On Wings of Fire

by Frances Patton Statham

  “I heard about that caper, Marsh. Is that why you and your men got medals—for stealing the tank?”

  Her question went unanswered. For at that moment, the door to the canteen swung open and Belline, still dressed in the dirty coveralls, with the kerchief about her hair, came out to greet them.

  “Welcome to Paradise Lost,” she exclaimed.

  “Belline!” The smile on Alpharetta’s lips vanished, for in front of her stood a vastly changed Belline—thin with large, dark smudges under her eyes.

  Marsh, also noticing the drastic change in his stepsister, asked, “Have you been ill, Belline?”

  “Why no. I’m fine,” she assured him, her voice sounding brave and slightly tremulous. “Come on in, you two. I’ve been expecting you for the past hour.”

  Chapter 28

  In Belline’s small walk-up apartment over the canteen, Alpharetta sat on the bed as she threaded the needle to repair the hem of her uniform. All evening she had tried not to say anything about the change in Belline’s appearance. But after Marsh, who also noticed Belline’s lethargy and lack of appetite, had brought them back from dinner at the local pub and driven on to the base where he was to bunk for the night, Alpharetta could no longer keep silent.

  “All right, Belline. Now that we’re alone, will you please tell me what’s wrong?”

  For a moment Belline glared at Alpharetta without saying anything. Then she replied, “If you really want to know, Alpharetta, I’m pregnant.”

  “Oh, Belline, no.”

  “Well, it’s not as if I wanted it to happen.”

  “I know, Belline. It’s just that. . .” Alpharetta stopped and started again. “Is the—the father willing to marry you?”

  “I haven’t told him yet.”

  “You’ll have to tell him. Belline. Immediately. That is. . . I presume he’s a soldier?”

  “He’s an airman, stationed here in England.”

  “Do you love him?”

  Belline nodded.

  “And he must love you, too. Otherwise. . .” Alpharetta’s voice trailed into a mere whisper.

  “He’s engaged—to someone else.”

  Alpharetta turned abruptly, a wariness possessing her. The two red-haired women stared at each other, and Alpharetta sensed the answer before she asked the question.

  “Is it. . .Ben Mark?”

  Again Belline nodded. “I didn’t mean for it to happen, Alpharetta. You broke your engagement to him, and seeing you for the first time after that in London—with Marsh—he misunderstood. And I misunderstood, Alpha-retta. I thought he had finally gotten over you— and that he loved me, the way he used to when we were children. I didn’t know the two of you would ever get back together.”

  “I don’t suppose he ever loved me as much as he loved you, Belline,” Alpharetta soberly responded. “Maybe that was the real reason for my breaking our engagement in the first place. But Belline, you know I won’t stand in your way—especially now.”

  “Well, whatever you do, don’t tell Marsh. I don’t want him to know yet.”

  “Of course. I’ll keep your secret.” Alpharetta busied herself hanging her uniform on the door and smoothing its creases. Without looking at Belline, she said, “When I see Ben Mark tomorrow, I’ll talk with him. That will make it easier for you.” Then, walking slowly back to the bed, she continued, “And I’ll inform Marsh on the way back that Ben Mark and I decided we weren’t suited for each other, after all. So when you two get married, it won’t be such a surprise.”

  “Thank you, Alpharetta. I won’t ever forget this. You can’t imagine the burden I’ve been carrying, ever since I found out—about the baby. But what if Ben Mark refuses to marry me?”

  “He won’t, Belline. I’ll see to that.”

  When the light had been cut out, a satisfied Belline lay quietly in the dark, thinking. It had been much more effective to announce the baby than to merely confess that she and Ben Mark had spent the night in London. Alpharetta probably would not have believed that of him. But with the baby—even Ben Mark would have to accept it as the truth.

  Alpharetta, also lying in the darkness, gave up trying to sleep. Multiple images bombarded her—her life in fragments in no particular order—the times with Ben Mark at the airfield, the dinner at Rennie’s when she had gone to live with Reed and Anna Clare, the day at the stadium when she’d gone with Ben Mark to see the President of the United States. She waited for sadness to overwhelm her, but surprisingly, her eyes were dry, her only sadness was for Belline—and for Ben Mark.

  She didn’t look forward to the next day and the embarrassing confrontation with her fiancé, or to being questioned by Dow upon her return. Turning over on her side, Alpharetta decided that, except for informing Marsh, she would keep the breaking of her engagement to herself. There was no need for Sir Dow Pomeroy to know.

  All night, Alpharetta was conscious of the bombers. And by early morning, long before it was time to get up, she heard the steady downpour of rain.

  Unable to stay in bed any longer, she finally got up and tiptoed to the window, where she peered out at the deserted street.

  From the twin bed next to hers, Belline said, “Do you mind heating your own tea, Alpharetta? I’ve stopped eating breakfast.”

  “I don’t mind, Belline.” Then remembering their conversation the evening before, a solicitous Alpharetta said, “Let me fix you a cup, too.”

  “No. I think I’ll just stay in bed this morning, and go back to sleep.”

  Alpharetta didn’t argue. Wrapping her robe around her, she found the small cupboard and the teakettle, and within a few minutes, sat down in the makeshift kitchenette—a small cubicle beyond the bathroom—to eat her breakfast of tea, toast and jam. Outside, the rain continued, riverlets streaming along the small windowpane where light struggled to come inside. Wasting no time, she finished eating, washed her cup and plate and hurried to the bathroom to draw her bath.

  The plumbing was ancient and rattled as she turned on the water in the claw-footed tub, with its porcelain slightly chipped along the edges. Her white towel hung on the coiled pipe that once warmed the bath towels for the storekeeper’s comfort, but had long since been disconnected. And above the lavatory a utilitarian mirror hung, too high up for Alpharetta to see herself as she brushed her teeth.

  Regardless of the accommodations, Alpharetta felt lucky to have a place to sleep for the weekend. By Tuesday of the next week, when the canteen finally opened formally, the other USO women would arrive, filling all the bunks in the two small bedrooms upstairs.

  Alpharetta finished her bath, dressed in her uniform, and as she stood on tiptoe trying to see into the mirror to brush her hair, she heard the insistent knocking on the door downstairs. That could mean only one thing—Ben Mark and Marsh had arrived.

  Walking into the bedroom, she looked toward Belline, who sat up and yawned. “What time shall we come back for you, Belline?”

  “By lunchtime,” she answered.

  Alpharetta rushed down the steps and opened the door to Ben Mark, standing with a large black umbrella, sheltering him from the driving rain.”

  “Well, it’s about time,” he said and dashed into the building, shedding the rain from his trench coat. Ben Mark grinned as Alpharetta stepped back to avoid getting her own uniform wet. But in a teasing mood, he reached out, lifted her in the air, and gave her a resounding kiss.

  For an instant, Alpharetta forgot everything that had plagued her through the long night— the conversation with Belline, the responsibility that rested so heavily upon her. Ben Mark had always been able to do that to her—to make her forget everything but the pleasure of seeing him, of being with him again.

  “Put me down, Ben Mark,” she scolded as she laughed. “My uniform is wet, and it’s all your fault.”

  “What do you expect, when you open the door to a drenched airman?”

  The door, still ajar, blew wide open with a gust of wind. Alpharetta looked outside, and, not seeing Marsh, inq
uired, “Didn’t Marsh come with you?”

  “He dropped me off first. He’ll come back in a half hour.” Ben Mark, making himself at home, took off his trench coat, flung it over a chair, and said, “You think the canteen can afford a cup of coffee for an officer?”

  “I’ll see. I’m not sure the supplies have come yet. Belline. . .” Alpharetta suddenly stopped, remembering the woman upstairs in bed.

  “Where is Belline, by the way?”

  “Upstairs. She’ll be down a little later.”

  “She never was one for getting up early.”

  Unusually quiet, Alpharetta walked behind the counter and began to search for a coffee can and the urn that was a standard item in all canteens. But once she located the box in which the urn rested, she said, “I don’t think you’ll be able to drink thirty cups, Ben Mark. Maybe I’d better go upstairs for the small tea kettle instead. You don’t mind instant coffee this one time do you?”

  “All of it tastes about the same—pretty awful. Just so it’s hot.”

  While Ben Mark sat at one of the tables and looked out the window at the rain, Alpharetta went upstairs to the small apartment. And as she passed through the bedroom, Belline, lifted her head, and asked, “Have you talked with him yet?”

  “No. I haven’t had a chance. He wants a cup of coffee, Belline. Is it all right if I take the kettle downstairs to heat some water?”

  “Sure, I told you I won’t be using it.”

  A few minutes later, Alpharetta sat opposite Ben Mark and watched as he sipped the hot liquid. “Aren’t you going to have a cup with me?”

  “No. I’ve already had breakfast.” She continued to watch him. After hesitating, she finally said, “Ben Mark, there’s something I need to discuss with you.”

  “And it must be serious, judging from your frown. What have I done wrong, Alpharetta?” he teased. “Not told you how beautiful you are this morning?”

  “I wish it were as simple as that. I—I’m afraid it’s much more serious. It’s about— Belline.”

  Warily, he set down his cup. His eyes became guarded as he waited for Alpharetta to continue.

  “Belline is going to have your baby, Ben Mark.”

  Underscored by the rain against the storefront, the silence grew as an incredulous Ben Mark stared at the woman he was engaged to marry.

  “That’s impossible,” he said, his voice barely audible over the downpour outside.

  “Is it, Ben Mark?”

  A dark scowl, so familiar, marred his features. “What has Belline been telling you, Alpharetta?”

  “That. . .that the two of you spent the weekend together in London. Do you deny it, Ben Mark? There’s no need to do so. And I don’t hold it against you. It happened, I know, before you and I got back together. Oh, Ben Mark, don’t you see—this is too hard for all of us. Belline is upstairs, suffering from morning sickness. And she’s too embarrassed to tell you.”

  “I don’t believe it. She’s doing this to tear us apart, just as she did in London—trying to keep us from getting married. I should have married you immediately when I found you, instead of deferring to that Sir Dow Pomeroy.”

  “It wouldn’t have worked, Ben Mark—with this between us.”

  “Well, I’m certainly not going to marry Belline. And you can tell her that.”

  “You’ll have to, for the sake of the child. I’m releasing you, Ben Mark, from our agreement. But one thing you must promise me. Let me tell Marsh that we’ve broken our engagement, without revealing the real reason. We’ll pretend to have had a fuss.”

  Ben Mark stood up and slowly put on his trench coat. “We won’t have to pretend, Alpharetta. I’m leaving right now. You can tell Marsh anything you want to. I don’t care.”

  “Aren’t you going to wait and see Belline?”

  “No. I’m hitching a ride back to base.” He picked up the black umbrella in the corner and stalked out into the driving rain.

  “Will we see you later?” Alpharetta asked from the doorway.

  There was no answer. Ben Mark continued walking down the street, his back rigid, his steps angry as he sloshed through the puddles and crossed the street to the corner, until he was out of sight.

  An unhappy Alpharetta walked back to the table and sat fingering the empty cup that Ben Mark had held. She had made a mess of the entire situation, even though she’d spent half the night rehearsing what she was going to say. But no amount of rehearsal had prepared her for the actuality.

  Putting off telling Belline, Alpharetta remained downstairs. As Marsh swept into the canteen, he waited for his eyes to become adjusted to the dim light. Seeing Alpharetta alone, he asked, “Where’s Ben Mark?”

  “Good morning Marsh. Did you get soaked, too?”

  Without answering, Marsh repeated his question, “Alpharetta, where’s Ben Mark?”

  The red-haired woman stood. “He’s already gone back to the base.”

  “But I dropped him off here less than a half hour ago. What happened, Alpharetta?”

  “I’m afraid we’ve had an awful fuss.”

  “You haven’t even had time to greet each other properly, much less to engage in a spat.”

  “Oh, yes we have. I’m afraid it’s over, Marsh. I can’t possibly marry Ben Mark. I should have known it before now.”

  Walking to the table, Marsh pulled out a chair and sat, leaning his elbows on the rungs. “Do you want to talk about it, Alpharetta? Or do you want me to go find him and bring him back?”

  She shook her head. “No, to both questions, Marsh. It would never work.”

  Peering closely at her, Marsh demanded, “Did Belline have anything to do with the breakup this time?”

  “No. This was just between Ben Mark and me. No one else was involved.” She looked up from the floor and said, “Marsh, do you think we might leave by this afternoon, instead of waiting until tomorrow?”

  “You won’t mind riding in the rain? You’ll get awfully wet.”

  “Even that’s preferable to remaining here another day.”

  “You don’t think Ben Mark will change his mind and come back to make up with you?”

  “It’s too late for that, Marsh. Entirely too late.”

  Chapter 29

  It was also too late for Heinrich von Freiker to do anything about the Americans overrunning his position. Wheeling the great tanks of his panzer division, he barely escaped to a negligible safety.

  The quick dispersal of tanks was always a dead giveaway, indicating the Germans were abandoning an area. Now, with the tanks gone, the German infantry was in a last-ditch defense prior to retreating, for the U.S. Third Army had broken through.

  By August 1, the thong holding him to earth was finally released from Patton, the war hawk. He was now free to begin the great flight of his armored tanks, sweeping in winglike motion across the difficult terrain of Normandy. He knew intimately the corduroy roads that William the Conqueror had taken—the only roads on which his tanks could travel without getting bogged down. And in his pocket, he carried his plans for crossing the Rhine, pinpointing the same spot Napoleon had chosen—Oppenheim.

  Farther north, the more cautious Montgomery hammered away at the stiff resistance that his Canadian and British armies encountered around Caen and Falaise. But by the end of August, as the U.S. Third Army reached the Seine, one hundred miles ahead of any other army, the Canadian First Army finally sealed off the gap at Falaise. But the Germans had slipped an entire army through the gap, 35,000 who lived to fight another day.

  Now, making up for the time lost, the British Second Army swept through Brussels, and by September 4 entered Antwerp, the prize that the Germans had struggled to keep, knowing that the Allies desperately needed a supply port closer to the front. The seven-hundred-mile round trip over the terrain of Normandy from the initial beaches wasted valuable time in supplying vast armies, north and south, on two fronts at once.

  But Montgomery became cautious once more, refusing to move his army until his sup
plies had been replenished. And in stopping, he allowed German control of the fifty-four-mile Antwerp estuary to continue, making the inland port and its facilities useless to the Allies. And once again the fight for supplies between the two Allied armies accelerated.

  No one in London at SHAEF headquarters had expected the U.S. Third Army to make such a spectacular breakout, and so the army had outrun its lines of supply. The tanks and the trucks desperately needed gasoline. Ammunition, food, medicine—all were in short supply. Even then, two of the Third Army’s divisions had established a bridgehead over the Meuse at Verdun. And the Germans, who considered Patton their most formidable enemy, were alarmed by the exploits of his Army.

  Montgomery was not only aware of Patton’s advances, but of the first V-2 rockets devastating London from a base in Holland. And on September 10, he flew to Brussels to meet Eisenhower, the Supreme Commander—to present a daring plan to hasten the end of the war.

  Montgomery brought with him his own administrative and supply officer, but demanded that the Supreme Allied Commander not be given the same consideration. And Eisenhower, who had so admired the British, if not Monty himself, concurred with Monty’s request and came alone, without his own staff advisor. In that meeting, Eisenhower gave him what he wanted—priority over Patton in men and supplies.

  On that day, with the freeing of the Antwerp estuary forgotten, with van Zangen’s army allowed to escape through the estuary, as the panzer divisions had done across the strait in Sicily, Operation Market-Garden was born—the invasion of Holland and the securing of five bridgeheads around Arnhem. Montgomery was given the First Allied Airborne Army, with two American parachute divisions, first priority on all supplies, and the trucks from the First and Third Armies to carry those supplies.

  In that action, Eisenhower effectively stopped Patton in his armored-division tracks—a feat that the Germans had been unable to bring off.

  Captain Marsh Wexford, back in his old barracks in England with Gig and Laroche, began training for the first daylight drop in the 82nd Airborne’s history, this time under a British commander. And the objective assigned to their group was the area between Nijmegen and Grave, south of Arnhem.