by Sarah Sundin
Roger turned onto the pathway to the Ops building. At least Kay didn’t flirt with him anymore. Or was this good-little-church-girl routine just an act, a strange new way to flirt with the good little church boy, as she’d once called him?
He groaned and pushed open the door. Man alive. He sounded as arrogant as Grant Klein.
Speak of the devil. Klein and Singleton sat in the large front room they used for briefings, along with Bill Shelby, Bert Marino, and their crews, gathered around a large wooden table. Cigarette smoke wafted around the room.
Alarm flashed on Mike Elroy’s round face. “Where have you been?” he mouthed.
Veerman stood. “Lieutenant Cooper. How kind of you to grace us with your presence. Although I see, once again, you forgot to wear clothes.”
Swell, his shirt. He planned to put it on while he ran. He punched his hands through the sleeves. “Sorry, sir, I—”
“You’re twenty minutes late. Don’t you know how important this mission is? Those partisans put their lives at risk every single day fighting the Nazis, never knowing when the Gestapo will hunt them down or their neighbors will turn them in. And you can’t be bothered to be punctual.”
Roger stiffened. He would have been on time except for Klein and Singleton.
He fixed a hard gaze on the two men. Singleton glanced away, and his cheeks reddened. But Klein smirked.
The truth parted Roger’s lips, but he pressed them shut again. That’s what Klein wanted. He wanted Roger to rat on him. Sure, Klein and Singleton would get in trouble, but Roger would look like a sniveling tattletale. The feud would escalate again, and Veerman would lose what little respect he had for Roger.
No, he’d take his licks like a man. Roger faced Veerman, pulled himself tall, and set his jaw. “I apologize, sir. It won’t happen again.”
“I should hope not.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “I thought you were getting better.”
Roger’s face warmed. He was getting better. This was the first time he’d been late since Kay had given him the alarm clock. “I’m sorry, sir.”
Veerman waved his hand toward the conspirators. “Lieutenant Klein offered to take your place. I’m glad someone around here can be relied on.”
Yeah, Klein could be relied on, all right. Relied on to stab Roger in the back.
“Thank you, sir.” Klein wore the smarmiest smile. “I’m glad I can help you tonight.”
“That won’t be necessary, Lieutenant.” Veerman leaned over the large map of Italy on the table. “I might value dependability, but this mission needs Cooper’s brashness and courage.”
Small victory. Very small.
18
Ciampino Airfield, Italy
July 23, 1944
Kay knelt by the C-47’s open cargo door and ushered in the last patient for the morning’s flight. She checked his emergency medical tag against her flight manifest—Sgt. James Yamaguchi of the 442nd Regimental Combat Team, gunshot wound to upper left abdomen, two weeks postsurgery.
Serving as a stewardess for four years had introduced her to all areas of the country and many ethnicities. Excellent training for flight nursing. “Good morning, Sergeant Yamaguchi. I’m glad you can fly with us today.”
A wan smile rose on his angular face. “Thanks, ma’am. Is it true they have a swimming pool at that hospital in Naples?”
“It’s true. Quite a facility. Used to be Mussolini’s fairgrounds.” She addressed the medic carrying the head of the litter. “He’ll go in the top position on the left.”
After they carried the patient inside, Kay stood in the doorway and inhaled the fresh balmy air. A brilliant blue sky arced overhead. What could be better than to be quartered in a seaside villa in Lido di Roma outside of Rome?
Her next day off, she’d bask on the beach with her friends and splash in the warm turquoise sea.
Irony tugged up a smile. “The sacrifices I make for my country.”
Could her life possibly get any better? Plenty of friends, a stimulating job, a glorious setting, and this bubbly joy and relaxing peace.
Kay bounced on her toes and laughed at her giddiness. She’d never been the giddy sort.
The last medics hopped out of the plane, and Kay backed up to let the aerial engineer close the door. “Thanks, Sergeant Whitaker. Lovely day, isn’t it?”
Big and burly, the man hunched his shoulders, ducked his head, and lumbered toward the cockpit. “Yes, ma’am.”
Kay checked the web strapping that secured the six litters and checked the seat belts for the ambulatory patients. Roger’s crew was her favorite—the shy and polite copilot, the engineer uncomfortable with women, the radioman who looked quite comfortable with women but knew better than to flirt with officers, and Roger. Competent, energetic, inspiring Roger.
The first engine roared to life, as if the pilot were trying to silence her thoughts.
She’d have to add “humble” to his list of attributes.
Kay strolled to the front of the cabin and faced the patients. “Good morning, gentlemen. Welcome aboard. We have a short flight to Capodichino Airfield in Naples, under an hour. I’m Lieutenant Jobson, and this is Sergeant Dabrowski. We’ll take care of you in flight. If you need anything, give us a holler.”
“I’m hollering, baby.” One of the ambulatory patients, Lieutenant Schaeffer, a dark-haired man with one foot in a cast, beckoned her with a finger.
One of those. She could deal with him. “It’s Lieutenant Jobson, not ‘baby.’ What do you need?”
Wide-set eyes swept up and down, checking out her figure. “You tell me. What services do you provide?”
Kay knew her way around a double entendre. “Medical care, water, and sedatives for men who can’t behave.”
Some of the men laughed, but not Schaeffer. The plane rolled forward, taxiing toward the runway.
“All right, gentlemen.” She smiled at the patients and strode down the aisle. “Everyone’s secured. The sergeant and I are getting seated for takeoff, and then—”
Schaeffer grabbed her arm and pulled her onto his lap. “I’ve got a seat for you, baby.”
“Let go of me.” Kay struggled in his tight embrace.
Sergeant Dabrowski glared down at Schaeffer. “Let her go immediately.”
The private sitting next to Schaeffer stared, eyes huge. “Sir, you shouldn’t do that.”
Kay jabbed him with her elbow. When he loosened his grip, she scooted off his lap and stumbled away. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”
Dabrowski leaned over him, fists coiled. “Control yourself, sir. That’s no way to treat a lady.”
“Lady? She’s no lady.” He flicked his chin in her direction. “See the way she walks, the way she moves? She knows how to please a man.”
“Sir!” Heat inflamed her face. “I am a nurse, not a prostitute.”
Schaeffer shrugged. “You like to touch men’s bodies, don’t—”
Sergeant Dabrowski slugged him, right in the jaw.
Men yelled and gasped. Kay cried out.
Schaeffer held one hand to his jaw and cussed. “Assaulting an officer? I’ll have you locked up—”
“No, you won’t.” A lieutenant across the aisle leaned forward, eyes burning. “Not a man on this plane would testify in your favor. You deserved that punch. Now, shut up and keep your lousy hands to yourself, or I’ll have you charged with assaulting Lieutenant Jobson.”
“Thank you, sir.” Kay tried to smile at him, but her facial muscles twitched.
“I’ll testify for you, ma’am.” From a litter in the back, Sergeant Yamaguchi raised a hand. “You’re just doing your job, and we all appreciate it.”
“Thank you.” Her voice wavered in a way she hated.
The engines built to a roar, and Kay made her way to the back of the plane to sit down.
Everything inside her quivered. Not from danger—even if the rest of the men hadn’t protected her, she could have handled him.
Schaeffer thought she
was easy, an image she used to cultivate—that’s what made her quiver.
Kay sat on the floor behind the litters and hugged her knees to her chest. Three months of trying to act like a good girl, but she still came across as a good-time gal.
Capodichino Airfield
“That’s the last of it.” Kay forced her trembling fingers to roll up a length of web strapping.
“Everything’s clear and ready for cargo.” Dabrowski took the coiled strapping from Kay and tucked it into a canvas bag on the ceiling.
Roger Cooper and Mike Elroy came out of the cockpit, laughing at something.
She didn’t want to talk to anyone, much less Roger. Kay picked her musette bag off the floor.
“Hey, folks. How was the flight?” Roger asked.
Kay slung her bag over her shoulder, not trusting herself to meet his eye. “Fine.”
He stopped, right beside her. “You all right, kid?”
“She’s a little shaken up,” Dabrowski said. “Some jerk made a pass at her.”
“On my plane?” Roger’s voice rose. “I won’t have any of that. Any man gives you problems, you let us know up front.”
Kay unbuckled and rebuckled her musette bag. “Nothing I couldn’t handle. I’ve done it a hundred times before.”
“Yeah? So why’d this fellow get you out of joint?”
She raised her chin in defiance. “I’m not . . .”
Roger’s mouth drifted open.
Oh no. How red were her eyes? She moved toward the doorway. “I’m fine.”
He blocked her way. “Sure you are. And I’m a ballerina.”
At the mental image of his stocky build in a pink tutu, a giggle escaped. And a tear. Stupid faulty tear ducts. She swiped away the evidence and tried to get around the pilot.
He didn’t budge. “Dabrowski, you about done?”
“Yes, sir. Anything else you need, Lieutenant?”
Kay shook her head. “I’m fine. Thanks for—for everything.”
“All right.” The sergeant didn’t sound convinced, but he hopped out of the plane.
More than anything, Kay wanted to leave too, away from the heat and stuffiness and Roger’s discerning eyes. “Excuse—”
“You want to keep pretending you’re fine, or you want to tell me what’s wrong? Maybe I should get Mellie or Georgie. Want me to do that?”
Grief swelled in her chest, her throat, her mouth. “I thought I’d changed. I thought I was good now.” Her voice came out high and constricted.
“What’d you do wrong?”
“Nothing.” She hadn’t encouraged Schaeffer, had she? “He—he thought I was loose. But I haven’t been on a date in almost three months. And I never once flirted with a patient. Never. But he said he could tell—tell by the way I moved.” Her throat closed off, and she scrunched up her eyes to slam the tear ducts shut.
Roger stood there, silent, unmoving. He probably thought she was loose too. At the Orange Club not so long ago, hadn’t she purred over him, trailed her finger down his arm, and asked him out?
A sob ballooned in her mouth. “Maybe I can’t be redeemed after all.”
“Hey, now.” He patted her shoulder, then stuffed his hand in his trouser pocket. “If I can be redeemed, you can too.”
“You don’t know what I did.”
Roger sighed and gazed out the cargo door behind him. “Say, they’ve got to load the cargo, and I need to do my preflight inspection.”
Kay’s mouth tightened. “I’ll get out of your way then.” She darted for the exit.
“Hey.” He flung his arm across the doorway. “Let me finish. Why don’t you come along while I do the inspection? It’ll give me something to do while we talk, since you don’t want to look at me anyway.”
True. She ventured a glance. He stood only a foot away, and his brown eyes overflowed with firmness and compassion. But did he have the truth? That’s all she wanted. “All right.”
“Great.” He jumped out of the plane and held out a hand to assist her.
She ignored it and got out all by herself, as she’d always done.
Roger went around the wing toward the nose of the plane, stood in front of an engine, and made a note on a clipboard. “Tell me why you think you can’t be redeemed.”
Kay crossed her arms, making the musette bag stick out by her belly. “You want to know what I did? I’ll tell you. I lied. I lied to all the men I dated, promised something I never planned to give. And I stole. You didn’t know that, did you? I skimmed off my father’s offering for months so I could escape. Then the last night, I pocketed the whole amount. And I conned some lovesick boy into driving me into Tulsa, promised him a night in a ritzy hotel. But I ditched him while he was checking in. I used him.”
“Mm-hmm.” Roger ran his hand over the edges of each propeller blade. “Did you ask God to forgive you?”
Kay nodded. “Guess it didn’t take.”
He shot her a glance, then peered at the underside of the engine. “So you think God lied.”
“That’s not what I—”
“First John 1:9 says, ‘If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.’ That’s what the Lord said. If there are any sins he won’t forgive, he’s a liar.” He made checkmarks on his clipboard.
“But what I did was so bad.”
Roger squatted by the wheel and inspected the length of the landing gear. “Kid, you aren’t the only one with a past.”
Kay glanced away to Vesuvius in the distance. “What’d you do? Sneak a smoke behind the barn?”
He was silent so long, she turned back. His hand lay motionless on the tire, his auburn head bent. “I never told anyone but Lou. And—and Clint. Even Shell only knows part of it.”
Clint Peters. Kay hadn’t heard his name spoken in far too long. It seemed to cost Roger a great deal. His shoulders rounded, and his jaw worked back and forth.
A better friend would know the right words to encourage him. Kay chewed on her lips. “You don’t have to tell me.”
A dry laugh. “Yeah, I do. But it isn’t easy.”
Her stomach squirmed. What exactly had he done?
Roger got to his feet and headed around the wing, touching the light on the leading edge of the wing and curving his hand around the wingtip, scrutinizing it. “I had a lot of girlfriends in high school, had my way with most of them.”
“Oh.” She squeezed her lips together to cut off her shock.
“My senior year, I got a girl pregnant.”
“Oh no.”
“Yeah, that’s what I said.” On the trailing edge of the wing, he wiggled the aileron up and down. “I didn’t love her, but I wanted to do the honorable thing and marry her.” He strode toward the tail of the plane.
Kay struggled to keep up, to hear his low voice. Was he divorced? Widowed? What about the baby? “You married her?”
“She wouldn’t have me.” Behind the tail, he moved the elevator flaps up and down. “Said everyone knew I’d never amount to anything. She didn’t want to be stuck with a no-account for life.”
Kay clapped a hand over her mouth. Her “oh my goodness” came out muffled.
“Yeah. Well, she had a point.” Roger’s face reddened, and his jaw jutted forward as he made more notations on his clipboard.
What a horrible thing for the girl to say—for him to say. Of course, he wasn’t a no-account anymore. Kay lowered her hand from her mouth. “She raised the baby alone?”
Roger’s shoulders curled in, and his muscles pressed out in lumps under his khaki shirt. “If only she had.”
“What—”
“She . . .” His voice stiffened, lowered.
Kay stepped closer, drawn by his distress, her breath captured, waiting.
The muscles under his jaw stood out in ropes. “She—one of her friends knew someone in Chicago who could—who could get rid of the baby.”
Kay had been around enough to hear of such things, but
this time it socked her in the gut. “Oh no.”
“That’s what she did.” Roger shoved the plane’s rudder side to side. “Couldn’t talk her out of it. Promised to drop out of school, get a job, give up my big band dreams, but she wouldn’t listen. Said she knew—knew I’d be a lousy husband.”
“Oh, Roger. I’m so sorry.” An urge grew within her to hug him or at least stroke his shoulders, but he might misinterpret her actions.
He tested the other elevator flap. “I’m responsible for my baby’s death, you know that?”
“Nonsense. She’s the one—”
“No!” He faced her and jammed his thumb into his chest. “If I were a better man, she would’ve married me, and we’d have a son or daughter who’d be eleven years old now. Eleven.” His voice cracked.
Her chest caved in from the weight of his grief. “I’m so sorry.”
He marched toward the other wing.
Kay dashed to catch up. “Wait, Roger.”
He spun to face her, and she almost ran into him.
He thrust a finger in her face, pain and fire mingling in his eyes. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Stop thinking your sins are so big, so much worse than anyone else’s that even the almighty God who created the universe is incapable of taking them away. Understand?”
She stared at that fingertip, only an inch from her nose, while the words wedged into her heart. She nodded.
He opened his hand before her, palm to the sky. “His mercy is a gift. Not something you earn, not something you deserve. But like any gift, it isn’t yours until you take it.”
Kay’s gaze flowed over his open palm to his eyes of unyielding bronze. “A gift.”
His fingers coiled into a fist. “You’ve got to grab hold of it. Claim it.”
She cupped her hands before her stomach and stared into their emptiness . . . no, their fullness. If God could forgive Roger, he could forgive her.
He already had.
Kay took a deep breath of sea air and aviation fuel and certainty, and she curled her fingers tight.
19
Over Italy
August 4, 1944
“Magnetic heading 336,” Mike Elroy said.