With Every Letter (19 page)

Guilford clasped his hands behind his back. “The Twelfth Air Force made it official and assigned air evac to the 51st Troop Carrier Wing. We’ve run flights since January 15, over eight hundred patients this week alone. Most of our men are on flights right now.”

“Yeah,” a man grumbled behind Mellie. “That’s why we don’t need no skirts telling us what to do.”

Mellie’s stomach churned. Oh dear, he would be a challenge. He had a long face and a prominent chin, and he raised that chin at Mellie. She spun back to face front, cheeks hot.

Guilford cleared his throat. “Colonel Woolford with the Air Surgeon’s office just visited. The hospitals desperately need nurses. The colonel says it’s a shame to use nurses in air evacuation when technicians have proven themselves.”

“Yeah,” came the voice behind Mellie, but she didn’t rise to the bait.

“However, I think it’s a shame to waste your training. A trial is warranted.”

A trial? Had their truncated training prepared them? Back at Bowman Field, squadrons underwent a new formal training program, but if the 802nd failed, flight nursing would be doomed.

As they left the building, Georgie smiled at Mellie and Rose over her shoulder. “I’m glad we get a trial. They could have shuttled us straight to the nearest field hospital.”

“That’s my optimist,” Rose said. “First they’ve got to send
us on flights. Real flights, to the front. Then we have to show we add something valuable.”

“Well, look who’s here.” Outside the building, a man stood to the side, wearing a leather flight jacket and the “crush cap” favored by airmen. “Saw you ladies and wondered if my rose had arrived. She has.”

The ladies stopped and stared. Mellie’s jaw dropped. He was the man they’d met in the theater in Louisville.

“How . . . how did you know my name?” Rose whispered.

“Your name?” He walked over and took off his cap. Blond curls sprang free and so did his grin. “I don’t know your name—not for lack of trying. Don’t tell me it’s Rose.”

Georgie laughed. “It is. How did you know?”

“I didn’t.” He gave Georgie a quick smile then turned the fullness of his attention back to Rose. “It’s what I’ve called you in my mind. You drew me like a flower, but oh, those thorns.”

Rose’s face blanched. Every freckle stood out. “To keep pests away.”

His face sobered. “Listen, let’s start over. I’m Lt. Clint Peters. I’m a C-47 navigator. We’ll spend time together, so we might as well get acquainted.”

“I see I’m not needed.” Georgie strode away. “Come on, Mellie.”

“Oh no, you don’t.” Rose grabbed Mellie’s arm.

She gave Clint a sheepish smile. “Looks like I’m the chaperone.”

“Hi, chaperone. What’s your name?” He shook her free hand.

“Mellie Blake. The escape artist is Georgie Taylor, and this is Rose Danilovich.”

“Danilovich. Nice. But Rose Peters sounds better.”

“That’s it.” Rose spun away and dragged Mellie with her.

She scrambled to keep her feet under her. Who knew chaperoning could be dangerous?

“Hey, now.” Clint trotted around and blocked their path. “Give me a chance. I’m not usually like this. Really, I’m not. Something about you makes me bold.”

Rose tried to edge around him. “If you find out what it is, tell me so I can turn it off.”

“Please don’t. Don’t ever turn it off. It’s wonderful.” His brown eyes softened. “Never have I met a woman and thought, ‘Boom! She’s the one.’ Then I met you and boom, boom, boom! You’re the one.”

“This is nonsense.” Rose’s voice wavered. “Come on, Mellie. Let’s go.”

Although Rose’s fingers dug into her arm, Mellie hung back. Clint seemed sincere, and hadn’t Rose wanted a man to treat her as precious?

A soft yearning pulled inside Mellie. Would any man ever look at her like Clint looked at Rose? How would Ernest look at her? Would he see who she was inside or only the broad mouth?

“One chance.” Clint held his hands in front of his chest like a linebacker blocking the attack. “How about coffee at the officers’ club? Big crowd so you’ll feel safe. Bring your friends if you want. Give me a chance.”

Rose lifted her chin. “Why should I?”

A slow smile turned up his lips. “Because the Lord brought us together. I know it, and you know it. That’s why you’re flustered.”

“I’m flustered because you’re a pest. Good day, Lieutenant.”

“Good day, my Rose.” He bowed his head and set his cap back in place. “We’ll meet again.”

“Not if I see you first.” Rose hauled Mellie away.

She glanced back. Clint wore a smile so big anyone would think Rose had agreed to a date.

“Insufferable.” Rose let go of Mellie’s arm and marched at a brisk pace. “Conceited. Rude. How dare he bring the Lord into this? If this was God’s will, don’t you think God would have talked to me too? Huh?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. I don’t know anything about romance.”

“Neither do I. I’m the tomboy, the sidekick. No one pursues me.”

“Clint’s pursuing you.”

“Exactly.” Rose’s eyes lit up. “What’s wrong with him? I’m not that pretty. I’m not sweet and bubbly like Georgie. What on earth does he see in me? He’s deranged.”

“Deranged?” Mellie laughed. “Because he likes you? Nonsense. You’re prettier than you think, and you have strength and spirit.”

“Guys don’t like that. They like girls soft and sweet. They see me as a buddy, their pal Danny, someone to talk to about the girls they really like.”

Mellie brushed back her hair and peeked at her from the corner of her eye. “Like Ward did?”

Rose sucked in her breath. “And every other fellow I’ve known.”

“Clint’s different. Isn’t that good?”

“Hardly. Something’s wrong with him.”

Mellie stopped in front of the north hangar, which towered over her. The desire to be liked told her to stop, but something else lurched inside, something that felt like true friendship. “So, any man who likes you is deranged, and you can only love a man who doesn’t love you?”

Rose tucked a strand of dark blonde hair behind her ear. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been in love.”

“Never?” Mellie fidgeted with the strap for her purse. “I see how you light up when his letters come.”

“His letters?” Rose scrunched up her face. “What are you talking about? The only men who write me are my dad and brothers. Not even Ward writes and he’s my oldest friend.”

“I know.” She gave her the soft look reserved for patients in pain.

Rose stared at Mellie. She gasped. “You don’t think . . . ? That’s crazy. How could you think that?”

Mellie glanced away to a C-47 taxiing down the runway. “I don’t talk a lot, but I listen and observe. When you talk about him, when Georgie talks about him—”

“Ridiculous.” Rose’s voice wavered. “They’re my oldest and dearest friends.”

“And he chose Georgie instead of you.” Mellie turned back to her friend.

Her eyes reddened. “I wouldn’t—I’d never hurt either of them.”

“I know, but that doesn’t change how you feel.”

Rose snapped her head to the side and sniffed. Her chin worked back and forth, and the redness spread over her face. “You know, when I was little, I always thought we’d get married someday. We had so much in common. I never pictured myself with anyone else.”

An ache traveled through Mellie’s chest. Her feelings for Ernest were the closest she’d come to love. How would she feel if he loved someone else? Could she rejoice for him as a friend? Or would it break her?

Rose rubbed her cheeks and wiped her fingers on her skirt. She turned frantic red eyes to Mellie. “I’d never come between them. You know that, don’t you?”

Mellie handed her a handkerchief. “I know. That’s why you’ve never told her.”

“Of course. I don’t want to hurt her, and can you imagine how awkward, how miserable . . . ?” Rose raised her shoulders and shuddered. “I’ll keep that ugly little truth hidden.”

“Or you could change it.”

“Excuse me?”

Mellie gazed over the rocky ground toward the briefing room. “If you dated someone else, you could take your mind off Ward.”

“Oh, that’s just wrong. Clint may be annoying, but I couldn’t use him like that.”

“Well, yes, if that’s the only reason you went out with him. But what if you liked him, even a little bit?”

“He’s rude and obnoxious—”

“And he adores you, and he has a nice face, and he’s smart and responsible enough to be a navigator.”

Rose sniffled and blew her nose. A smile twitched around the edges of the handkerchief. “He does have great hair.”

Mellie laughed. Her gaze swept the airfield, a place of new beginnings. “The Twelfth Air Force gave us a trial period as flight nurses.”

“A trial.” Rose wadded up the hankie. “One single evening in the officers’ club. Friday night. You and Georgie will come. He can bring his friends. Find him and tell him.”

“What?”

“Yes, now. Quick. Before I change my mind.”

“All right.” Mellie laughed and walked back the way she came. True friendship required more than being pleasant. It meant being there for the hard times and even confronting if necessary.

She’d done it, and she grinned.

Compared to the palace of friendship, the forest of solitude seemed dull and lifeless.

20

Youks-les-Bains Airfield
March 12, 1943

Wreckage from a German Ju 87 Stuka dive-bomber littered the ground near the runway. Privates Earl Butler and Bill Rinaldi shoveled bits of debris into the path of the M1 tractor fitted with a bulldozer blade.

Tom frowned at the scene. “Butler, watch out. You’re too close.”

Sergeant Ferris cussed. “I can handle my own squad.” He cupped his hand over his mouth. “Faster, Butler, you lump of—”

“Please don’t insult the men. Doesn’t help.”

“That’s right. This is the sunshine platoon.” Ferris flicked ashes off the tip of his cigarette. “Never mind, Butler. You’re perfect. Perfectly useless.”

Granted, Butler moved slower than the dozer and had his back turned to the machine. Not smart. Tom stepped closer. “Butler! Watch the dozer. Get out of the way!”

“What?” he called over the rumble of the machine.

“Keep working, you nitwit,” Ferris shouted.

The dozer rolled closer to Butler. Tom motioned him to the side. “Watch out.”

Butler looked over his shoulder to the dozer, and he startled. He lunged out of the way, caught his foot on the wreckage, and fell.

“Stop!” Tom ran forward and waved his hands over his head to Kendrick, the driver. But Kendrick looked out the other side of the dozer and shouted something at Rinaldi.

The machine lumbered closer and closer.

Butler screamed and tugged at his leg—right in the path of the dozer.

Tom sprinted forward, grabbed Butler’s arms, and yanked. No good. His foot was jammed tight.

The dozer blade struck. Butler cried out. A horrid cracking sound, and Butler’s body flipped to the side.

Tom let go of his hands. “Butler!”

The private’s right leg bent at a grotesque angle. He screamed and groped at his mangled leg. At least he still had his foot.

“Ferris!” Tom yelled. “Get the doc!”

For once the man obeyed. Tom snapped open the first aid pouch on his pistol belt, opened a tin, and pulled out a morphine syrette. “Hold still. Let me give you some morphine.”

Butler clamped his mouth shut and gave a stiff nod.

Tom flicked off the cap over the needle, plunged it into Butler’s thigh, and squeezed the little tin tube to release the morphine. “You’re gonna be okay.”

“My leg. My leg.”

“I know it hurts, but you’ll be okay. Doc will truss you up and send you to a hospital. You get a little vacation.”

A strained smile. “Nurses.”

Tom laughed. “Yeah. Lots of nurses.”

The dozer had finally ground to a stop. Kendrick and Rinaldi ran up, and a small crowd hurled questions and accusations.

“It was an accident,” Tom said. “We work with powerful equipment. We’ve all got to keep our eyes open.”

“Clear the way. Everybody out of the way.” The battalion doctor, Captain Abrams, ran up with two medics. He knelt beside Butler. “What have we got here?”

Tom tried to back up, but Butler grabbed his arm and held fast. “Private Earl Butler. He fell in front of the dozer. His foot was trapped. He couldn’t get out of the way in time.”

The doctor did an examination, applied a splint to Butler’s leg, and loaded him onto a litter. “Good timing. An evac flight’s coming in a few minutes. Take him to the flight line.”

“Don’t leave me.” Butler’s voice slurred from pain and morphine. He looked up at Tom with anguish all over his beefy face. “Please don’t leave me, Gill.”

Tom shot Doc Abrams a questioning look, and the doctor nodded his consent. Tom turned to Ferris. “Finish the job. We’ll talk about this later.”

“Yes, sir.” Ferris dropped his gaze, his face pale. Good, maybe he had learned his lesson. But Tom couldn’t let it slide, not when a man had been injured.

The litter-bearers took Butler away, and Tom followed down the runway toward the large hospital tent. The 9th Evacuation Hospital served as a holding unit for wounded from the front lines awaiting transport to the rear.

Outside the tent, a couple dozen patients on litters and in wheelchairs waited for the planes. Doc Abrams talked with another officer, and they gestured to set Butler’s litter down.

Tom squeezed Butler’s hand. “Looks like you get an airplane ride.”

“Stewardesses?”

Tom laughed. “No. Just a bunch of fellows, but they’ll get you out of here.”

“Good.” Sweat beaded on his forehead, although it was no more than fifty degrees.

Tom pulled out his handkerchief and wiped Butler’s face.

Planes droned overhead—C-47s from the sound of the twin Wasp engines. Survival on the front meant distinguishing friend from foe. Even Sesame knew the difference. Smart dog. He’d earned a day off. Tom had tied him up in the tarpaulin-covered dugout the men called home, with a long tether so he could explore and hunt. His skill at catching rats added to his popularity.

Three C-47s landed and taxied to the hospital tent. Trucks drove up to meet them, and men piled out to unload the supplies.