“You’re not that boy anymore, you know.”
He glanced her way, raised one eyebrow.
“You’re not. You’re smart and capable and an excellent leader. Your squadron, your crew, all the ladies here—everyone respects you and looks up to you.”
“Until I got us all trapped behind enemy lines.”
Kay pulled chapped lips between her teeth. “Could you have done anything to prevent it? Honestly?”
The drumsticks stilled. Roger peered into the distance, motioned Kay toward the wall, and eased back.
Kay sucked in a breath and pressed hard against the wall. What had he seen? So far only partisans had visited, but how long could that last?
He relaxed and smiled. “The goat got loose. Signore’s chasing it.”
The sound of angry Italian confirmed his words, and Kay straightened up. “No dodging the question. Could you have prevented this?”
Roger returned to his drumming in a low, steady beat. “No. I did everything I could.”
“So don’t blame yourself. You landed safely, and you’ve been our shepherd ever since. You got us through those first crazy days hiking at night in the mud, kept us moving when we wanted to stop, and now you’re calm and firm. You make everyone feel safe.”
He shrugged. “Couldn’t do it without you.” His voice came out low, and he coughed. “You’re the only nurse who
could lead this bunch, and you’re doing it. They all listen to you.”
“You’re just saying that so I’ll stop talking about you.”
“Is it working?”
Kay laughed. “What would you like to talk about?”
“Anything at all.” His sticks went tap-tap-tap, thump-thump-thump, tap-tap-tap, thump-thump-thump.
What letters were those? “How about the Morse code?” Memories of Mellie’s wedding assaulted her, and she slammed her mouth shut.
He paused. “The . . . Morse code?”
Of all the idiotic things to say. She gestured with a blanketed hand. “I need to brush up. We’re hiding in enemy territory. It could save lives.”
“Yeah, like the partisans’ knock.” He knocked on the doorjamb. “They alternate knuckles and fists, like dots and dashes.”
Kay remembered another way to send Morse code with thumbs and fingers, and from the way Roger wouldn’t look at her, she had a hunch he remembered too.
Regardless, it could be useful, and brushing up on the code would be a pleasant diversion. She cleared the roughness from her throat. “First we need code for everyone. I’m Kay, and
K
is dash-dot-dash, right? What’s
R
for Roger?”
“Dot-dash-dot.”
She smiled. “They’re opposites.”
“They are.” He grinned and tapped the two letters, with the drumstick for the dot and the wood scrap for the dash. He handed her a square board about the size of a book. “Rap on that.”
“
K
. . . dash-dot-dash.” Fist, knuckle, fist. “
R
. . . dot-dash-dot.”
How appropriate that they were opposites. Opposites attracted. Opposites complemented. But ultimately, like oil and water, opposites didn’t mix.
34
December 10, 1944
Roger and Mike walked the length of the clearing, just beside the trees, counting strides to estimate the field’s length and its suitability for landing a plane. Roger struck the frosty night air with his new drumsticks to help keep count. Enrico had carved a pair from olive wood, not varnished, but nicely shaped and smoothed with Signore’s sandpaper.
At the base of the field, Enrico and Captain Anselmo waited. “What do you think?” the OSS man asked.
“I counted 1142,” Mike said.
“And I got 1137.” Roger tucked his drumsticks inside his jacket. “Our strides are close to a yard, so it’s about three thousand feet long and plenty wide. A short landing but not dangerous.”
“Great. I’ll radio the coordinates.”
“First I need to check the center of the field for obstacles.”
Anselmo squatted in front of the radio. “No. I can’t have you out in the open.”
“It’s three o’clock in the morning. The partisans secured the area.”
“As best they can. We need to get out of here well before daylight.”
Roger’s lower jaw hardened. “Sir, if one of our C-47 pilots flies in here—those are my buddies, mind you—and he hits a ditch and cartwheels, you know what’ll happen. Those four crewmen are dead, the Nazis are alerted, the ten of us are captured or worse, and you and Enrico are captured—and much worse.”
Anselmo slipped on his headphones. “The chance of the landing even occurring is close to nothing. First you have a two-day hike out here with most of your party weak and sick. Then the C-47 has to fly over enemy territory without being sighted and has to locate this spot. The landing is the least of our worries.”
“You said only Mike and I could approve the field. I won’t do it unless we can make sure it’s clear.”
Mike stepped forward. “I’ll go with you. We can spread out, see more of the land.”
Anselmo gazed up at them from under a ratty cap. “Half an hour. No more.”
“Ruggero?” Enrico twisted his rifle strap. “Come back, okay? You need to finish teaching me algebra.”
Roger clapped the kid on his scrawny back. “Wouldn’t miss it.” He felt bad for the boy, missing school because of the war. The least he could do was teach him some math and help him with his English using the few books the group had.
At the end of the field, Roger and Mike spread out about twenty feet apart, and they headed down the center in the feeble moonlight, feet crunching in the snow. Anselmo said it was supposed to snow later in the day, which would conceal their footprints.
Roger picked up a rock the size of his fist and hefted it into the trees. Mike poked at something with his foot, moved on.
It didn’t look bad. Not too rough, fairly level.
Something cracked in the woods to the left.
The men dropped to the ground. Roger’s breath raced,
curling over the surface of the snow. He wormed his hand down into his trouser pocket and found his clicker. He clicked twice.
Silence amplified every breath.
He clicked again.
Thump, tap, tap, thump.
Roger faced Mike and sighed in relief. The partisans’ latest knock. He got to his feet and brushed snow from his face, jacket, and trousers. Mike mimed wiping sweat off his forehead, and Roger nodded.
They continued down the field and tossed aside some more rocks, but it was as good as they could hope for.
In the safety of the trees, they headed back to find Anselmo and Enrico.
“What do you think?” Roger asked in a low voice. “Looks good to me.”
“Same here. I think it’ll work.”
“When I get back, first thing I’ll do is eat a big steak dinner, then I’ll take a long, hot shower. Then I’ll sleep for a week until I get days and nights back in order. What about you?”
“I’ll telegraph my parents, then eat fried chicken. Nothing else. Just chicken, dripping in grease.”
Roger’s mouth watered. “Sounds good.”
“After you get cleaned up, are you finally going to ask Kay out? Take her someplace nice?”
Roger’s stomach jolted, and not just because he hadn’t had a good solid meal in almost a month. “Kay? Of course not. We’re just friends.”
“You’re not interested in her? How’s that possible? Not only is she beautiful and smart, but she’s . . . well, she’s just about perfect.”
Ever since the crash, he’d suspected that Mike had a crush on Kay. Now confirmed. He burrowed his hands into his jacket pockets to conceal the fisting.
“So why not?” Mike asked.
Roger shrugged. He didn’t care to discuss his past with Mike. Not that he didn’t trust the man, but they didn’t have that kind of friendship. “I don’t date because I don’t want to get married. The big band life is no kind of life for a dame. The wives get fed up and leave. I can’t blame them. No roots, no home. I could never put someone through that.” Especially not someone he loved.
“Oh.” Mike pulled his coat collar up to his ears. He was a good man, a solid man, the kind of man who could provide a home and a future for a woman.
The inside of Roger’s mouth felt sticky, tasted sour, but he had to say it. “You’re crazy about her, aren’t you?”
Mike let out a wry chuckle. “Doesn’t matter. Not when she’s crazy about you.”
“Nonsense.”
“Come on. I’ve seen how she watches you, seeks you out.”
Worse than he thought. After his loutish behavior at the wedding, she had every reason to hate him. But the evasion had turned him into a hero in her eyes, a shepherd, she said.
They had to get out of here and soon.
Maybe Mike could help her forget Roger. Wouldn’t that be great? He worked a smile into place to perk up his voice. “Say, when we get out of here, they’ll send me stateside. She’ll get over me, guaranteed. Then she’ll see what a swell guy you are and fall for you.”
“Yeah, right.”
“I’m not kidding. You’re the kind of man she ought to fall for. For now, get to know her more as a friend. When we get out of here, I’ll back off and get out of your way. I promise.”
Mike grunted, but he seemed to walk a bit taller, shoulders back, chin lifted.
Roger slipped out his drumsticks and rapped a beat on his thighs as he walked.
An image flooded his mind—Kay looking at Mike with the same admiration she lavished on Roger. Kay in Mike’s arms, playing with his brown hair instead of Roger’s red. Kay kissing Mike.
More than anything he wanted to strike a tree with his drumstick, but he’d break a stick—and reveal his true feelings.
Why should it bother him? Kay used to date dozens of men, and it never bothered him.
Truth silenced the rhythm. That was before he loved her.
35
December 23, 1944
Kay folded a blanket and stuffed it in a barracks bag.
“I’ll leave this here. It’s vile.” Alice held up a khaki blouse and wrinkled her nose. “On Christmas Day we’ll arrive in Naples and receive clean hospital pajamas. Just imagine.”
Kay needed to correct her but carefully, because only hope would propel Alice through two nights of hiking in the snow. “Take it. Remember, we shouldn’t leave anything behind that could incriminate Signore and Signora in case the Germans raid the place.” Also, the rescue mission’s success wasn’t guaranteed, and they might still need their supplies, no matter how vile.
Georgie wrapped a scarf over her head and tucked it into her coat. “I still think Enrico should come with us. I’m worried about him.”
Mellie looped her musette bag around her neck. “He doesn’t want to leave. The partisans are his family.”
Roger entered the ladies’ alcove. “Ready to go?”
“Oh yes!” Georgie hooked arms with Mellie and Louise and strolled down the tunnel. “
Arrivederci
, old cellar.”
While the rest of the group headed out, Kay peered into
the wine racks to make sure nothing was left behind. Her throat felt strange.
“You’re not as enthusiastic as the others.” Roger leaned back against the rack and crossed his arms.
Everyone else had left. Kay rubbed her hand over the smooth wood, inhaled the scent of old wine and earth, and savored the glow of oil lamps on golden bricks. “As hard as it’s been, I’ll have good memories of this place.” Most would center on Roger—working with him, consulting together, chatting during guard duty, practicing Morse code.
“Mm.” His face had become too gaunt, and he needed a close shave since the men’s razors had reached their limits, but his gaze shone with compassion. “It’s become home.”
Her throat clogged. More than home, it had become family, and two days from now, they’d all be separated, never to be this close again. She’d probably never see Roger again.
He set his square hand on the rack about a foot from her hand. He patted with his fingers, tapped with his thumb, patted with his fingers. Dash-dot-dash . . .
K
.
A watery, wavering smile tugged at her lips. She signaled back . . . dot-dash-dot . . .
R
.
He stood too close, his odor filling her nose, as her stink certainly filled his nose. But she didn’t mind because it was his scent.
Roger tapped and patted on the wood.
T-I-M-E-T-O-G-O
.
“I know.” She grabbed her bags, snuffed out the oil lamp, and walked with Roger to the entrance.
Enrico and Giovanni, another partisan, helped Louise onto a mule.
“I’m sorry to be such a bother,” Louise said. “I feel silly. I can walk.”
“I’m sure you can.” Mellie patted Louise’s leg. “But why not enjoy the royal treatment, princess?”
Louise rolled her eyes. “You’ll spoil me rotten.”
Her pale cheeks, the dark circles under her eyes, and the thinness of her voice told a different story. The lingering pneumonia and the poor diet were taking a toll. For Louise’s sake, the rescue needed to take place on schedule.
“Andiamo.”
Giovanni motioned the group toward a path up the hill.
Kay wound her scarf over her filthy, kerchief-wrapped hair, then pulled up her hood for good measure. The temperature was well below freezing, and a half-moon cast a silvery glow on the snow.
The group tramped up the hill in silence. Cold seeped through Kay’s shoes, and the slick leather soles threatened to slip from under her as she climbed. Each step required concentration and care.
They proceeded down the hill, then up another, a winding path along the side of the slope.
A shriek. Ahead of Kay, a nurse slid off the path, tumbled down the slope.
“Alice!” Vera shouted.
“Oh my goodness.” Kay worked her way down the hill, grasping bushes, careful so she wouldn’t tumble too. “Alice! Alice, you all right?”
About twenty feet down, Alice lay curled in a ball. “Oh, my arm. Something’s wrong. I think it’s—broken.”
Alice did have a dramatic flair. Kay sat in the snow beside her. “Let me take a look.”
She sat up, cradling her arm to her chest.
Kay gently reached into her friend’s coat sleeve and palpated the arm. Something was definitely wrong. It wasn’t quite straight. “I think you made the right diagnosis, Dr. Olson.”