::  As Time Goes By  ::

Part 3

Eighth Army Command
Manchester England
August 30, 1942
Late Evening

Clay stood on the balcony outside the small room they’d assigned him at the castle. To the south, London blazed a bright orange glow. He took another sip of his scotch and sighed. "Sarah, damn you." Tears stung his cheeks. Ever since returning to London to find their apartment building a pile of rubble, he’d struggled with the nearly overwhelming fear that she was dead.

He’d been frantic to make it to headquarters. He’d nearly killed the kid on guard duty who’d dared to insist that he see Clay’s ID. "I don’t have it, you idiot! It’s upstairs with General Proctor."

Identification and momentary relief had come from a surprising source. Mickey Carlo, complete with sergeant’s stripes on his crisp uniform sleeve, hurried down the castle’s steps. "Private, let the Major through. The Generals are waiting for him upstairs."

"Carlo? What the hell? Where’s Sarah?" He took some comfort in the man’s embarrassed cough. He knew immediately that she was alive. He also knew that she was in trouble.

Now as bombs thundered closer - Cambridge? – he stared into his empty glass, not seeing it in the sparse light of the cloudy night and his own cloudy despair. "Damn it. Don’t you know how dangerous it is? Couldn’t you have waited?"

When Donovan had told him about Sarah’s mission to Hamburg, Clay had taken a swing at his CO. Donovan dodged the blow and Mickey had pulled Clay back. General Proctor had threatened him with court martial. Now he reached for the cut glass decanter resting on the stone ledge and poured more liquor into his glass. "Court martial me? Ha. Never happen." He’d seen the resigned look on Donovan’s face. Short of treason, there was nothing they’d do to him. They needed him. They just didn’t seem to think they needed him in Germany to back up his wife.

"She knew the risks, Webb!" Donovan growled. "She also felt she could do the job. We need to know where the Germans are on this whole Atom project. She’ll go in, find Kleinschmidt and get him out."

"Yeah!" he’d said bitterly. "Just like she got Lise Baum out. Just like WE got Lise’s son out."

And that was the thing that scared him the most. He’d made plenty of enemies in Germany. Clark Palmer came to mind. But the chess game he waged with Palmer paled in comparison with the vicious hostility he had with Wilhelm Fuerst. It was personal with Fuerst.

He’d kept an ear open for any word on Fuerst’s whereabouts. According to his deep cover contacts, Fuerst was still stationed in Hamburg. What the hell were they all thinking, sending Sarah back into the lion’s den like that?

Clay never told Sarah what Fuerst had said to him in the hospital in Marseilles that day when he’d gone to retrieve Günter, the baby that Sarah had insisted upon trying to save for her friend, Lise. Günter, Lise’s son by Fuerst, had been so sick after their trek across Germany and France, there’d been no choice but to get him medical attention.

Clay considered himself a hardheaded pragmatist. But the hatred in Fuerst’s eyes had punctuated the threat. "I’m going to make you suffer, Herr Webb. I’m going to find that whore of yours and make her suffer, too. You cannot hide from me. Hitler will prevail, and I will prevail, and I will kill everyone who matters to you and to Frauline MacKenzie!" And Clay had believed him. Upon their return to England, he’d managed to occupy Sarah, making sure she got plenty of stories to write for Time. He’d even taken her on a couple of missions: one to Paris, the other to Milan. She’d acquitted herself well both times. However, Germany, Hamburg in particular, was another matter entirely.

He couldn’t believe the plan. "A charwoman? You’re sending her into Hamburg as a GERMAN!" Only Mickey’s surprisingly strong hands on his shoulders had kept Clay in his chair. "That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard of. It didn’t work the first time. How the hell..."

"Major Webb!" Donovan’s bellow had brought guards to the door of Proctor’s office. "You will stand down and you will remember who the hell you’re talking to.

"Fine. When do I leave?" he’d spat out.

‘‘Leave? The briefings are going to be held here."

"Briefings? What briefings? I have to get to Germany!"

Donovan, hands on his hips, had leaned down until he was nose-to-nose with Clay. Mickey, still pushing down on Clay’s shoulders, had audibly gulped at Donovan’s furious reply. "Major! You just spent two months on a vital mission! A young woman, important to the cause, died getting you into, and the information out of, Norway. You will do your job! You will brief the high command! You will work with the Norwegians in planning the assault! You will stop this sophomoric nonsense NOW!" Stepping back, he allowed everyone to regain some control.

Donovan’s bringing up Birgit’s death had done the trick. Guilt had cooled his fevered emotions. So much guilt. He tossed back the remains of his second - third? – drink and lovingly ran his thumb over the rough surface of the decanter. However, before he could pour more, there was a rapid knock at his door.

"What?" he yelled without turning around.

The ancient oak door swung open. "Major?" Clay could hear the excitement in Mickey’s voice. "Major, we just heard. The underground wired for the sub! The Captain and Kleinschmidt are at the coast. She’ll be home soon."

Clay shuddered. He should feel elated. However, she wasn’t home yet. Too much could still happen. He didn’t have the heart to point it out to Mickey. "Thanks."

"Major?" Mickey stepped out onto the balcony. Reaching around Clay, he grabbed the nearly empty decanter. "You’re meeting with the Norwegians again tomorrow. Get some sleep."

Clay didn’t have the energy to argue. He allowed Mickey to drag him inside, help him out of his clothes and cover him with the sheet. "Thanks," he mumbled. He didn’t want to fall asleep. He knew the dreams tonight wouldn’t be pleasant. They hadn’t been since Birgit died in his arms.

Burhave, Germany
(Off the North Sea Coast)
August 30, 1942

Sarah peered through the gap between the slats of the door. They had exactly twenty minutes before the guard at this leg of the perimeter would return. She should’ve killed him on his last pass. Of course, if she’d shot him, that would’ve brought the entire squad of Germans down on them. If he came back before the signal came, they might be able to hide. However, if he wanted to get out of the wind, they were doomed.

The barn overlooked the North Sea. There was nothing nearby save for the deserted farmhouse. The village was two miles back. She was grateful that it was overcast. Behind her she heard Frau Kleinschmidt soothe her frightened children. Dear God, can I get them all out? Will there be room on the boat? How can I get them all down to the beach without one of them alerting the sentry? Ari hadn’t mentioned that Professor Kleinschmidt was only thirty-four. Sarah had been expecting someone much older. She certainly hadn’t been told about a wife and three SMALL children. However, the moment she’d laid eyes upon them, images of the lost Günter slammed into her and she knew that she’d do whatever it took.

Over a month ago, after much planning and study of the coast of northern Germany, a submarine had dropped her at the coastal town of Midlum. She’d been met by a schoolteacher who’d driven her to Strade; given her papers; and, bid her farewell at the train station. The train ride had been uneventful, and once again she’d found herself at the university where Lise had taught. Kleinschmidt, whom she’d never met before, had been wary at first, however, she had the code phrases and he’d finally brought her to his home. Mrs. Kleinschmidt had resisted. "What of the children? How can we travel all that way with the children?" The only reason she’d agreed to come was the fear of reprisal if her husband just up and disappeared.

According to the plan they’d worked out, Sarah had donned the uniform of a maid. Kleinschmidt had told his colleagues she was a distant cousin from the south. She never went outside except at night, and then only to meet with the resistance liaison. If Kleinschmidt had been hesitant, the liaison had been down right hostile.

"It was utter folly to send you here!" he’d snarled. "What if Fuerst sees you?"

"He won’t. And you know who I am. You know you can trust me."

"Ja! Like Lise trusted you."

She’d swallowed her bitter retort. Instead, although she’d promised herself that she wouldn’t, she’d asked, "The boy?"

"Bah!" The contact has swiped the air with his hand. "The boy grows fat and healthy. He’ll be a good Nazi." Then his face had softened and he’d sighed. "We know you did as you thought best. Poor Lise. She was so intelligent, yet so stupid near the end."

"Why? Because she wanted a better life for her child?"

"Because she allowed Fuerst into her life at all. She was too trusting. You remember that, Frauline. Trust no one."

"Except you?"

He’d shrugged, and they’d never met again, until the night before they’d been ready to leave. He’d brought the baker who’d drive them back to the coast. "But not the way you came, you understand." Three days ago, the professor had donned the clothes of the baker’s assistant and had sat in the front of the small delivery van. Sarah and Mrs. Kleinschmidt had huddled in the back, keeping the children occupied the entire 250 miles. When she’d slept, Sarah dreamed of the disaster that had lost her Günter and sealed her future with Clay. When she’d awoke, she had to explain why she’d been crying; not to Mrs. Kleinschmidt, who’d seldom spoke to her since that first night, but to six-year old Fredrick Kleinschmidt.

[Oh sweetie, it’s nothing. I just miss my husband.] she’d whispered in German.

[Do you have little children like me?] he’d asked.

Sarah had shaken her head. She’d no idea why she hadn’t gotten pregnant. Not that she and Clay had that much time together to actually try and have children. Perhaps it was the stress of her life. Perhaps it just wasn’t meant to be. Perhaps, after losing Günter, God didn’t think that she deserved children.

A touch on her arm jerked her back to the present. "Frauline?" She turned to face Professor Kleinschmidt.

"Yes?"

"Have you seen anything?" he asked

"No...I…" she glanced out the crack again and stopped. "Wait," she hissed. She eased the door open, the ancient leather hinges aiding her in her quest for stealth. Looking right and left, she made her way to the very edge of the rolling drop off. Yes! Three Flashes! She turned to find Kleinschmidt by her side. "Get your family. We’ll each take one of the children. We have to be very careful. The path down..."

Kleinschmidt touched her softly, halting her excited instructions. "We went over this, Frauline," he murmured. Turning he signaled his wife who, carrying the baby in one arm and gripping her four-year old daughter’s hand in the other, led Fredrick out to stand next to her husband.

Sarah could almost smell the fear emanating off the other woman. She turned to the professor. "You take the point."

"Ja. Fredrick, come, you and I will lead the way." They had no choice but to use a small flashlight. The path, while not particularly steep, was rocky and slippery. Frau Kleinschmidt, clutching her baby to her chest, finally relinquished her daughter to Sarah.

Sarah crouched down to meet the solemn little girl’s gaze. [Evie, you know we have to be very quiet, right?] The little girl nodded her head. [Would you hold my hand so I don’t get frightened?] Evie stared at her for a long time and Sarah’s heart ached to hold her during the descent, but she knew she needed to be as unencumbered as possible. The heavy .45 that she’d carried throughout the mission was stuck in the waistband of the trousers she wore. Now as the little girl followed her mother down the trail, tugging at Sarah, Sarah pulled the gun free and let it dangle from her hand.

They were halfway to the beach when she heard the guard, whistling off-key, return to the barn. She prayed that, if he went inside the barn, he’d notice nothing untoward. Kleinschmidt must have heard, too, because he halted their descent, turning off the flashlight. Sarah held her breath. She was certain that one of the children would give their position away.

Rocks skittered down around them. Sarah pulled Evie back to hug the side of the dune. The professor pulled his son down behind a boulder. Frau Kleinschmidt just froze there staring up. The cloud-filtered moonlight seemed to make her pale face glow like a beacon. Sarah knew they were doomed.

[Hans! Come here! Come and see this!] The voice of the other guard floated across the night. More rocks skittered, but Hans was moving away from them.

"Hurry!" Sarah hissed. She had no proof that the guards had seen the light from the boat below, but she couldn’t take the chance. "Just go."

All pretense of stealth gone, they slipped and slid down the well-worn path. Finally they were on the beach.

The men in the small rubber raft took one look at her and didn’t bother with the code phases, "Captain MacKenzie?"

"Yes. I think you’ve been spotted. Let’s get out of there!"

[See! You see!] A bullet dug into the sand.

"Hurry!" Sarah pushed Frau Kleinschmidt and her baby into the raft. The two sailors, seated side by side, each with an oar, looked at each other, then up at Sarah. She instantly knew the truth. They wouldn’t all fit into the small raft. They hadn’t known on the sub that there’d be more than just two of them. "Professor, get in next." More bullets pinged in the sand around her.

"Ma’am," one of sailors started to rise. Two bullets hit the water next to the raft.

"Sit back down, sailor and that’s an order," she snapped with a military bearing she’d never used before. "You’re needed to row the boat."

"Come, Frauline!" Kleinschmidt reached out his hand to her, but she lifted Evie and put her into his arms.

"Sit down." This time the bullets sent up a shower of sand so close that it bit into her skin. She ducked and pushed on the raft, following it out into the water.

"We’ll come back for you, ma’am," one of the sailors yelled over the waves.

"Don’t!" She looked around wildly. "I’ll find another way.

"Ma’am!" She could hear tears of anguish in the boy’s voice.

"Get word to London. Tell my husband I love him, but if he comes looking for me, I’ll kick his butt." With that, she turned and ran down the beach, away from the bullets. Clay, honey, please. I can take care of myself. Don’t come looking for me. She knew that if she continued on the beach, she might have a chance. She still had her papers identifying her as Helga Maurer, a farm girl from Langwarden, a town some thirty miles away. If she could make it back to Midlum, she could find the schoolteacher who’d helped her before. She needed to find the underground and a radio. She had to get word to Clay that she was okay. Is he back from Norway? Is he safe? Please be safe. Please don’t worry. Brutally, she pushed away all thoughts but finding a path back to the top of the dunes. This part of Germany was home to centuries-old small villages that carried on trade with Denmark and Sweden. Idly, she wondered if she could steal a boat and... What? You’re a city girl. You never even rode the boats in Central Park. You’d end up in the rocks.

She found a path leading up. As she climbed, she ran over a dozen stories to explain her presence. When she reached the top, she ducked down and listened for a long time. The gunfire had stopped and she took a moment to scan the ocean below her. She was much higher than before. The huge black shadow of the American submarine was so far away, but she still imagined she saw tiny figures pulling up the passengers from the rowboat. Suddenly, she heard a clap of what she thought was thunder at first. But the geyser of water that exploded near the submarine identified the true source. Looking to the west she almost gasped out loud. The destroyer was within striking distance. Her heart stopped as two more explosions flared from the huge guns. But when she turned back to the sub, the shells missed by even wider margins. She stayed there, praying for the crew and the Kleinschmidts. The destroyer kept coming, but the sub was already submerged.

Sarah stayed crouched low and let her emotions control her for a bit. Tears tracked down her face. She would do this. She’d escape and make it back to Clay. Finally, near dawn, her story firmly in her head, she peered over the top. She expected to see some kind of farmstead, probably deserted. She didn’t expect to see evidence of a squad of soldiers, one on guard. Ducking back down, she was prepared to return to the beach and find another way, but she saw that the destroyer had stopped looking for the sub and was stationed below her. Spotlights were fanning over the beach and the rocky dunes. One sweep illuminated a dozen soldiers coming up the beach from where the rowboat had landed. She had to get away.

Taking a deep breath, she pulled herself up to the top. There were clumps of sea grass and she crouched behind one. The guard was standing at the edge, watching the destroyer. She had no idea why he hadn’t spotted her below. He stood there, smoking a cigarette, not even looking her way. Moving over to another stand of grass, she waited again. The dark was now graying. She’d have to make her move soon. She looked at the gun in her hand, sighed, and shoved it under a rock. Killing the guard would only bring the rest of them out. She took a deep breath, stood, and called out.

[Good morning!]

Japanese POW Camp
Choiseul Island
September 1, 1942

Lieutenant Theresa Coulter wiped the sweat from her forehead. The flies buzzed around her, their droning almost hypnotic. She knew that since it wasn’t raining at the moment, she should go outside and see what she could do. There was always something in the dirty, now muddy, little camp where she and her six nurses, along with a scant dozen civilians, were being held by the Japanese in the middle of the jungle at the base of the volcano that rose too high in the air. At least she thought it was a volcano. They’d all learned the hard way to not even look up at the mountain or whisper about what the enemy was doing there. The last person who did, an Australian surveyor, had been shot dead. It was just one more person to haunt her dreams. So many nightmares for the coming years, if I live long enough to be rescued.

The groan of the dying man claimed her attention for a moment. She wondered if she could get Thomas Boone to a hospital so that he might have a chance. Victor Galindez said no, but still, she added another name to the silent memorial she was etching in her mind. She couldn’t do much else now. She had no medicine. Their only protein came from insects trapped in the once-daily rice gruel. The wet season had come too late to protect many of the internees from dysentery and other diseases brought on from drinking tainted water provided them before Galindez insisted they use every empty container to collect the rain.

"Hey, beautiful," Tom Boone gasped out.

She knelt beside him, clasping his clammy hand in hers. "How are you feeling?" He shook so badly, she almost fell, but she held on tightly.

"God, you got a pretty accent," Tom whispered. "You’re a lot prettier than Victor. Who are you, honey?"

"Terry. Remember?" she told him, just like she told him every time he asked. When he was strong enough to sit up in bed he’d insist on regaling her and the other nurses with stories of exploits twenty years old. His short-term memory, however, was sketchy at best.

"Oh? Yeah." He groaned and closed his eyes. Tom Boone should be dead, should’ve died weeks ago, hell, he should’ve died when they dumped his body into the center of the camp, next to Galindez’s beaten and bloody form. The guards, perhaps they were superstitious, pretty much steered cleared of Boone. Boone’s palsy had served to protect him from much of the abuse they all suffered at the hands of their captors.

"Sister!" The high-pitched grating Dutch accented voice demanded Coulter’s attention.

Sighing, Terry freed her hand and walked to the door of the hut. "What is it, Mrs. Walden?"

"Daniel is very sick," the thin woman insisted.

"Your son is hungry, just like the rest of us. I’m sorry." She started to turn back to Tom.

"You must go to the guards and ask for more food for him," Mrs. Walden placed her rag-wrapped foot on the board, unheeding that it was muddy, obviously uncaring that Terry or one of the nurses would be ridiculed for the mess if the guards decided they needed a reason for ridicule.

"Mrs. Walden!" A gruff, weary voice interrupted. Both women turned to find Victor standing there. By the sheer fact that he had survived brutal beatings, Victor Galindez, a civilian of Spanish citizenship, had commanded everyone’s respect and they looked to him as their leader and buffer against the Japanese guards who’d accepted that he’d earned the right to live — for a bit longer. "I will ask for more food for everyone as soon as I think I have a chance of succeeding."

"But Danny…I mean all the children need it more!"

"Your son is seventeen," Victor pointed out, giving Lieutenant Coulter a weary smile.

"He’s still a growing boy. We shouldn’t even be here. We should be back on our plantation. We don’t care who’s in charge. We would’ve..." She stopped her familiar tirade when Victor pushed past her to enter the tiny thatched hut.

Terry followed him inside. Tom Boone’s appearance never failed to shock and sadden Victor. My God, he can’t weigh a hundred pounds. I can see each one of his ribs. Of course, I’m not much better. "How is he, Lieutenant?"

Terry calmly met the concerned brown eyes and shook her head. Of course, she’d been expecting Tom to die for the past month now.

"Terry!" Another voice, softer, more welcome, intruded.

Not bothering to turn, Terry answered, "What is it, Diane?"

"I think something’s happening. I think they’re bringing someone new to the camp."

Victor looked away from his dying friend and met the young woman’s fearful gaze.

It was astounding. When he first saw Ensign Diane Schlonke, he’d thought he’d recognized her. It’d taken him days to figure it out. He’d not spent much time in the company of Sarah Mackenzie, but he’d swear that the young nurse had to be a relative. But when he quietly tried to question her, she’d run away from him. Later, in a hushed conference away from everyone else, Terry had explained about the traitor in their midst. "We don’t talk about home for fear they will use the knowledge to hurt us."

Tall and willowy, Diane was a particular target for the guards whom she towered over. She’d learned to keep stooped over, her head down as she crossed the common areas. Victor and Terry both tried hard to keep her inside away from the jeers and taunts of the guards. Victor feared it was just a matter of time before Diane — or one of the other nurses — was raped. He’d heard too many horror stories not to accept it. However, he kept them to himself.

"Stay here with Tom, would you, Diane?" Terry said. Victor led Terry outside to await the coming of Major Fujihara.

After the first few weeks of torment, most of the guards and Lieutenant Yamanaka, who had primary responsibility for the prisoners, left them alone unless they asked for something — like more food. Depending on the mood that day, they might get what they wanted, or they might lose part of what they already had. Victor had lost count of the number of times he’d been slapped, punched or been made to stand at attention for hours in the brutally hot sun. No one wanted to hear that he was a citizen of a neutral country. After six months, they’d all grown more used to each other.

But not Major Fujihara. Fujihara had command of the entire compound, including whatever was going on in the mountain behind them. At night, sleeping in the doorway of the men’s hut, Victor would surreptitiously spy on the goings on outside the wire fence surrounding the prison camp. At first he thought it was merely a supply depot. And the trucks that arrived with great regularity would support that supposition. However, something was going on.

Victor hurried out to wait in the middle of the muddy yard, with Terry standing just behind and to his left. They didn’t have long to wait. A transport car made its bumpy way from the main compound to the gate of their prison. There was a driver and Fujihara in front. In back, two more guards sat holding up another man. His bowed head bounced with each rut that the vehicle hit. It was obvious that he unconscious. His uniform stained with blood, sweat and mud was still easily recognizable as an American flyer.

Terry held her breath as the men dragged the unconscious man from the vehicle. She’d learned not to run forward to help. She just hoped that they’d given the man some medical attention. As they roughly manhandled him, his head lolled to one side and she couldn’t help her gasp of shock.

"Easy, Terry."

"Oh, God. What did they do to him?"

"I’m sure they questioned him. I’m just surprised he’s alive." Victor said. One of the guards glared at them and they both immediately hung their heads. It would do the badly injured flyer no good if they were denied the opportunity to help him because they upset the volatile guards.

The guards dragged him inside the gate, snapped something in Japanese and then dumped him unceremoniously into the mud. Victor and Terry stood there, waiting. Terry prayed he could breath, Victor just hoped they hadn’t brought them a dead man to bury.

It seemed like an eternity but finally Fujihara alighted from the car and strode through the gate. He kicked the downed man, a sneer kissing his already furious face. "This is the fate of all enemies of the emperor. There will be more." The base commander glared at Terry. "You may attend to him."

Terry breathed a sigh of relief and bowed very low. "Thank you, Major Fujihara.

"Do not ask for extra food. You will feed him or not."

"No!" Mrs. Walden cried from behind them. "That’s not fair."

"Shut up!" Victor hissed.

"No!" She ran toward Fujihara, crying, "We are starving, we..." just before she reached the major, a shot rent the air and Mrs. Walden’s eyes grew wide even as she clutched her stomach. "Oh." She stood there for a moment before crumpling to the ground.

One of the other nurses ran toward her, but another bullet splattered her with mud as it exploded just at her feet. Everyone stood stock still, staring as the Dutch woman withered on the ground. Even her son stood by the fence, just watching. Terry wasn’t sure of the look on his face, hatred? For whom? She’d long suspected that Daniel Walden was the Japanese spy. But if that was true, why kill his mother? She didn’t want to contemplate that awful thought.

"Major, please," Terry begged. But she could see it was no good. They were forced to stand there and wait until Fujihara was satisfied. "Bury her. Now you have food for this." He kicked the flyer again before turning to leave the camp. The gates had just swung shut when he turned. "In two days, I will need volunteers to work in the mountain."

Terry motioned for the nurse to attend Mrs. Walden. She hurried toward the flyer and quickly turned him over to get his face out of the mud. Clearing his nose and mouth of the foul muck, she leaned forward to listen for a heartbeat. "You’re a strong one, Commander," she whispered.

"Where?" he gasped out, surprising her even further.

"Hell." She turned and motioned for two men to come and help her. "Strip him down. I’ll need to do a complete exam."

"Mom?" Daniel Walden finally came forward to stand over his mother’s body. "Is she dead?"

The nurse who’d run to her assistance looked up and nodded. Daniel stood there for a moment, shrugged, and then walked to the small hut he’d shared with her. He turned at the doorway, his eyes darting, cataloguing each person staring back at him. Finally settling on Victor, he said almost conversationally, "It’s better this way. She wouldn’t have made it anyway. I guess you want her stuff for everyone else."

Terry fought the tears that threatened. Even if they managed to live through this ordeal, things would never be the same. They’d be forever scarred by what happened here.

Victor followed Terry into the hut where Diane was watching over Tom, who appeared to be sleeping again. On the other pallet, two men were just finishing up with the flyer. One held up the dog tags. "Says here, he’s Commander J. Farrow, USN." He looked down at the bruised but still well-fed body. "He ain’t gonna make it. Got a bullet in his arm. It’ll fester, kill him. Don’t waste any food..."

"Shut up, Blake," Victor glared at both men. "Get out of here." And while they both glared back, neither man was willing to stand up to Victor. They slunk out of the hut.

Once they left, Terry rushed to the man’s side. "I’ve got to try, Victor."

"Of course you do," Victor sighed and turned. "I’ll go and ask for instruments. They gave them to us once before." Neither mentioned that operation had ended with mother and child dying.

Victor walked outside to feel water drops hit his skin. It was the only bathing any of them received. Normally he would’ve had two of the men carry Tom outside. However, he doubted his friend would live much longer. He long ago accepted that his gesture had been fruitless. He prayed that Kate was safe, and that AJ was looking out for her. He’d return to her if he could. However, as each day passed, he knew his chances grew slimmer. He stopped at the gate and bowed low to the guard. He’d learned enough Japanese to request an audience with Yamanaka. The guard sneered, as if knowing what Victor wanted and that it’d be hopeless. However, he turned and shouted something to one of the men on the covered porch leading into Yamanaka’s quarters.

Yamanaka had made a point in telling them that he had studied in America, University of California, Stanford, and that he was certain that Americans were too soft to win the war with Japan. It was his personal mission to prove to himself that he was right in his assessment. Victor hated him more than any of the rest. He’d rather die than ask for anything for himself. However, he had assumed responsibility for these people and he’d do what he had to do.

Yamanaka swaggered out onto the porch and stood there gazing over his domain, patently ignoring Victor. The rain began to fall in earnest now, and Victor thought for sure that Yamanaka would just turn around and go back inside. However, he said something to one of the guards, and the man hurried down to the gate and unlocked the heavy padlock that secured the gate, then motioned for Victor to come outside.

If he’d learned one thing in the camp, it was to worry about any change in protocol. Never had he left the compound since that day he and Tom, who’d been in the middle of one of his major episodes, arrived. The guards had mercifully concentrated on tormenting Victor, leaving Tom to shake and whimper.

Telling himself that the only thing that mattered was securing the instruments Terry needed to save Farrow’s life, he kept his head lowered and followed the guard. "Commandant," he said, giving Yamanaka more respect than he deserved.

"Come inside. I wish to speak to you." Yamanaka turned on his heel and Victor wondered if he’d leave the hut alive. He followed Yamanaka inside, taking in the surprising furnishings. He stopped short of actually stepping onto the Persian rug that covered the floor just in front of the huge oak desk. Yamanaka circled the desk and settled into a chair that had been crafted for a much larger man. The entire room had obviously been taken from a plantation. He tried to remember if there’d been any such plantations on Choiseul. Two Japanese flags flanked the leather chair. A matching sofa was against one of the thatch walls. A bar, complete with crystal decanters and glasses, was against the opposite wall. A burl wood humidor sat on the desk.

Victor took this all in within the space of a moment, however, he knew that Yamanaka was eagerly judging his reaction, waiting for him to say something. Victor just needed to figure out if a flowery appreciation of the office would help get what he wanted, or would merely serve to give Yamanaka an excuse to punish him. He waited.

"Well? What do you think of my office?" Yamanaka demanded petulantly.

Victor took a quick glance as if to prove he hadn’t noticed before. "I’ve never seen finer."

His response pleased Yamanaka. He leaned back in his chair and smiled. Victor hated it when Yamanaka smiled. "So? What do you think of Colonel Fujihara’s demand?"

Victor shrugged. "I think that we’ll find men for his work detail."

"Wrong!" Yamanaka jabbed his finger at Victor. "You’ll volunteer men and women. His lips twisted in a bitter smile. "Fujihara ordered it."

"As the lieutenant demands," Victor said with no emotion.

"That pilot that was brought in… who is he?"

Again Victor shrugged. Name, rank and serial number were almost universal, even for someone not part of the Geneva Accords. "Dog tags say he’s Lieutenant Commander J. Farrow. I don’t remember the number."

"What ship?"

"He’s unconscious. Hell, he’s probably dying."

"I want him alive. Tell the nurses to save his life."

Victor could feel the hairs on his neck bristle. He didn’t like this one bit. He wondered if Farrow would some day damn him for saving his life. He bowed low. "To save his life, Lieutenant Coulter will need to remove the bullet before it festers. We’ll need surgical instruments, disinfectants and bandages."

Yamanaka’s lip curled up. He silently appraised Victor before standing and walking to the uncovered window. Looking out on the muddy expanse, he finally laughed. "Fujihara said you couldn’t have additional food. He said nothing about medical supplies."

Victor left the hut sweating. He had the distinct impression that he was a soccer ball between the two Japanese officers. He’d watched the two men together. Fujihara looked down on Yamanaka and his background in America. For his part, Yamanaka made no bones about the fact that he was being wasted in his current position.

Victor walked slowly through the mud to the gate. The guard shoved him forcefully inside, but Victor had become adroit at staying on his feet after such abuse, and managed to keep from falling into the mud. He waited only fifteen minutes before another guard, carrying a burlap bag, shouted for him to return to the gate.

He hurried to the hut and showed the contents of the bag to Terry. "Oh, my God. Do we have to give it back?" she whispered.

"Not until they ask for the instruments. Make sure to hide any bandages and disinfectant that you don’t use. But don’t try to hide any of the instruments." He looked down at the sleeping pilot. His face, now cleaned as well as Terry could manage, looked ashy with two bright dots of color on his cheeks indicating he had a fever. "Yamanaka really wants Farrow to live."

"Why?" She, too, looked down at Farrow. "Why do I feel like I’m condemning him to something far worse than death?"

Victor touched her shoulder. "It’s in Gods hands. Do what you can." She just nodded.

Eighth Army Command
The Castle
Manchester, England
September 5, 1942

Clay stared at the message and willed himself to remain calm. He told himself that he wasn’t even surprised. He also told himself that he had to present a rational front or they’d lock him up. Perhaps not in the dungeons of this ancient castle, but if he lost the thread that his control was anchored to at the moment, then Sarah would be forever lost to him.

Donovan had returned to America shortly after Clay’s briefing to the High Command. He’d ordered Mickey to dog Clay’s every movement, "Shoot him if you have to, Sergeant. Don’t kill him, just shoot him if he tries anything particularly stupid, like trying to get to Germany." Clay had done his duty. Even after the captain of the submarine radioed that he was bringing Kleinschmidt and his family back to England, but that Sarah Webb had remained in Germany, Clay had maintained an icy calm. He’d attended the meetings with the Norwegian underground. He’d briefed them and British commandos on the changes that’d been implemented at the Norsk-Hydro plant. He didn’t understand the research that he’d brought back from Norway, but the scientists who’d read it seemed excited enough. He didn’t care. He’d done his job, then returned to his room. He’d spoken to no one unless ordered. He’d taken Mickey’s offering of a bottle of Martel Cognac to his room. "Come on, Major. Let’s just get rip roarin’ drunk."

What he’d done was wait. And his patience had been rewarded. Proctor had called him into his office twenty minutes ago. Clay was pretty certain that Proctor thought he’d bolt even now. But he’d waited. Waited to hear if he’d have to desert, waited to see if Proctor would at least listen.

"Well, Major?" General Proctor eyed the spy before him. If ever there was a reason why women shouldn’t serve in the army, it was sitting before him right now. He had nothing but the highest respect for Captain Sarah Webb. Perhaps more respect for her than the cold-hearted bastard before him. Even as he thought it, he knew that was the picture that Webb wanted everyone to see. Of course, if they didn’t pull Sarah’s fat from the fire, Webb would turn into that bastard and worse. Proctor would never be able to trust him again. He’d lose two good agents, for no discernable reason whatsoever, as far as Proctor could see. He’d sent more men to their deaths than he could ever pay penance for, but always with a goal in mind. Sarah’s capture and death would serve no purpose except to add to everyone’s nightmares.

Clay met Proctor’s steady gaze. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Mickey Carlo standing by the window, paler than even Clay knew himself to be. "We have a leak at headquarters," he said quietly, knowing that it’d throw Proctor off guard; not realizing the reaction it would get from Carlo.

Mickey appeared in front of him so fast, Clay really wasn’t aware of him moving. "You saying I’m a traitor?" The anguish was terrifying coming from the normally cocky sergeant. "I swear to God, I’d never...

"Jesus Christ, Carlo!" Webb gripped the man’s shoulders and pushed him away a bit. "Who said anything about you being a traitor?"

Mickey just stood there and began to shake. "I brought you the note."

"Yeah. Did you write it?" Clay asked, even though he’d recognized Palmer’s handwriting the moment he saw the note.

"God, no! How can you think that I could hurt the captain?"

"I never thought you could." Clay quietly assured him. "What I meant was that someone knew to give you the note. Someone knew that you’d show it to me." Clay sighed and turned away from both men. "At least they thought they knew." He took a deep breath. "What did you think I’d do, Sergeant? Commandeer a submarine? Steal a plane? You have a high regard for my abilities."

Proctor stepped between the two men. "Webb, I ordered the sergeant to report anything suspicious to me. We all knew this was a possibility."

"Did we?" Clay asked coolly. "When you heard that she ordered the sailors from the submarine to leave her, you knew she’d be captured - alive?"

Proctor blushed. "Damn it, Webb."

Clay knew Proctor felt guilty about Sarah. Good. Let someone else feel my pain, he thought miserably.

"What are we going to do about the leak?" Proctor demanded.

"Find it."

"How? Damn you! How the hell can you be so calm?"

Clay thought he might have a chance of getting to Sarah. At least that way they could die together. He had no illusions that Palmer would let her live like he promised in the note; not once Clay arrived in Germany. "I have no choice but to remain calm. I’ll wait to take my revenge on Palmer." He stared down at the note, not seeing the writing on the paper. He’d read it once and he knew that he’d die remembering the chilling words.

Clay clutched the letter, driving the small round gold band into his hand. He really hadn’t had to check the inscription on the wedding ring. It was Sarah’s.

"What the hell are you planning?" Proctor asked wearily, already knowing there was nothing he could do, short of shooting Webb. He didn’t want to do that. He didn’t think he could live with himself if he didn’t try to save Sarah. He should never have sent her to Germany.

"First, we’re going to set a little trap for our leak."

"How? We don’t know who gave the note to Jordan," Mickey protested.

"Well, we’ll start with her."

"Huh?" Mickey and Proctor demanded together.

"Look, I’ll trust Carlo. General, if you’re a German spy, then we’ve got bigger trouble than my wife being held in Hamburg. I’m not willing to go beyond you two."

"Jordan would never. You don’t think?" Clay really felt sorry for the former cabby. "Sir, I..."

"It’s simple and she’ll never need to know you were a part of it." Of course, if Clay

was right about Jordan Parker, she’d see through it immediately. He just hoped the young WAC could forgive Carlo. He prayed she wasn’t the leak. "Here’s what we’ll do."

"Sir?" Jordan Parker hesitantly walked into General Proctor’s office.

"What is it, Lieutenant?" Proctor couldn’t bring himself to look up from his papers. He didn’t believe that the pretty young woman was a spy. But then, the best spy the German’s had had in the first war had been Mata Hari.

"Sir. I feel I have to tell you something."

"Well? Spit it out. I’m very busy."

"Sir, please. I know that something’s going on. Someone told me something. I-I-I have to report it." Her cheeks were burning and her voice shook with embarrassed emotion.

Proctor took a deep breath of relief. Finally lifting his eyes to meet her tear-filled gaze, he asked softly. "Just tell me, Jordan."

"Oh, Sir," she wailed. "Sergeant Carlo told me he was leaving the country. He said that he was going with Major Webb to rescue Captain Webb. He said that Webb had a private way of getting out of the country."

"Did he, now?" Proctor knew he couldn’t pull it off. He was too relieved with the proof that his secretary wasn’t the leak.

Jordan stood there for a moment, a myriad of emotions transforming her face. "You knew. You had him.. .You think that... How could you! How could he! OOOOOOH!" she cried and spun on her heel.

"Lieutenant Parker!" Proctor bellowed. She froze, which surprised him somewhat. He really didn’t like the fact that women were serving in the Army. They always surprised him. "Just calm down. Carlo didn’t want to do it. He, I, never thought that you might be the leak."

"Oh, God. We really have a leak?" The anger drained out of her completely. "Does this have something to do with the note that I gave to Mickey?" she whispered.

Of course, Proctor had to admit that most of the WACs that he came in contact with on a daily basis seemed to be pretty damned quick on the uptake. "Yes. Mickey said you didn’t know who’d left it on your desk."

"That’s right. I’d gone to the ladies room." She thought for a moment. "But I didn’t know at the time that the note was that important. Only a couple of people could’ve left it."

"Damn it." Proctor sighed. Should have brought her in on it from the beginning. "Be a good girl and go track down Webb and Carlo for me.

"Yes, sir." She turned again.

She’d just put her hand on the doorknob when Proctor stopped her again, this time with a gentle word. "Don’t be too hard on Carlo, Lieutenant." A bright blush of embarrassment crept up her neck. He realized that he’d have to give Carlo a field promotion or bring both of them up on charges of fraternization. Of course, he’d only have to do that if Carlo made it back from Germany. He had no doubt that the sergeant would insist upon being the one to watch Webb’s back.

2330 Hours

With Jordan’s help, Sergeant Kaminski was easy to track down. And, it seemed that perhaps there wasn’t really a leak after all. the information didn’t seem to do them any good at first. Clay, Proctor and Mickey were the only ones in on the interrogation in Proctor’s office. Kaminski vehemently denied any wrongdoing. "Hey, I was just doing a favor for a guy."

"Why? What guy?" Clay demanded.

"I lost at cards to this Brit at the Lion and Lamb. Never saw him before, but he seemed to know a lot about HQ. He was a limey captain for Pete’s sake! Said Sergeant Carlo owed him money, but that Carlo had no way of knowing where to reach him. Said that he just wanted to give him his address. For Pete’s sake! He wasn’t no German spy! The Brits hate the Krauts as much as we do!"

"Why’d you leave it on my secretary’s desk?" Proctor demanded.

After a quick glance at Mickey, Kaminski boldly met Proctor’s furious gaze. "Everyone knows about the lieutenant and the sergeant. I knew that she’d get it to him."

Only Webb’s firm grip on Carlo’s arm kept him from attacking Kaminski. "We don’t have time for this." After a brief moment, Carlo finally nodded and Clay released him.

He turned back to Kaminski. "So you say you played cards with this limey officer, played messenger boy for him, all without getting his name?" Kaminski just shrugged. "Describe him, damn you!"

"I don’t know. A little taller than me. That Veddy, Veddy British accent."

"Eyes?"

"Yeah, he had two of them. Who remembers the color of someone eyes unless you want to take her to bed?"

"Sergeant!" Proctor’s bellow cooled the man’s sudden detour into humor.

Kaminski sighed and shook his head. "Look, the fact is that he looked like every other Brit. You know: big teeth and bigger ears." Clay finally had the answer that he refused to telegraph to the man.

"Get out of here." Once they were alone, Webb began to pace. He knew it was Palmer. Palmer was probably watching the castle. Palmer might try and infiltrate the command center. No. He wouldn’t take that chance, not after what had happened in Washington. Palmer was cocky, cockier than Clay himself. But Palmer was smart enough to know that Clay would be looking for him, and smart enough to know that Clay knew he was in England.

Clay’s head hurt.

Fury mingled with fear. If Palmer was in England, then who was watching Sarah? He didn’t know why, but somehow he knew that Palmer would keep his word. Unless... "Damn him," he muttered.

Mickey stood there and watched Clay. Of all the people Mickey had ever known, Clay was the best at coming up with plans that actually worked. Mickey hadn’t heard the full story of how the captain and the major had met in Germany. In fact, he had a suspicion that they’d known each other before. Memories of New York, three years old, danced across his mind. Back then, he’d kind of thought that Sarah and Harmon Rabb would’ve ended up together. They’d been close. However, while helping track down the people wanting to hurt Miss Cavanaugh, he’d seen the way that Sarah had looked at Clay. He wondered what it would be like if Jordan Parker might look at him like that.

"Sergeant?" Jordan’s soft voice intruded. He looked up to find her sweet smiling face. There ain’t no hope. I’m a sergeant and she’s a lieutenant. She’s got class and the best I’ve ever been was a cabby. She sure is pretty and sweet. It ain’t right that people are talking about her like that. It ain’t like we did anything wrong. What’s wrong with two people talking? People have dirty minds. "Yes ma’am, Lieutenant?" He was determined to keep it strictly professional.

"Can I see you for a moment?" she said, dropping her eyes from his.

He looked at Webb, who’d begun pacing. Mickey figured it’d be a while. He walked to where Jordan stood. "Yes, ma’am?"

"Stop it," she hissed. "I heard what that man said. He’s a fool. Nobody thinks that we’re doing anything wrong."

"Why would they think that, ma’am?" But, when her eyes glistened with tears, he reached out and cupped her cheek. "Hey. No crying. Crying ain’t playing fair."

"I don’t care," she sniffed before leaning in and kissing him softly. When she didn’t pull back, he wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly. It was over far too soon.

He hung his head and whispered. "I’m really sorry for trying to trick you."

She looked at him so sadly. "I understand why you had to do what you did."

"Yeah, but I never thought…"

"Hush. The General sent me in to tell you that there’s a car downstairs with the keys in it. He called the motor pool himself, telling them that he needed a car for his personal use later tonight. He figures that the Major and you can steal it. The rest is up to the Major."

Once she was gone, Mickey waited a bit, watching the twitches and grimaces form and fade as Clay worked out the plan. "It was that guy, wasn’t it, Major? That man who tried to hurt Miss Cavanaugh?" Mickey asked softly.

Clay sighed. "Yes. Can I talk you out of this?" He didn’t want to, but he felt compelled to lay the offer on the table.

Mickey folded his arms across his chest. "What’s the plan?"

Bougainville
September 5, 1942
Late night

The crashing waves against the rocks hid any sound of the motor. AJ had made this trip so many times in the past fifteen years that he suspected he could do it in his sleep. This end of the island appeared to be fairly deserted, with only a patrol boat to watch over the empty shore. Still, he took no chances. Instead of pulling up to the dock so close to his bar, he carefully eased the Venganza between the rocks of the tiny cove that held so many memories of more pleasant times.

He was grateful to Admiral Halsey for allowing Meredith to stay on board the Enterprise. While a war ship in the middle of a battle zone was dangerous, what he was attempting was death on the half-shell. Had Halsey not decided that Meredith could actually help them with firsthand accounts of several of the islands they were trying to invade, she might have STRONGLY suggested that she accompany AJ. Corporal Mallard was watching out for Kate. Bud was waiting with Harriet in the house in Darwin. Damn, he had too many people to worry about.

But he forced himself to push those responsibilities aside. Right now, he needed to concentrate on the three people so high up in the mountain above him. They’d lasted longer than most watchers. Now that he needed Sturgis’ knowledge, Chegwidden could justify getting the three of them to safety.

He cut the engine and just listened. The surf was somehow quieted here. He heard the night birds calling and something rustling in the trees overhead. He scanned his surroundings, allowing his eyes to adjust to the meager light. Anchoring the boat, he stripped down to his slacks and silently lowered himself into the water.

Until he was ashore and on the path leading away from the bar, he held his breath. He listened every step of the way, determined to not lead the Japanese to the carefully hidden watcher’s hut.

It was long past dawn when he heard the breach of a rifle thrown. Taking a steadying breath he called softly, "It’s Chegwidden."

"I’ll be damned." Bobbie Latham stepped out of the jungle. "I thought for sure you were dead."

"Not yet."

He studied her carefully. She looked older, thinner, and sadder than he remembered. Something of her grief telegraphed itself. "What happened?"

"Jason’s dead."

It was like a punch to the gut. It took a moment but he finally managed, "How?"

"That so called preacher," she spat out.

‘‘Falcon?’’

"Yeah."

"And?"

"Falcon’s dead. I killed him myself." She started to turn away, and he knew it was to hide the tears that threatened.

He stepped up and touched her arm. "Bobbi?"

"He saved us, AJ. Jason didn’t tell Sturgis, but he must’ve thought that Falcon or the Japs were getting close to us. He went and built a hut on an overlook a little further up and on the other side of the mountain. He set it up real sweet. Even used some of the old, worn out radio parts. He wanted to lure them into believing it was just him and that place."

"Dear God. It was a brilliant idea. Why didn’t he just set it up and then destroy it so they would think that you’d abandoned it?"

"Damned if I know. He’d been gone a long time, even for Jason, so I told Sturgis I’d go and look for him."

"Why didn’t Sturgis go?"

"He was doing what he was supposed to be doing!" she snapped angrily. "What did you think, AJ? That I snuck out on you so I could stay and keep Sturgis warm at night?" She stepped into the jungle and AJ had no choice but to follow her. She avoided any obvious path, but soon they were in the small clearing almost at the top of the second highest mountain on the island. Near the edge, the trees formed a frame of the northeast view of the Solomon Sea. Well off in the distance, AJ could see ships. Without a glass he was unable to identify them. However, considering the American fleet was still trying to secure Guadalcanal and other islands to the south, he knew they were the enemy.

"I just radioed the sighting to Darwin," the familiar voice informed him.

AJ wanted to hug his former manager. Instead both men grasped the other’s hand. "Must be important for you to come," Sturgis said.

"It is. You sure they won’t come looking for us?" AJ demanded.

"Hopefully, they’ll think it’s coming from another island, maybe Choiseul." He looked over at Bobbi. "She tell you what happened to Tiner?"

AJ nodded. "Bobbi said that she killed Falcon. What happened after?" Sturgis Turner had been the most taciturn, composed of men. For just a moment, AJ saw emotions twist the solemn face. He couldn’t put a name to any of them. However, Bobbi’s resigned sigh didn’t bode well.

"We had no choice," he spat out. "Damned fool went to all that trouble. If we’d buried the body, they would’ve known we were here." He glared at Bobbi. "Tell him the rest." He turned on his heel and stomped into the small thatched hut.

AJ met Bobbi’s calm gaze for just a moment before she turned her full attention to the opening. "It tore him up, AJ. I don’t know if you knew it or not, but his daddy was a preacher."

AJ knew quite a lot about his former manager. But he just nodded for her to continue.

"He doesn’t talk about him much, I guess they had a falling out. But whatever was wrong between them, Sturgis respected his teachings. I had to play dirty with him. Said, ‘you know they’re going to look for Falcon. If they find them, they’ll think that they killed each other. If they find the hut, even burned down, and the graves, they’ll come looking for us and you know what they’ll do to me." AJ’d never seen tears in Bobbi’s eyes before. "He hates me for that."

"No, he doesn’t, darlin’. He hates himself for caring so much."

"We’re never going to be the same, AJ. We’ll never..."

"Hush, now. We’ve got plans to make. We’re getting out of here."

"He won’t go."

"Yes, he will. I need him for something that’ll probably get us both killed."

She jutted out her chin. "Fine. Then get me killed, too."

He shook his head in amazement. She meant it. And he knew he didn’t have the power to keep her from going with them. Not that he could leave her here alone. "Come on inside. We have plans to make."

The hut was packed solid. A table, three chairs still sitting around it, held dishes and several bananas. On the wall was a map showing the silhouettes of planes and ships with their designations underneath. There was a radio on a small homemade desk. There were few papers lying about. A cot, neatly made, rounded out the furnishings. There was no sign of fire anywhere, no source of cooking. However, in one corner sat a small red can; the odor of kerosene scented the air. AJ spied the box of matches that Sturgis would use to ignite the building in case the Japanese found them.

Sturgis was sitting at the table, hands clasped in front of him, as if in prayer. He was once again in control of his emotions, his face blank. AJ motioned for Bobbi to sit down before he took the last chair. Before he could say anything, Sturgis said, "What happened to you after you went to Sorong for Tom and Mike Roberts?"

AJ watched him closely. Perhaps he could make Sturgis understand that he was not the only one scarred by this war. He quietly told them what had happened; what Victor had done. "He doesn’t know about Kate."

"What do you mean?" Bobbi demanded.

"She’s pregnant."

"Oh, my God." Bobbi looked off in the distance, doing the math. "She has to be due soon."

AJ nodded wearily. "She’s alone back there. Meredith is determined to cover the war and is currently doing her best to annoy two admirals and a dozen ships’ captains."

"Meredith’s back?" Sturgis asked, the awe apparent in his voice. "How’d she manage that? The last I heard she was in some kind of trouble in New York."

"Evidently Clayton Webb and Sarah MacKenzie, who is now Sarah Webb, got her out of that mess only to send her into another." AJ shook his head. "I don’t know where this world is going, but it isn’t just for the men to meddle in now."

"You finally figured that out, did you, AJ?" Bobbie said with no little asperity.

"Well that’s all very well and good, but now, down to business," Sturgis said. "Why are you here, AJ?"

"How well do you know Choiseul Island?"

Choiseul Island
September 7, 1942
Dawn

It’d taken half a day to cross the sea from Bougainville to Choiseul. They’d worked together silently, tensely, to avoid any of the Japanese patrol boats. The sky to the south was filled with smoke from yet another battle. Planes flew so high above them that they couldn’t make out if they were friend or foe. AJ hoped that the planes couldn’t make out his small boat so far below them.

He’d been surprised that Sturgis had put up no fight at Bobbi coming with them. "Where else is she going to go?" Perhaps he’d accepted that his woman was independent and determined to help.

They’d found a small cove where they hid the boat and set out at dawn to traipse through the jungle. Sturgis took the lead. He’d been the one who had spent time here, although it turned out that Bobbi had spent more. She’d led them to the small village that Meredith had found on her first trek here. It was destroyed and mostly deserted. The few remaining natives had taken one look at them, and scattered into the surrounding foliage.

It took two full days of hard travel, but they finally heard bustling activity so out of place here in what had once been a primitive paradise.

They’d come up with a series of hand signals and AJ motioned both of them to hide in the trees while he alone approached the camp.

Prison Camp
September 7, 1942
Dawn

Victor lay on the thin pallet trying to eke out a second or two more of sleep. He was exhausted, even though he’d slept nearly from sundown to the first sounds of jungle birds greeting the new morning. He twisted around to look out through the gap in the thatch and groaned. The rain, which would provide fresh water, would also make getting to and from the work site even worse.

He knew his days, and the days of every person who lugged boxes from the trucks to the mountain caves, were numbered. What he’d seen had sealed his fate. The command center was deep in the recesses of the mountain. There were three radio stations that he’d actually seen. He wished that he spoke Japanese. Six, including one of the nurses, had already died. They were down to sixteen; three of whom were small children.

Stepping out into the humid misting rain, Victor lifted his face to wash the sleep, if not the exhaustion, from his eyes. Opening his mouth, he took in the freshest water he’d consume during the day. Deep in the mountain, all they had to drink was the stagnant water the guards provided them with from filthy buckets.

Victor looked toward the fence behind Danny Walden’s hut. Sure enough, the boy stood there staring out at the dense jungle. The bandage around his foot that kept him from working was filthy. He refused to allow any of the nurses to look at the injury he’d supposedly sustained during his one and only trip into the mountain. Had Victor doubted it before, he needed no other proof of whom the spy was – that was the only explanation for the fact that Danny still lived.

Victor, his bare feet squelching in the mud, made his way to the hut that Tom Boone and John Farrow shared. Scraping his feet on the steps, he stopped at the doorway. Terry Coulter slept sitting on the floor, her head resting on the cot where John Farrow slept. Diane Schnoke sat on the lone stool next to Tom, holding his hand, talking softly to the man who would not die.

As Tom’s friend, Victor was glad and sad at the same time. The nurses weren’t eating nearly enough, insisting upon sharing their rations with the two men. Their rations had been cut each time someone died on the mountain. Victor stepped to where John laid, his eyes wide opened.

John hurt so bad he could barely stand the pain. He looked down his nose to where Terry slept. Guilt surged through him, accentuating the pain. He should’ve died in the water. He should’ve died at the hands of the crew of the Haku, the ship that had ‘rescued’ him. For five days he’d floated in the water on the ever-deflating raft, praying that a scout plane would spot him, knowing how futile that hope was. They’d beaten him for an eternity before tossing him onto a supply ship heading for this hellish place. He’d expected to be tossed overboard to drown as they’d done to another captured flyer. He wished that he had learned the man’s name.

A shudder of pain jerked his body and Terry Coulter was instantly awake. "John?"

"Hey, sorry," he gasped out.

"Let me check the bandages."

"Don’t waste them. What hurts, you can’t reach."

"How bad is it today?" Victor asked softly.

"Well, I know I’m alive. Surely hell isn’t much worse than this, and, while the angels are beautiful, if this is heaven you can keep it, too." John’s feeble joke died with another slash of pain. Terry bit her lip and looked over at Victor.

"Go on outside for a minute," Victor said softly.

Terry looked out at the rain and sighed heavily. "I don’t know what’s worse, being damp all day or not washing some of the crud off."

"In this weather," John croaked, "you’re going to be damp anyway."

Victor and Terry exchanged quick glances. It was the first commentary John had made since arriving. "I guess you’re right, Commander," Terry said softly.

"Screw that. Name’s John. I figure since you insist on sleeping with me..." He tried to give her the smile that had served him well in bars, however, the next spasm of pain turned it into a grimace.

Terry ignored it, just arching an eyebrow in mock disdain. "Okay, John. I’ll leave you with Victor."

She walked outside, knowing that Victor would help John stand or at least sit up and relieve himself. She stopped just under the overhang and gazed out on the camp. There was one guard at the main gate. She hoped that the rest would be inside, that none would be out back where the nurses and other women had dug a latrine for themselves. She ignored the mud clinging to the remnants of the shoes she’d worn since being captured on Midway Island. She’d just turned the corner when she spotted movement outside the fence. Damn. The little bastards want to play this morning. The guards had so far contented themselves with staring, and making humiliating remarks. They’d not tried to take it further.

She started to hang her head in the proscribed fashion when she caught a better look at the face. She almost cried out loud as the bald headed man poked through the green growth to get a better look around him. Inching forward, she, too, looked around for any sign of guard activity; and to see if Danny Walden had moved from his accustomed spot.

"Who are you?" she breathed.

"AJ Chegwidden. And you?"

"Oh, my God. Thomas Boone talks about you all the time. He said you’d come and rescue him. Victor just lets him ramble." At first she didn’t notice the effect her words had on the man. Then she saw the already pale face whiten until his lips stood out in stark contrast.

"Is Victor close by?" he gasped.

She managed a nod. "Yes. He’s inside helping Commander Farrow. He’s a pilot they brought in two weeks ago. Lieutenant Yamanaka insisted that we save his life. He wants to question him about troop strength and attack plans."

AJ regained his control. "Well, we can’t let that happen. Go get Victor."

Ignoring the reason that had called her to the back of the huts, Terry hurried back inside.

At the door she paused as Victor zipped up John’s pants and helped the pilot lie back down. He started towards Tom’s cot. "Victor!" she called, trying hard to keep the excitement from her voice. But Victor knew something was wrong. At his startled glance, she looked behind her and motioned him to join her on the porch.

"What is it? I wanted to help Tom. You know how he gets and they’ll be coming for us soon."

"Go around back."

"Why? Damn it. What’s the matter?"

Taking a deep breath, unsure how to break the news, she finally just blurted out, "AJ wants to talk to you."

Victor stood there. The pallor on his face even more pronounced than it had been on AJ’s. "Madre Mia. He came. Tom always said he would. How…" His eyes flickered toward the guard shack. "I don’t think there’s time."

"Do it. If for no other reason, so you can tell me that I haven’t completely lost my mind. I’ll take care of Tom."

Victor gripped her arm. "For God’s sake, don’t tell him. We can’t trust what he might say to the wrong person…what he might try to do."

"I won’t." She took a deep breath. "Go on. Like you said, there isn’t much time."

Victor made his way carefully, fearing that Terry had gone mad, or that he had. His suspicions were almost confirmed as he scanned the jungle, empty of any color save green. Had it been anyone but Terry, Victor would’ve just relieved himself and returned to his hut. Instead he waited. As a guard chose that moment to make a round around the camp, Victor quickly freed himself and coaxed a stream of urine into the mud. The guard, already soaked and angry, shouted an epithet and pointed to the front of the building. Dejected, Victor bowed low and started to turn back, when he caught sight of familiar eyes gazing at him through the thick leaves of the jungle. After a quick wink of acknowledgement, he hurried back to the front of the building.

Already the remaining prisoners were grouping for the morning ritual. Victor mentally chose the strongest amongst them for the labor detail. Terry came to stand next to him and he quickly warned her. "If you get a chance, warn AJ about Danny."

"Understood. Take care of yourself out there. Don’t do anything to get the guards mad at you."

"Prisoners will be quiet!" The guard screamed at them.

As if the gods were toying with them, Fujihara himself came to the compound. He paced back and forth, furious about something. Yamanaka stood to one side, wearing what appeared to be a triumphant smirk. Fujihara snapped something and Yamanaka insolently stepped forward to translate. "You’ve been given the day to rest. You’ll make sure that the camp is cleaned and neat. You won’t remain idle."

Victor quickly looked around at the vast compound beyond. He could see more trucks trundling into the open areas. More soldiers than he’d seen before were alighting from the backs of those trucks. AJ couldn’t have picked a worse day to appear. Or perhaps, AJ was just in time. Regardless, he felt some relief that they wouldn’t have to work today.

Fujihara said something else, then hurried to his waiting car. The prisoners were treated to the sight of the car becoming mired in the mud. One man, a plantation owner who shared a hut with his wife and small son, made the mistake of laughing out loud. The laughter died on his lips before his body crumpled to the ground after Yamanaka ordered one of the soldiers to shoot him. His wife, clutching their son, stood there staring at the body, unable to react.

"Does anyone else find this amusing?" Yamanaka screamed. Everyone stood there, heads bowed. "Answer me." He started to say something to the guard still pointing the rifle at them. "Kill…

"No, Lieutenant," a soft voice spoke up. Diane Schlonke stepped forward and bowed before the Lieutenant. "Please forgive our unpardonable breach of manners." Everyone held their breath.

Yamanaka stared at her long and hard. Finally he pointed to Victor and two other men. "Go and push the car out of the mud."

All the rain in the world wouldn’t wash the filthy mud that clung to them after they’d pushed the commandant’s car nearly fifty feet to firmer ground. Victor used his condition as an excuse to go to the back of the building and strip out of his clothes, using them to wipe the mud away from his arms and legs, praying that the rain would rinse the rest away.

"Victor?" AJ hissed.

"It really is you." Victor didn’t look at AJ. He kept his eyes moving, looking for any guards.

"What is this place?"

Victor found he was having a hard time remaining in control. After all these months accepting his sacrifice to save AJ, he felt his rigid control slip. He had the insane urge to throw himself at the fence to escape. He certainly didn’t want to discuss hell dispassionately.

AJ watched as Victor fought his emotions. He wanted pull the man to safety, but he knew they had to get the information. He knew one thing. Whatever happened, he wasn’t leaving Victor here any longer than he had to. Bobbi, sitting high in the banyan tree, was keeping careful watch. Sturgis, gun at the ready, was behind him, fully prepared to kill to protect them. He hoped to hell it wouldn’t come to that.

Victor took a deep breath. But instead of answering, asked the one question that was foremost on his mind. "Kate?"

AJ wanted to tell him, but he knew it would just drive Victor crazy. He’d save it in case Victor decided to play hero once again. "She’s fine. Now tell me. What is this place?"

"Some kind of command center. The mountain is riddled with caves. We’ve been loading boxes. They have radios set up inside, and there’s an antenna at the top."

"What else?"

"I don’t know. They don’t let us near anything. I think they’re going to kill us as soon as they’re completely operational. No reason to keep us around. Not even the young kid you’ll see wandering around. Whatever you do, don’t trust him."

AJ nodded. "Understood. I need to look around. Come up with a plan. Can you hold it together until tonight?"

"Not sure. We’ve got a pilot that they want to talk to. This was the first day that he was lucid. But I have a feeling that…"

A hiss floated down from above. Without a word, AJ melted back into the jungle and Victor quickly turned to walk back to the front of the compound. He didn’t know how he was going to manage it, but he’d be back here tonight. One more day. AJ will get us out. After the fiasco on New Guinea, he knew he had no reason to think so, but he also somehow knew that AJ would save them, or die trying.

AJ and Sturgis spent the day carefully scouting the vast compound. AJ had brought one of Meredith’s cameras and, when he could, he took a few pictures. More importantly, he made notes of troop strength and the number of crates being off loaded. Sturgis stumbled upon the rough road leading down to the coast and followed it, noting reinforcements and possible escape routes. Both of them, without speaking of it, knew what they’d have to accomplish. Neither would be willing to leave Victor, and they knew their friend well enough to know he wouldn’t leave any of the other prisoners behind. They used that fact to their advantage with Bobbie. AJ convinced her to count heads and pinpoint danger zones from her vantage point.

It was early afternoon when AJ discovered the means of their escape. It somehow seemed fitting since just such an act had been the reason why Victor and Tom ended up here in the first place.

There were only two guards at the ammo dump. AJ recognized the symbols on the wooden crates, as well as the stacks of shells. Arrogant bastards. Well, we’ll make it work to our advantage. He made plans to return later. He’d spotted the boxes of hand grenades. The plan was simple, deadly, and had no chance of succeeding without some of them dying. But there wasn’t anything else he could do. If the enemy was interested in a captured pilot, they wouldn’t wait long. He needed to talk to Victor.

He began to make his way back to where Bobbi waited. He was opposite the hut outside the guard shack when he saw a truck trundle down to the gate. He stopped and watched as men began to unload stacks of boards. A guard began yelling at Victor, who was standing there listening. He pointed to several of the men and together, under guard, they began to carry the wood inside the compound. It took a moment, but AJ realized what they were doing. Laying the planks side-by-side, they began to create a wooden path across the mud.

The officer who’d ordered the man shot for laughing when the commander’s car had been mired in the mud came to stand on the porch of the hut and watched the progress. The rain started up again, but Victor and the men didn’t stop their labor. The Japanese officer finally went back inside, only to return a few minutes later. He said something to one of the guards, who then bowed low and ran to the compound.

All work stopped for a moment while the guard shouted and gestured toward a group of nurses. The nurse who’d spotted him this morning came to stand next to Victor. Her words never reached him, but he could tell she was upset about something. She shook her head violently. The guard slapped her so hard that she went stumbling back, falling into the mud. The rest of the prisoners, including Victor, stood like statues.

The guard started shouting again. Then he raised his rifle and pointed it at the cabin housing Tom and the flyer. There was movement at the door, and a young woman came to stand on the porch. AJ sure that he knew her. Who? The answer was inconceivable. Fury gripped him and he wondered what Sarah MacKenzie was doing in the South Pacific again. His hands itched at the trigger on his gun, but he knew that it would do no good, and only serve to get himself captured, while ruining any hope of escape. He then noticed the remains of a Navy nurse’s uniform.

The woman, who AJ knew couldn’t be Meredith’s friend and colleague, walked quickly to stand next to Victor. He gestured. She shook her head. The guard grabbed her and she cried out. She struggled all the way until the guards threw her down onto the steps just below where the sneering officer stood. AJ was surprised to hear English float up to his hiding place.

"If you please me, you may return to your friends later. If you make me angry, I will kill you, pick another, and cut rations to all."

Diane Schlonke straightened and boldly met Yamanaka’s leer. She’d known this day had been coming for weeks now. She’d felt his stare upon her every time she’d walked across the yard. Die with honor? Or live to seek revenge? She knew that the entire camp was watching her: guards and prisoners alike. She knew that they’d heard the threat and would pity her. Her eyes darkened and had Yamanaka had any real understanding of the western culture that had educated him for six years, he would’ve been afraid.

Terry watched in impotent horror as Diane walked up the steps. They’d feared that this would happen. That it came on the same day that possible rescue appeared was doubly heartbreaking. She wanted to fight them, but knew she needed to wait. She silently vowed that, if they escaped, no one would ever mention what Diane had suffered. Glancing at Victor, she saw his already dark features turn nearly black with rage.

"Danny! Get over here and help." Victor bellowed.

Danny glared. "My foot still hurts."

"I don’t give a damn, boy. Get over here and help. You screw it up, you can go to the camp guards for food."

Rage twisted Danny’s features and his exaggerated hobble would’ve evoked pity had Victor not seen him walking perfectly fine earlier in the morning. He had to know where Danny was at all times now. Victor was responsible for too many people to allow Danny to ruin it for all of them.

As they worked, Victor was going over a dozen plans. He wouldn’t leave any of the prisoners behind, including Danny. Perhaps the boy was just unhinged from his ordeal? Victor didn’t have time to consider it fully. He refused to ponder what was going on in Yamanaka’s hut. He vowed revenge for what was happening to Diane.

As they built the pathway to John Farrow, Victor tried to figure out what was so damned important about the flyer. For seven days, Fujihara had demanded that Farrow be brought to him. And for seven days, Terry had sent word that Farrow was still unconscious and that to move him would be a death sentence. In reality, Farrow had awoke the first day and taken nourishment. Several times, Yamanaka had sent a guard to peer at Farrow. However, there’d always been time to warn the flyer to play possum. The guards had screamed and poked, but Farrow was in enough pain that faking unconsciousness wasn’t hard. Several times, after the guards left, Terry had been unable to rouse Farrow. Now, Victor guessed that Fujihara wanted to see for himself. There was no way that Fujihara was going to slog through the mud of the camp, dirtying his boots. So they’d build him a wooden bridge.

The sun finally went down and the guards called a halt to the work. "Prisoners! Line up for your food." They all stood stock still, staring at one another. They never got food at night. "Get in line!" the guard screamed. They lined up as the truck that usually brought the gruel in the morning pulled up to the gate. As the cooks were offloading the steaming cauldron, Diane carefully made her way down the steps. Her head held high, she shrugged off the hand of the guard that reached out to her.

"Don’t touch me." And remarkably, the guard just followed her to the gate. Keeping her head high, she walked through the gate, ignoring the line. She also ignored the boards stretching across the compound. Terry ran up to her, but Diane wouldn’t look at her. "I’m fine. He didn’t…he didn’t hurt me." Her voice wavered for a moment, but she stayed in control until she was inside her hut. Only then did Victor, who’d left the line to stand next to Terry, hear the broken-hearted sob.

"Leave her alone." Terry said to one of the nurses who’d left the line to go to Diane. "Get back in line. I suspect that we owe Diane for the extra food." Several of the men started to leave the line, but Terry pointed at them. "No! She paid for it, you’ll take the nourishment."

Rice and fish had never tasted more like ash to Victor as he forced himself to eat it. He vowed that he’d avenge Diane’s sacrifice at all cost.

After the guards ordered them to their huts, the rains fell with monsoon force. Victor felt that God was giving them a sign. The guards would remain in their huts, not bothering to walk the perimeter. As he made his way around the perimeter of the camp, Victor just hoped that he could hear what AJ had to say over the sounds of the storm.

"Victor!" the hiss was just loud enough to hear. Victor made his way to the fence and was surprised to see AJ standing inside.

"What? How?"

AJ held up a pair of tin snips. "Found these lying by some wire wrapped boxes. I’ve got a plan."

"Good, let’s hear it."

"First, who was that woman that the Jap officer called into his office?"

"Name’s Diane. I know. She looks just like Miss MacKenzie, doesn’t she?"

"I’ll say. Is this the first time that he’s taken one of the nurses… inside his hut?"

"Yeah. And I don’t want it to go on. I want her out of here as soon as possible."

"I understand." AJ looked around, carefully checking the deserted camp. "How’s the pilot? Can he be moved?"

"Yes, but we have to make this break soon. When Fujihara can get to the hut without getting his boots dirty, he’s going see that Farrow can talk. I don’t like the idea of Terry saving Farrow’s life only to have him subjected to more torture. Terry doesn’t like it, either."

AJ studied his friend through the pounding rain. He wondered if he should tell Victor about the baby. Was he feeling anything more than what AJ himself would feel for people he’d assumed responsibility for. AJ had to ask. "This Terry…" only he couldn’t finish it.

Victor grunted a laugh. "Lieutenant Terry Coulter is the mother hen to her nurses and a lady. I’d die to protect her – any of them – but I promised Kate that I’d return to her. Besides, I suspect that Terry’s feeling awfully protective of a certain pilot right now." He looked through the rain trying to read AJ’s face. "You’re sure that Kate’s okay?"

AJ made his decision the moment Victor said he’d die to protect the people in the camp. "She’s doing as well as any woman eight plus months pregnant can be. And you’ll get back to her. There’s no way I can face her if you die now."

Victor felt the ground rising to meet him. Strong arms embraced and held him. "Pregnant? Dear God in Heaven. What have I done, AJ? I have to…people will think…"

"Actually, my friend, people think you’re married," AJ said with some amusement. "Bud Roberts made sure that Kate told everyone that you married on Bougainville. Jean Luc preformed the ceremony and all the paper work is there. Bud said he and I were witnesses. I, of course, made the point forcefully."

"He lied for me?" Victor pushed away from AJ. "You lied for me?"

AJ nodded. "Now. To business."

Part 4

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