight and turned it on. The light caught something shiny on the ground. Anthony picked it up. The Roman coin that Warren had bought for his sister had fallen out of his pocket.
Anthony closed his hand around the coin. Somewhere back in Chicago, a little girl was waiting for her big brother to come home. His heart sank. "I'll make sure she gets it," he whispered to Warren. His heart seized with pain knowing Warren could no longer hear him.
"I'll take it from here," Jesse said.
Anthony let go of Warren. With another soldier's help, Jesse carried Warren's body away. Everyone else moved away too. Why did he give in to Warren? Why didn't he insist harder? Why didn't he think of telling Warren to tie Klaus's hands before they got to the jeep? After everything he had seen of Klaus, why didn't he realize the man was still lethal even when he wasn't armed?
Klaus. There was no need to kill Warren. Without his pistol, Warren could not have harmed him.
Anthony l
ooked around him. He wanted to make Klaus answer for what he did. But night had come. There was no way to find the murderer in the dark.
With heavy footsteps, Anthony trod back to the farmhouse. Jonesy watched him enter like he was watching a hurricane about to hit.
Anthony knew what Jonesy was thinking. There would be hell to pay when battalion command heard about this tomorrow.
The command was the last of Anthony's worries. He didn't need command to tell him what he had to do. Orion was back on a mission.
And from now on, their mission was personal.
V
Part Five - The High Vosges
17
November 2, 1944
Dear Tessa,
Another winter is coming. Has it really been another year already? It feels to me like we just got out of the winter in Anzio. Here where I am, the mornings are so chilly. I feel bad for the soldiers who fought in Anzio. None of us want to live through another winter season like that again. I think it'll start to snow soon. I hope the winter jackets and uniforms will come before the snow starts.
I still think about Warren a lot. I've seen many people die since I joined the war, but often when I close my eyes, I see Warren's body there on the ground. I keep asking myself, why is he dead? Just two years ago, we were in school together. Both of us had our futures ahead of us. He'd changed so much from when I first met him. He'd become a man of strength and confidence. What kind of life would he have lived if he had survived the war? What kind of work would he have chosen? What if he could have done great things? He was quite shy when it came to girls, but he was a good guy. Surely a nice girl would see that. He would have been a great husband. A great father. He has a little sister whom he loved. I wonder if she knows yet her brother has died. She will be heartbroken, I'm sure.
There are ideals we are here to fight for, but I can't help but doubt when I think of him, dead. Uncle Lex died for his ideals too. In the end, will any of it make any difference? I still try to hold on to the hope that Warren hasn't died in vain. I'd like to believe that what we are doing here will make a difference, but I can't find any answer anywhere.
I'm sorry, I must be bringing you down with all these depressing thoughts. I wish I knew where you are now. What are you doing? Did you get my letters? I received a new batch of letters from you yesterday. Without you, I feel like a patch of dry weeds, wilting under the harsh weather and trampled upon by callous footsteps. Receiving your letters for me is like getting an infusion of water, air, and sunshine. A word from you gives me life again. I cannot tell you how much I miss you.
I love the drawing of you on the plane. Thank you for sending it. I'll have to meet Tyler someday. I wish he could draw me too so you can see what I looked like when you left. I was so sad. Not a day goes by that I don't think about you. I will never be complete without you.
I've told you already (if you got my letters), General Castile came to see me when I was in Saint-Tropez. I can't thank him enough for getting us passes to see each other in Paris before Christmas. It's good news that Paris is liberated. I long for the day when I will see you.
Tomorrow, we move forward again. I'm tired. We traveled many miles today. Be good, and take care of yourself.
Love you always and forever, — Anthony
Reading Anthony's words, Tessa felt heartbroken. It pained her too that Warren was dead. He was good friends with Anthony. Anthony must be so sad now. Away from him, there was no way for her to share his sadness and burdens.
Another winter like Anzio, Anthony said in the letter. How she wished he didn't have to suffer such a bad experience again. How much longer did this war have to go on? When would it all end?
Not soon enough. She checked her watch. Right now, she had to go tend to her patients. Reluctantly, she put away the letter and headed to Ward 8, the ward which nurses now always tried to avoid because it currently housed the man named Victor Cardozo, otherwise known as the Blade.
"Why do they call you the Blade?" Tessa asked the surly patient while she tended to his wounded leg. She noticed that he had followed her order to remain fully dressed at all times. She didn't tell him, but his compliance pleased her. His repulsive tattoos upset too many people on the medical staff. His menacing stare was enough to make the nurses shudder. The tattoos, they could do without.
Instead of answering her, the Blade asked, "You ever played darts?"
"Yes."
He pulled a small steel knife with a cord grip from under his pillow. Curious, she waited to see what he would do. He tossed the knife up into the air and caught it when it dropped. "I don't throw darts. I throw knives." Before she could react, he aimed and threw the knife straight ahead. The knife zipped across the room, brushing the air next to a patient on the other side, and struck the wall. Startled, the patient shouted a dozen curses at him.
"Good heavens!" Tessa exclaimed. "Don't do that. You almost killed someone."
"No, I didn't," the Blade said. "If I wanted to kill him, he'd be dead." He climbed off the bed, even though Tessa was still in the middle of wrapping new bandages on his leg. "You asked. So I answered your question." He staggered across the room and retrieved his knife. "I never miss."
"Don't ever do that here again," Tessa said.
He glared at her, but abruptly changed his expression to an agreeable smile. "Okay. But only because you say so, Lieutenant Graham." He sat back down on his bed to let her finish.
Tessa started wrapping his leg again. This patient. He sure was a handful. "Is it true what they say? That you're with the mafia?"
"Is that what they say?" he asked her back. "You shouldn't ask me these questions. There are things you'd be better off not knowing."
"Really?"
He smiled and tossed the knife in his hand. "You want to know how many German throats I've cut with this knife?"
Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of baiting her, Tessa didn't inquire.
"Better you don't know." He leaned back in his bed, waiting for Tessa to pry more.
She wouldn't. "Fine. I don't care to know. I'm not impressed with people who like to brag." She picked up the used medical supplies and placed them onto a metal tray.
"Tessa. Tessa!" Tyler entered the room waving a note in his hand. "Lieutenant Swanson asked me to give you this."
Tessa took the note from him. When she saw what it said, she looked up in disbelief. "I'm going to Paris!"
"Uh-huh." Grinning, Tyler nodded and affirmed the news. "A three-day pass to see your honey. Direct order from General Castile himself."
Interrupting their excitement, the Blade asked, "Who's going to attend to me if you're gone?"
"You'll be released by then," Tessa said. "Or maybe you'll just have to start being nice to the other nurses."
The Blade grunted. "Your husband better be good to you, or I'll give him a good beating."
"He'll give you a good beating," Tessa said, indignant.
"Tessa. Look what else I got?" Tyler opened his sketchbook to show her a letter kept inside. "Your friend Ruby wrote me."
"She did?"
"She sent me her picture! See?" He turned the page to show her a photo. It was a professionally taken portrait of Ruby. "She's a real doll."
Tessa picked up the photo. How she missed her friend. "Yes. She's very pretty."
"Should I send her a picture of me? What if she doesn't like the way I look?"
"You look fine." Tessa gave Ruby's photo back to him. "I already wrote to her all about you. She'll like your look just fine."
"But what if she doesn't? No girl's ever written to me before. What if she doesn't like the way I look and stops writing to me?"
"She's not shallow like that. Stop worrying."
"Maybe I should send her this instead." He flipped the pages of his sketchbook and showed her a drawing of himself stuffed in an army-issued winter jacket with his hair all messed up.
Tessa laughed. "Maybe you can take a picture next to the Blade. He looks so scary, you'll loo
k good next to him for sure."
The Blade folded his arms and grunted.
"By the way, Tyler," Tessa touched his shoulder. "We're short on blood. Do you mind donating again?"'
"Not at all," Tyler said without hesitation. "I'll go now." He waved goodbye and took off.
After he left, Tessa said to the Blade, "Why don't you ever give blood? You've got more than enough to spare."
"No one ever asked," he said.
"Okay. I'm asking now. Would you? Please?"
The Blade sat up, swung his legs to the side of the bed, and started putting on his shoes.
"Where are you going?"
He stared at her as if the answer was obvious. "To give blood."
"Now?"
"Yes. Now. You want me to go later?"
"No. I mean. I'm surprised, that's all." Tessa softened her voice. "You were waiting for somebody to ask?"
"No. I'm doing it because you asked."
"What difference does it make who asked?"
He looked at her with all seriousness. "You asked me if I was in the Mafia. Where I come from, we live by a code. If someone looks out for you, you look out for them. If they need something and ask, you do everything you can to help them get it, even if your life is on the line. That's how we know who's a friend and who's not." He slapped his thigh where Tessa had tended his wounds and startled her, but he continued. "You look out for me. I'm bound to do what you ask."
He got up. With all sincerity, he said to her, "I needed help, and you came to my aid. I'll always remember that." He headed out of the room, leaving Tessa speechless and bewildered.
18
In the morning, Anthony summoned his officers for another briefing in the abandoned schoolhouse where the company was currently stationed. A copy of the Stars and Stripes lay on the table. Its front cover headline, "Montélimar Clear of Enemies," was nothing more than an afterthought for those who had gathered here. Beneath the headline was written, "Seventh Army pushes Germans three hundred miles north in rapid speed." Even though they had been part of the army that had brought forth this victory, no one in the room gave the subhead a second glance. What held their attention right now were the surveillance aerial photos showing their next objective.