With Every Letter (34 page)

Another man ran into the tunnel, fired his rifle.

Tom squeezed the trigger. The Italian crumpled to the ground.

“Lord, no!” His chest constricted. Why wouldn’t they surrender?
“Mani in alto! Mani in alto!”

He stepped over his victims and into the main room of the bunker. A rifle pointed at him. Tom shot. A man fell.

A gunshot. Tom turned, fired. Another man dropped.

One man remained. He maneuvered the machine gun, turned it to face inside the bunker instead of outside.

“No, don’t. No.” Tom shook his head. His eyes stung.
“Mani . . . mani . . .”

The man’s eyes—black. Liquid. Hate. The machine gun barrel rotated closer and closer. Bullets spat out, ricocheted off concrete.

Tom pulled the trigger.

Silence flooded the bunker, a rushing sound like water, rising to drown him.

He dropped the pistol and collapsed to his knees. His breath came in bursts as hard as the bullet fire only moments before.

A quiet curse behind him. Rossi shuffled in, Giannini, Lopez, Simon, Ambrose.

The men held their rifles in the victims’ faces, prodded the bodies with their feet, knelt to feel for a pulse.

No pulse. He’d killed them all. His lips tingled. He licked his lips, tasted salt.

Giannini stared down at him, a strange look, part admiration and part fear. “They’re all dead. One shot each. Right through the heart. All of ’em.”

Tom’s breath huffed out in rhythm, in a jump-rope rhythm.

“Thank God he’s on our side,” Ambrose said, then cussed. “MacGilliver the Killiver.”

35

Foch Field
Tunis, Tunisia
July 17, 1943

The lid of Mellie’s stationery box barely fit anymore, thanks to the profusion of Tom’s letters. Before she shut the lid, she held a postcard to her heart and thanked God for the thousandth time since it arrived the night before.

Papa had written. Well, he had checked off the little boxes on the pre-printed card the Japanese supplied. But his hand had marked the boxes that he was happy and healthy and well fed, and his signature graced the bottom, as strong and masculine as ever. And in the bottom corner, he’d drawn a tiny orchid. He might not be allowed to write the words that he loved her, but he’d drawn it.

“Sorry I haven’t had any letters from Tom lately.” Kay packed her nightgown in her barracks bag.

“It’s not your fault.” Mellie slid the box into her musette bag with her other necessities. “Everything’s topsy-turvy since the invasion.”

“You don’t know where he is, do you?”

“Nope. But he’ll find me. Or rather, the pilots will find you.”

Kay fluffed her hair off her shoulders. “I hope so. My date schedule’s topsy-turvy too.”

Mellie laughed and peered under the pair of bunk beds. “Looks like we got everything.”

“Only here a week. Barely time for Georgie to make curtains and matching pillows.”

“What’ll she do when we’re in tents?”

Kay swung her bag off her bed. “Oh, we’ll have the cutest tent in Sicily.”

Mellie pressed her finger to her lips. “We’re not supposed to know.” But anticipation rippled through her at the thought of quaint Sicilian villages and sun-drenched vineyards.

“Goodness gracious, where
could
we be going?” Kay batted her eyelashes.

“Berlin. We’ll evac Adolf.”

Kay burst into laughter. She led the way out of the old villa and toward the airstrip. “So what’s the plan with Tom?”

“Plan? Hold him off and extend the correspondence as long as possible.”

“That’s not a plan. What’s your goal? Do you want to be with him?”

“I’ve told you. He loves Annie but he finds me unattractive.”

“But do you want to be with him? Just dream.”

Mellie didn’t have to dream to picture his grin, his deep laugh, and his strong arms around her. “I do.”

“So make a plan. Now, when you’re with him, which Mellie are you?”

“Which Mellie?”

“Yep. Confident nurse Mellie or pitiful wallflower Mellie? Which are you with Tom?”

She groaned and tilted her face to the hot African sun. “He’s seen both.”

“Well, leave mousy Mellie in Africa. Men don’t find self-pity attractive. Be confident in who you are. They like that.”

Mellie gave her a grin and a nudge. “Easy for the pretty girl to say.”

Kay rolled her very pretty eyes. “Honestly. When you relax and smile, you
are
pretty.”

“When I smile?”

“Yeah. When you try not to, you look like you’re sucking a lemon.”

Mellie sighed. Why did she have to be so self-conscious?

A C-47 waited for the nurses of the 802nd. They were supposed to take a hospital ship to Sicily on July 13, but when casualties were lighter than anticipated, the ship didn’t sail.

Meanwhile, the flight nurses were grounded. The brass agreed on the importance of air evacuation, but the past few days, they’d sent planeloads of patients to Tunisia without the benefit of nursing care.

The wounded deserved better, and Mellie wanted to be a part of it.

She climbed onto the C-47. Vera Viviani greeted Kay with a squeal and pulled her into the seat next to her. She shot Mellie a sidelong look coupled with a quick curl of her upper lip.

Oh brother. Why was Vera jealous of her friendship with Kay? Georgie and Rose weren’t. Mellie tucked her hair behind her ears and sat in a canvas seat next to Georgie.

Her friend ran a needle through turquoise cloth she’d bought in the Casablanca bazaar. The more nervous she was, the faster her stitches, and today her needle flew. On July 11, in a horrid incident, American ships and artillery accidentally shot down twenty-three C-47s carrying hundreds of paratroopers. And the airfields in Sicily lay mere miles from the front. Georgie had reason to fear.

Mellie patted her friend’s arm. “The dress is coming along nicely. You do beautiful work.”

“Thank you. You’ll look darling.” Georgie had already
made similar sundresses for herself and Rose. “You can wear it to the beach, to parties, anytime Lambert lets us dress up. With the little bolero jacket, it’ll work for spring and autumn too.”

Mellie fingered the soft cotton decorated with cobalt blue swirls. What would it be like to wear the dress on the beach under the stars, with Tom holding her close, gazing into her eyes, murmuring his love into her ear, brushing his lips over hers?

An empty dream without a plan. But with a plan? With mousy Mellie and lemons and monkeys left behind in Africa?

Her hand closed around the fabric.
Lord, give me a plan
.

Ponte Olivo Airfield

Mellie set her gear on the cot in the canvas tent. “Just like Mud Hill.”

“Ah, happy memories,” Georgie said with an exaggerated lilt. No one missed their first week in Algeria.

“Did you ladies save some plasma cans?” Mellie pulled four from her barracks bag. “Set the legs of your cot inside and fill the cans with water. That’ll keep bugs out of your bed.”

Alice shuddered. “That’s disgusting. Why do you always talk about bugs?”

“She likes bugs. They’re her friends.” Vera brushed off her cot. “Ugh. Filthy.”

“Get used to it, princess.” Rose fiddled with the rigging for mosquito netting. “The girls in the field and evac hospitals always live like this. They never get posh barracks like we did.”

“Nope.” Mellie inched toward the tent flap. “I’m going to explore before lunch.”

“Don’t take long,” Kay said. “You heard Lambert. We might get flights today.”

“All right.” She ducked outside before anyone could join her. The soldier who showed them to their tents mentioned engineers fixing up the base. Tom said ten Engineer Aviation Battalions worked in the theater, which meant a 10 percent chance he was at Ponte Olivo. If he was, Mellie wanted to implement her plan.

What if Kay was right? What if confidence made her attractive? If they were stationed together and spent time together, maybe Tom could come to see her in a new way. And if he did, she could reveal her identity.

Besides, her heart yearned for him. She hadn’t seen him for two months.

A crew of men dug a slit trench between tents. Mellie paused, drew a deep breath, and approached. “Excuse me, gentlemen?”

“Say, it’s a dame.” A short man leaned on his shovel and puffed out his bare chest.

“Hiya, dolly, whatcha doing tonight?”

“No fair. I saw her first.”

Mellie laughed as the men gathered around. They must not have seen a woman in months. If only she could get Tom’s attention this easily. “I wanted to ask a question.”

A red-haired man winked at her. “Why yes, I’m free tonight.”

Mellie wagged her head at him, but she smiled. This group helped her confidence. “I wanted to know what unit you’re with.”

“The 908th Engineer Aviation Battalion. Best unit around.”

Her chest expanded with hope. “Is Lt. Tom MacGilliver around?”

“Gill? Figures. Everyone wants to see Gill.”

Mellie nodded. “Is he around?”

“Sure.” He pointed down a few tents. “Over there with the dog.”

She restrained her smile so she wouldn’t look too lovesick. “Thank you.”

The man she loved stood outside a tent and read from a clipboard. Unlike most of the men on the airfield, he actually wore a shirt.

Mellie stopped, her heart full. She’d be content to watch him all day and memorize his gestures and expressions.

He ran his hand down over stubble on his cheek, shifted from one leg to the other, sniffed, and flipped a page on the clipboard.

It almost felt wrong to know him as she did, inside and out. He didn’t know she’d read all his letters and had seen into his heart.

Sesame sat beside Tom, his head pressed to Tom’s knee and tipped up to watch his master, as if worried about him.

Mellie straightened her shoulders. Time to take her own advice and be strong and of good courage. Confident. She could do this.

She put on a smile and walked up to him. “Well, hi, Tom. What a nice surprise.”

He startled. His mouth hung open. “Hi. Hi, Mellie.”

“And hello, Sesame.” She leaned down and held out her hand to the dog. “Do you remember me, little guy? You probably don’t want to.”

Sesame nosed her hand and let her scratch him, but he didn’t budge from Tom’s side.

“What are you . . . ?” His Adam’s apple dipped to his open collar. “Why are you here?”

He didn’t want to see her, but Mellie propped up her smile and pointed toward the runway. “Evacuating the wounded, of course.”

His eyes looked strange, almost cloudy. “We’re only twelve miles from the front.”

Mellie relaxed. He was only concerned for her safety. “All the more reason to be here.” She tilted her head. It looked flirtatious when Kay did it, but Mellie felt silly.

“This isn’t a good place to be.” His cheeks were pinker than usual.

“They said it was safe.” Her stomach twisted. This wasn’t working.

“They say a lot of things.” He looked past her, toward the far end of the field. His body swayed in a circle.

Something didn’t feel right. Mellie shoved aside her disappointment and studied him. “Tom, are you all right?”

His gaze turned back to her but didn’t latch on. “I’m fine. I need to get back to work.” He stepped to the side and stumbled.

Mellie grabbed his arm to brace him.

He cried out and flinched.

She let go, but heat radiated through her hand, and not the pleasant heat she’d felt when dancing with him. “What happened? You’re hurt.”

He hugged his left arm to his abdomen and scrunched up his face. “Okay, I got wounded the other day. Just a scratch.”

Mellie pressed her hand to his forehead. “You’re burning up. Let me see.”

“See?” He opened bleary eyes.

“The wound. Let me see.”

His chest caved in, and he sighed. “Bossy woman.”

First nice thing he’d said all day, and she smiled. “That’s right. Now, let me see.”

His eyes drifted shut. He fumbled with buttons and shrugged his shirt off his left shoulder. A gauze bandage covered his deltoid, bunched up and soiled.

“Tom! When was the dressing last changed?” She gently unwound the gauze.

He shrugged his good shoulder. “Don’t know.”

She leveled her gaze at him. “
Has
it been changed?”

Another shrug. He looked to the side.

“This is more than a scratch.” Mellie inspected the wound. A ditch ripped through the mass of the deltoid muscle. “How did this happen?”

“Securing the field. Sniper.”

“Oh my goodness. Thank God you’re alive.” But the wound was red and inflamed.

“I need to get back to work.”

“You need to see a doctor right now. This is infected. It’s in your blood. You should be in the hospital.”

His eyes sprang open. “Hospital? No. I can’t. Got work to do.”

She laid her hand gently on his forearm and gave him a soft smile. When men were sick, they were either babies or stoics. “How can you work like this? You’re in pain. You have a high fever. You can barely stand up.”

“I’m fine. Can I have my bandage back?”