Part 4
Terry checked on Tom who was, for once, sleeping soundly. She knew the nightmares would come soon enough. Normally, Diane would be here with him. At times, Diane was the only person who could get through to him. However, she didn’t expect Diane to leave the nurses’ hut.
"How’s he doing?" John said softly from his bed.
"Okay, for now." As she turned she tried to hide her fear and sadness.
"How are you doing?" he asked. His voice was low and soothing.
"Me? Oh, I’m fine."
"Don’t lie to me, Terry. What happened out there today? I tried to walk to the door, but Agnes wouldn’t let me. Why was Agnes crying?"
Terry looked back at Tom. She prayed he’d never find out what Diane had sacrificed for them. But she found she had to talk about it to someone. Sinking down to the floor next to John’s cot she rested her head against the bamboo supports. "Something bad happened."
His hand hesitated over her head; she could sense his shyness. But finally, it rested in her hair. "Tell me," he whispered.
She told him everything. Of AJ’s appearance and of Diane being called into Yamanaka’s hut. By the time she finished, she was weeping softly and John was gently caressing her head. "I’m sorry, Terry. I wish I could do something. I wish I could kill them all. You think this AJ will come up with a plan?"
"I know Victor will follow him. But we need to leave soon." She’d saved the worst, for John at least, till last. When she finished describing the walkway across the mud, he shuddered and rolled away from her. Rising from the floor, she sat on the cot, her hip against his. "John?" She touched his bare shoulder and was surprised to find it cold. "John. We won’t let..."
"I can’t face them again, Terry." She heard the fear in his voice. "You can’t know how bad it was. The beatings…the…."
She leaned down and kissed his shoulder, surprising them both. "Hush. It’ll be okay. Victor and AJ will make sure of it."
"I don’t think the rain will ever stop," a bright voice said from the doorway.
Terry jerked around to find Diane standing there, a defiantly cheerful look on her face. Standing, she went to the young nurse and, taking her by the shoulders, stared into her eyes. "You didn’t need to come. I can handle it."
Diane shook free of Terry’s hands and walked over to the stool where she normally sat next to Tom. "He needs me here. I’m the only one he trusts." Diane looked back at Terry. "I’m fine. He…Yamanaka…I’m fine." She looked down to find Tom’s open eyes boring into hers. In the past he’d always woke in some dreamlike, or nightmare state, but now, she saw complete, calm understanding. She thought she’d cry if he said the same useless platitudes the other nurses had tried with her.
Tom reached out his hand and took hers in his. Squeezing it softly, he began, "Hey, beautiful, I ever tell you about the time that AJ and I tracked us a white tiger across Bougainville?"
:: :: :: ::
Prison Camp
September 9, 1942
0630 Hours
Diane was right; the rain didn’t stop. Everything came to a standstill, save for AJ’s plan, which was due to be implemented today. Victor wasn’t sure how it’d work in the rain. They’d met last night, huddled in the jungle, going over the last of the details. They’d decided that they couldn’t take a chance on giving most of the civilians advanced warning. Terry had told her nurses, swearing them to secrecy. They’d move the people out into the jungle and hope that the diversions would allow them to make it to the truck that AJ and Sturgis would steal.
Dawn barely registered and the clouds sank down the mountain. Yesterday, the food truck didn’t come, and the guards did nothing more than a cursory check before screaming that the prisoners should return to, and stay in, their huts. The partially finished walkway had disappeared into the sea of mud.
Victor stood at the opening of his hut, watching the water curtain the entire area. The stench of rotting vegetation and human waste filled his nostrils. The urge to flee and return to Kate – and their baby – was almost overwhelming. He forced his thoughts to the coming mass rescue. He wondered how many they’d lose and if he had the right to insist the civilians run with them. He knew that if they didn’t, Terry might stay with them. He just hoped her feelings for John Farrow would sway the difference.
At least the rain had kept Yamanaka from sending for Diane yesterday. He was glad that they’d decided to tell her first. She’d showed no bitterness in the timing of the rescue. In fact, she’d offered them valuable information. "Yamanaka and Fujihara communicate by radio. Yesterday, after…well, he left me on the bed when Fujihara called him over the radio. I speak Japanese fairly well – our housekeeper was Japanese, and she practically raised me. I overheard that people are putting pressure on Fujihara to break Farrow. Evidently they think he’s pretty high up and has valuable information. Fujihara is to use any means to get whatever he can about our fleet. We have to get him to safety." It just added more urgency to escaping.
Making his way across the mud, praying that the guards would just think he was going to the latrines at the high end of the camp, Victor kept his eyes out for Danny. When he reached the hut, he stood on the lowest step and let the rain wash the mud off his feet. Walking inside, he found Tom sitting up in bed, his eyes bright and focused for a change. He hoped to hell that their plan would work. He looked to the back of the hut and saw that Diane and Terry had done their part. A large gaping hole showed the jungle beyond. "You ready?"
"I still think you should leave me," Tom insisted. "You know I’m a dead man. Might as well die here."
"You know that AJ will come back looking for you," Victor said. "You sure you can help him, Diane?"
"Of course." She pulled on Tom until he sighed and swung his feet over the side.
He pulled her close, forcing her to look at him. "Promise me that you won’t die with me."
"Hush."
"Promise me! If I start shaking, you leave me. Damn it. I’m owed that much dignity!"
Diane studied him. He reminded her of her father’s brother, the ne’er do well of the family. He’d been her favorite of all her very proper family. "You’re right. But give me the honor of at least trying to save your sorry butt. You’re the only one who understands."
"Okay, beautiful. But you promised."
Diane slipped through the gap in the wall and looked carefully. "All clear."
Victor lowered Tom down into the rain, praying that his palsy would hold off for a little longer. He was relieved to see Sturgis step through the gap, thrust his rifle at Diane who took it. He grabbed up Tom, carrying him like a baby through the fence.
Diane waited, looked again and then hissed. "Send out Farrow." From around the side of the building one of the other nurses led a woman holding a baby.
"What’s going on?" the woman demanded petulantly.
"We’re getting out of here," the nurse reassured her.
"Out of here? What are you talking about?" But the woman, used to following orders, followed the nurse through the gap.
Terry and Victor helped John down into the mud and then up to the gap in the fence where Bobbi met them. "Hurry. We’ve only got ten minutes before AJ blows the ammo dump."
Sturgis re-emerged, explaining; "I’ve got Tom to the truck." He reached for the rifle Diane was holding. "I’ll take that. You go ahead."
"I’m fine. You help the others. I’ll keep watch."
"Can you handle a gun, miss?"
"Yeah. Go. You said time was running out." Diane stood guard as more and more people made their way through the opening. She knew what she had to do. She didn’t think she could stand the stares and whispers. The memory of what Yamanaka had said to her, done to her, was almost overpowering. Had he just raped her, she might’ve forgiven him; after all, all men were base creatures. But he’d refused to do that. He calmly laid it out for her. "A man has needs, but that doesn’t mean he has to be an ignorant pig. If you don’t fight me, if you try and enjoy it, I will make it good for you. I will make it easier on your friends. I will add extra rations." Even the rain couldn’t wash away the feelings that he had evoked in her. He’d been demanding, yet gentle, and she hated him for that. Afterwards, Terry had talked to her quietly, insisting that just because Diane hadn’t fought him, it was still rape, "Honey, you just laid there and let him have his way. That doesn’t make it any less of a rape." Diane couldn’t ever admit to anyone that she’d ended up participating in the sex, enjoying it, even as she vowed to kill Yamanaka.
Victor returned to the gap. "Diane?"
"Help the others," she said. He, too, went into the compound. She counted out each escapee. So intent on looking for the guards coming along the edge of the fence, that she missed Danny.
"What are you doing!" he cried. "Are you insane!"
"Shut up!" Diane pointed the gun at him. "You’ll bring them down on us."
"Me! You’re going to get us all killed." His voice rose with each word and Diane was prepared to kill him, knowing the shot would bring the guards down on them as surely as his shouts.
"Please don’t make me kill you!" she pleaded with him.
"You won’t kill me. I’m going for help!" However, he found himself being pulled backward.
Victor was panting from the exertion of helping people across the mud and out into the jungle. He’d planned on getting Danny last, convinced that faced with freedom, the boy would come with them eagerly. "Damn you, you watched them kill your mother. Come on."
"Let me go! She deserved it. She should’ve made them leave us on our plantation. She should’ve done what they wanted her to do." He pointed at Diane. "She did! She..." The punch Victor landed was weak and did little to shut the boy up.
Using the last of her own meager strength, Diane clutched the gun like a bat and swung, sending Danny flying face down into the mud. However, by then, they could hear the shouts of the guards.
Victor grabbed the gun and shoved her toward the opening in the fence. "Go. Help the others." Bobbie pulled her and one of the men through and Diane was forced to stumble through the jungle. The path was obvious; even in the rain, the broken leaves showed them the way. She let the man next to her pull ahead and after he was out of sight, slowed to a walk, waiting. Soon Bobbi came by struggling with a weeping woman, a crying infant and a rifle. Diane grabbed the rifle. "Get going. I’ll wait for them."
Bobbi looked like she was going to argue, but the child was crying so loud that she had to take him from his mother. "Come on," she said to Diane. "Victor said to get to the truck."
"I’m right behind you," Diane said. When Bobbi was out of sight, Diane began to make her way back to the camp. When she came to the fence, instead of going inside, she made her way along the perimeter. Men were running toward the gate and were ignoring the rest of the fence. As she rounded the corner, she saw Yamanaka standing on the porch, pulling on his boots, yelling for the men to get inside and see what the commotion was. Diane raised the rifle.
Suddenly, over the pounding rain, a blast seemed to rock the entire island. Had he not known better, Victor would have thought the volcano was erupting. Son-of-a-bitch! AJ did it. In a goddamned monsoon, AJ did it. He raced through to the front of the camp to see who was left.
Sturgis was running with one man. "That’s it!"
Victor was just turning when he spotted Diane. Unfortunately, several other soldiers had finally understood the true nature of the disturbance. Even while most of the men were running toward the ammo dump, as AJ hoped they would, two men raised their guns shouting for Yamanaka’s attention. That cost the lieutenant his life. Diane’s shot was true and he went crashing back into the hut. The first bullet spun Diane around. She kept hold of the rifle and she started to fall to the ground. Victor took out the one guard, however, the other fired his weapon and Diane’s head seemed to explode from the force. Victor killed the other guard and would have run to Diane’s body but Sturgis grabbed him.
"That girl is dead and there’s nothing we can do for her."
"We can’t leave her," Victor insisted.
"Think about Kate!" Sturgis said. "AJ’s waiting for us." They reached the gap in the fence and Sturgis paused just long enough to huddle at the base of small pile of rocks. Victor watched as the flame took and the fuse sputtered in the rain. "Let’s go!" Sturgis grabbed him and pulled him down the path. The explosion came soon after and sent them both sprawling. Victor just lay there unwilling to get up. Once again he felt strong arms lift him., this time swinging him up and over AJ’s shoulder. He bounced like a rag doll before he hit the bed of the truck hard and he found he couldn’t move. Someone knelt next to him.
"Victor?" Terry demanded. "What happened? Where’s Diane?" And his tears fell. "Oh, God." Terry’s tears joined his and she clutched at him, even as John Farrow sat next to her, his arm tight around her shoulder.
AJ jumped into the cab of the truck. Bobbi was at the wheel. "You okay?"
"Hell, no. I’m crazy." But she put the truck into gear and made her way down the path. AJ leaned out the window and laid down fire as needed. From the back of the truck, he could hear Sturgis doing the same. "You know where to stop?" he yelled.
"Yeah."
No one was more surprised than AJ when they made it to the coast. Bobbie pulled up outside of a small deserted native village. They climbed down out of the cab and scanned the shore. There were several patrol boats tied up at a makeshift dock. Soldiers were running into the jungle, but by way of another trail. "Now what?" she whispered.
"How far are we from the Venganza?" AJ asked, scanning the map he’d kept in his pocket. Sturgis had joined them, pausing briefly to pull Bobbi into his arms for a long kiss. That out of the way, he peered over AJ’s shoulder. "It’s two days from here. There’s no way we can drive up there, and these folks aren’t walking it. The Japs will call in everyone looking for us."
"We’ll have to go get the boat then."
"And just pull it up here and say all aboard?" The enormity of what they’d done finally washed over them. They didn’t realize that several of the men had joined them.
Even John Farrow, supporting himself by wrapping his arm around Terry’s shoulders, had climbed down and made his way forward. "Why don’t we commandeer one of their boats?" he asked softly.
"Are you daft, man?" one of the others demanded. "We should have stayed there." Before AJ or Sturgis could say anything, the man was yanked back and found Victor’s furious eyes inches from his.
"Anyone else says something like that, and I’ll kill them myself…Got it?"
"You aren’t in charge anymore, bucko," the man tried to pull himself free.
AJ stepped between the two. "No. I’m in charge now and I won’t let Victor kill you, because I’ll do it first."
The man, thin and emaciated as Victor, dropped his eyes. "I’m just saying…"
"Don’t." AJ pushed him toward the back of the truck. "Get inside and keep your mouth shut. You cause any trouble and you’ll never see Port Moresby."
"We heard Moresby was destroyed," another man said.
"No. The US has taken Guadalcanal and is moving north through the Solomon’s. This island is going to be on the list and I can guarantee you people would’ve been the first to die."
"He’s right," someone else said. "So, what are we going to do about getting us a boat out of here?"
"Let me think on it." AJ walked back to the tree line and watched the activity. The explosion that Sturgis had set off at the beginning of the path would do little to hide their passage. Only the fact that the road had split about a mile away from the camp would halt the process. He hoped that the commandant of the camp would just radio for help and keep his men to fight the fire that the ammo dump exploding had caused. He was surprised to hear more explosions coming from the interior. It took him a moment to understand the full import.
Someone harshly whispered. "Planes!" They all peered up through the trees and AJ knew most of them wanted to cheer as a flight of American bombers sailed passed them. It’d never occurred to him that his explosion had caught the attention of a small, lost bomber group. Or that the leader had said, ‘Boys, we’ll get better range if we dump our load and that looks as promising as any target.’
:: :: :: ::
The rain had stopped and the skies had cleared. AJ, Sturgis, Bobbi and Victor crouched at the shoreline. Behind the tree line, John, Tom and another man, all insisting that they were strong enough, waited to lay down cover if needed. Victor looked over at AJ and whispered. "I just hope Tom doesn’t kill one of us."
"Were you going to tell him he couldn’t help?"
"No."
"You sure you can do this?" AJ asked him.
"If it’ll get me home to Kate, I can do it." Victor knew he had one last fight in him. And he knew that the four of them had a better chance than three. They didn’t have a lot of time. Even if the American bombers had destroyed the mountain, which he seriously doubted, fifteen people couldn’t hide for long. The children had already devoured what little food they’d brought with them. They had to get to New Guinea and quickly. He hoped that any enemy plane or submarine would ignore a Japanese patrol boat. He prayed that there’d be a radio so they could radio for help. To pull off this escape, steal a boat, and then to be sunk by one of their own was too much to contemplate. Let’s get the boat first.
While on look out, they noticed that there were only three guards for the two patrol boats. AJ crept forward and managed to take out the first guard, silently, without calling any attention to the act. Sturgis was equally successful. Victor started toward the last; however, from on deck of one of the boats someone called out a warning. The guard, gun poised, turned and would’ve killed Victor easily. However, two shots ran out from the jungle. Victor grabbed the gun of the man who would’ve killed him and a splash announced the death of the other guard.
AJ waited and, sure enough, a man from inside the other boat ran to the deck. He died before he could get a single cry out.
AJ and Sturgis quickly determined that the boats were empty. "Which one?" Victor demanded, even as Terry was leading the former prisoners down to the beach.
"Oh, hell, why not both?" AJ said. "We’ve got a better chance with two and one of us has got to get the information through to Port Moresby."
"Hurry." Terry urged. "I think I hear something."
AJ wasn’t sure he really heard anything, but he wanted to be off as soon as possible. "Get on board."
Tom hung back, insisting that he was fine. He hadn’t felt this good in a very long time. Longer than before he screwed everything up on Sorong. He heard what Victor said about Diane. He was really sorry about that. She was a real sweet girl but he knew that she was feeling very bad about what had happened. He knew that Terry had tried to talk to her, he would’ve, had he been able to find the words. It wasn’t fair. Here he was, an old palsied ex-flier, no good to anyone, and that pretty little nurse whom everyone liked was dead. It just wasn’t fair.
He looked up into the night sky. The stars here were so bright. The waves crashed on the beach, and the people talked quietly as they boarded the boats. A couple of the kids fussed, only to be soothed by their mothers. God, he hoped they could get to safety.
"Tom?" AJ stood next to his friend. "It’s time to go. I’ll take over now."
"I hear them, too, AJ. They’re coming closer."
"Well, let’s get going." AJ started to tug at Tom’s arm.
"No. I’ll stay here and lay down covering fire."
"Don’t be stupid, Tom." AJ looked down the beach. "Damn it. They’re coming."
"Go on, AJ. You know you have to get back. Sturgis can take one of the boats, but who’s going to take the other one? Victor? Ha. He’s dead on his feet." Tom settled down behind a piece of driftwood. "I’m a worthless old man and I can feel the shakes coming back. I’m so tired. Let me do one thing good, AJ." He raised the rifle to his shoulder even as a bullet hit the sand twenty yards in front of them. "Go!"
"You’re a good man, Thomas Boone." AJ turned and pulled himself up onto the boat whose engine was already roaring to life. Victor was at the controls, but in the moonlight AJ could see the strain of effort on his face. He took control and together the two boats backed away from the dock. AJ kept his eyes glued on the diminishing spot on the beach. He hadn’t cried in a long time and he wouldn’t cry now, but damn, it hurt.
:: :: :: ::
Hamburg, German
September 18, 1942
Evening
Like London, Hamburg at night was under constant blackout conditions. Sarah stood in the dark looking up into the night sky, seeing only her own dark thoughts.
All was lost. Clay would come to rescue her and they’d die, horribly, at the hands of Fuerst — or Palmer. It really made no difference. She’d been a fool to think that she could bluff her way past the Nazi on guard overlooking the North Sea. In the three weeks since he’d calmly pointed his gun at her head and called for reinforcements, she’d come up with a dozen other ways she could’ve escaped. She should’ve run and let him shoot her in the back. Perhaps then, Fuerst wouldn’t have known of her capture.
She’d been trussed up, thrown in the back of a truck ,and driven back to Hamburg, straight to Gestapo Headquarters. Massive, stone, surrounded by a brick and iron post fence - no building could be more imposing; striking fear into the heart of anyone not already terrified. The guard dogs had growled at her and their handlers had paused only a moment to stare at her, as if to memorize her features, in case she dared to try to escape.
Fuerst had been waiting for her arrival in his second floor office. It’d taken all the strength she had to not burst into tears when she’d seen who he’d been holding.
[Tie her to the chair] he’d ordered the guards. The small boy, his white-blond hair neatly combed, had stared at her, his vivid blue eyes curious. Fuerst had made a point of kissing his son’s chubby cheek. [Günter, this is a very evil woman. She tried to steal you from me.] Günter had turned to look at his father. [She’s very bad. She hates you and she wanted to hurt you.]
[Bad!] Günter had agreed.
[Take him to his nanny.] Fuerst had handed the boy to his brown-shirted assistant. Once they were alone, Fuerst had give Sarah a hideous smile. [He will grow up like his papa — a good Nazi.]
"Another murderer," she’d spat back at him
She’d seen that he longed to strike her. She’d tried to prepare herself for the coming torture, but nothing could’ve prepared her for the shock she’d received next.
The door had opened behind her. "Good, she’s arrived."
She’d sat there rigid, unable to turn. Even now, she still took some pleasure in the memory of the way Fuerst’s triumphant look had morphed into pure rage.
[What are you doing here?] Spit had dripped from his chin.
Clark Palmer had stepped into view, tossed a paper at Fuerst, then turned his full attention to Sarah. "Such a small world, no, Miss MacKenzie?" He’d snapped his fingers and feigned disgust with himself. "But it’s no longer Miss MacKenzie, is it? How could I have forgotten? How is your dear husband? Has marriage to you made him happy? Can dear Clayton ever find happiness? Such a tortured soul. And now you’ll help me torture him further."
Fuerst had interrupted with a terrible oath. [This is unacceptable! I found her. She’s mine!]
"Tsk, tsk. I hardly think that the Fuehrer would appreciate your claim — Colonel."
The two men had traded pointed insults: Palmer in English, Fuerst in German. But, in the end, Fuerst had stormed out of his office, leaving her alone with Palmer.
Palmer had studied her in silence. Yet another blow to her emotions had been delivered when he’d knelt before her. He’d reached up and cupped her cheek, gently. His other hand gripped her shoulder and he’d leaned in as if to kiss her. She’d arched as far away from him as she could but he’d just laughed. "Dear, pretty, Sarah. I’m not going to hurt you. I protect what is mine. Fuerst will not dare touch you — for a while. Perhaps I’ll let him watch once we can convince Clay to join us.
"I’ll never help you." She’d expected him to demand that she write a note. She should’ve known better. His hands had tracked down to where her wrists were securely tied to the chair. Too late, she’d realized what he’d wanted. He’d pulled her wedding ring from her finger. Standing, he’d made a show of carefully placing the ring in his vest pocket. Only then had he freed her. "Come, darling. I’ll show you where you’ll be staying until your husband comes to rescue you".
The suite of rooms on the very top floor was large and comfortable, filled with overstuffed furniture. "Go and take a bath. Relax. We’ll dine here — alone. Unless you’d like to invite Fuerst."
He’d found her clothes that fit, a crepe dress and comfortable shoes. She’d decided to get as much information as she could from him. Brushing her hair, she’d even applied a dab of lipstick. Presenting as calm a façade as she could manage, she’d suffered his gesture of holding her chair.
He’d insisted upon discussing American Jazz as they’d eaten a hearty meal. She’d even agreed to a glass of wine.
"What’s wrong Sarah?" she could still hear the amusement in his voice.
"I don’t drink much." She’d felt slightly woozy, but not really ill.
"Ah. Normally the drugs have no outward effect until you are completely paralyzed," he’d advised, even as her fork clattered to the plate. He’d been instantly at her side, lifting her from the table. "Perfect. I was tired of talking about music.
She hadn’t been able to move, let alone struggle. As he’d carried her to the bedroom, he’d told her all the things he wanted to do to her. "I’m a much better lover than Clayton, Sarah. Ask Grisella. I’ll bring her by. Dear Grisella: such a good Nazi, with such nasty desires that her foolish husband cannot begin to understand." He’d dropped her on the bed, then covered her body with his. "All those things and more I’ll do to you. I’ll make you crave my touch." He’d kissed her, forcing his tongue inside her mouth. Then, abruptly, he’d rolled off her and stood next to the bed. "But not now. Not until Clayton can join us. Would you like that, Sarah? Would you like to watch Clayton and Grisella? Or perhaps even Clayton and I? So many possibilities." And then he’d gone.
The drugs had kept her lucid and prevented her from sleeping. So she’d begun to make wild plans to escape. It’d kept her mind off of all the things Palmer had suggested. She’d dredged up every old contact she’d ever met or heard of from her time in Hamburg. The baker who’d helped her and Kleinschmidt — surely he’d help her again. And there were others. She was well into her plans of what she’d do if she could only escape when the horrible thought had dealt the final blow to her emotions…
She was a liability to the underground.
Palmer and Fuerst would force from her the names of people who were trying desperately to fight against the terror of Adolph Hitler.
The next morning, Palmer had returned, dressed for travel. "I must leave you, darling. I want to watch Clayton as he betrays his country for you. You’ll be safe enough from Fuerst — if you stay in these rooms. He’s absolutely frantic to get his hands on you. My men can keep him out of my rooms. However, if you try and escape, he’ll take great delight in torturing you." Fisting her hair to hold her steady, he’d forced another penetrating kiss upon her before pushing her back against the pillows. "That’s a promise of what we’ll experience together. I’m quite sure that Clayton will sacrifice himself to save you from Fuerst."
She’d lost track of the days. The guards would bring her food morning and night. Palmer had books that she couldn’t bring herself to read. All she could do was worry about Clay and try to figure out how to escape. She knew it was hopeless.
Even if she could get the window open without alerting the guards just outside her door, even if she didn’t fall to her death from the steep, slippery roof of the four-story building, she had no idea if the fire escape ladder reached to the ground. And even if it did, and she was able to climb down without being seen by the guards, there were still the dogs and the fence.
She was terrified that Fuerst would order the guards away from her door. Twice he’d tried to see her. Both times, the guards had denied him access. She’d been impressed with their bravery in the face of Fuerst brutal verbal assault.
[You stupid bastards! Get out of my way.]
[We’re sorry, Colonel, we have our orders.]
[Palmer isn’t here! For all I know, he might be dead!]
[Herr Palmer did not give us our orders, Colonel!]
[Who? Swine! I’ll have you sent to the Russian Front!]
[We report directly to Herr Himmler, Colonel. Perhaps you would care to call him?]
That at least had explained Palmer’s power. However, she suspected that, as the days wore on, Fuerst would have his way. It was only a matter of time.
She’d been alone for so long she’d even tried to start a conversation with the youngest of her two guards when he’d brought in her food. However, he’d rebuffed her harshly, staring at her in utter contempt until his fellow guard shouted for him to return to his post.
The piercing wail of the air-raid sirens brought her back to the present. The flack canons started soon after, sending acrid clouds high into the black sky. The ghostly remains combined with the search lights cutting through the clouds and smoke to illuminate a squadron of British Lancasters on their way to the manufacturing area just to the east of the city. The sirens were so loud they nearly drowned out the destruction of one bomber directly overhead. Moments later, debris began to rain against the slate tile of the roof. She was thrown to the floor as the building quaked from the impact of a huge piece of wreckage. The window she’d been standing at shattered, sending a deadly spray of glass across the room.
The sirens filled the room and now she could hear the shouts of men and the barking dogs. Carefully lifting her head, she winced when a piece of glass fell from her head to cut her face. Standing, more glass fell. She ignored the pain from other cuts to look out the window. "Now or never." She wouldn’t get another chance. Besides, it was better to die trying than to wait for Fuerst to use this as an excuse to come for her. Bracing her hands against the frame, she pulled herself up.
[Halt!] She recognized the young guard’s voice. She put one leg outside onto the roof only to be pulled back into the room. [Not that way! Come. We don’t have much time.] She tried to struggle, but his fingers dug into her arm and he pulled her out into the dark hallway. Had her eyes not been adjusted to the low light, she would’ve been completely blind. However, she could tell there was no one else up here. He pulled her back until his lips rested next to her ear. [If anyone stops us, I’m taking you to a more secure part of the building. The wing of the plane crashed through just to the other side of that wall.]
[You’re taking me to Fuerst!]
[If we run into Fuerst, we are both dead.]
He pushed her toward a staircase and they headed down. Each new landing, each door that opened to another passage and another staircase, convinced her that the next turn would bring her face-to-face with Fuerst. However, they saw no one. The building reverberated with the sounds of men in panic. She sniffed for any sign of smoke, she looked for any opening to escape, but he didn’t release the grip on her arm.
She lost count of how many flights they’d taken — they’d backtracked upstairs twice to yet another avenue of descent. Finally, through another door, and they were plunged into total darkness, where he relaxed his grip. [Don’t move! You’ll fall to your death.] A beam of light showed her steep, bare, wooden steps that disappeared into the darkness beyond. Something cold and heavy was thrust into her hand — he’d given her the flashlight. [Go as quickly as you can, but for God’s sake, be quiet!]
She thought he was going to leave her, but he stayed close behind her, closing and locking the door. Down they went until they came to yet another door. How far underground had he taken her? She was suddenly seized by the terror that he himself might wish to harm her, use her sexually, then hide her body down her. When he unlocked this last door a dank odor assailed them and she balked at going farther. He grabbed the flashlight and her hand, dragging her the rest of the way down. She was panting too hard to scream; her fear was nearly choking her.
When they stopped again, the beam of light picked up the detritus of decades, not centuries. The only sound that broke the silence was their ragged breathing.
[Please. Where are we? What do you want with me?] She was ashamed by the fear that she communicated.
"We are in the deepest cellars under the building," he said in heavily accented English. "A wealthy beer baron built this house over a hundred years ago."
"Okay. But why?" She inched away from him, trying to find a weapon of some sort.
He didn’t answer; instead he’d shined his light over the walls, obviously searching for something. The beam settled on one large barrel that stood taller than either of them. "There."
"What?"
"Come and help."
At first she’d thought he wanted her to help roll the barrel out of the way. However, he began to run his hand over the first metal band. "Do the same on your side. You’re looking for a knob or a lever in the metal."
She understood and excitedly did as she was told. She was still frightened, still wary of her supposed rescuer’s motives. But she was free of the confinement. She said a silent prayer that the young guard wasn’t leading her to Fuerst. She even considered the possibility of overpowering him. He wasn’t very big. In fact, he looked as Aryan as she herself did.His triumphant "Ah!" was followed by a whoosh, and the smell of sewage joined the dank musty smell. Sarah recoiled, but he grabbed her hand and led her into the tunnel. Stopping for a moment, shining his light along the edge, he found the lever to close and, hopefully, hide their escape route. "When I was a boy, my grandfather had told me this was here."
"You’re grandfather built this house?"
"No. My grandfather was a servant here. Not all Jews were rich bankers and merchants."
"You’re Jewish?" her shock was even more pronounced. "You pretended to be a SS guard?"
The beam from his light blinded her. His words plunged her into deeper darkness. "I pretend nothing. I am a good German. I am proud to serve the Fatherland."
She looked around frantically, but all she saw were white spots on a black field. She imagined she could hear Fuerst laughing.
"Come. The rest of them are waiting for you."
"Rest of who? Where are you taking me?"
"To the underground, of course. Where did you think?"
"But?"
"Even good Germans can make moral decisions."
As he led her down the dripping tunnel, the ray of light bounced off crumbling brick, then along the packed slimy floor. She could feel the cold muck eating away at the light soles of the mules Palmer had left for her to wear. The slinky dress offered her no protection from the dank cold. But she was free and would die before returning to her captors.
"Where does this lead?" she asked.
"To the building that housed the brewery."
"Is it still operating?"
"No. The beer baron squandered his money and between the war, our defeat and the depression that followed, he was unable to salvage anything. The Gestapo took over the house in 1935. The factory is a warehouse now."
"Guarded?"
"Who wants to steal underwear, Frauline?"
"I would." She’d mumbled it, but from his snort, she knew he’d heard her.
"When we reach them, I will mention your needs."
She slipped once but his hand on her arm kept her from falling. His gallantry allowed her a closer look at his features. «I bet he doesn’t shave but one a week. He’s a boy.»
"We’re here." His light showed a door, aged by a century of water damage. He focused the beam on a corner of the door. His sigh was one of intense relief.
Peering closer, she saw a small scrap of paper. "Is that the all clear mark?"
"Ja. Come." The door swung open. A bright light directed at their eyes blinded them.
"We were afraid that you were injured in the bombing raid, Mrs. Webb."
She shaded her eyes trying to see past the beam. "Who?"
The beam dropped away, but now all she saw was spots. "Hans. Return to the house."
Her rescuer said nothing but closed the door behind her. She shivered in the cold and suddenly woolen warmth covered her shoulders. "Thank you."
"Come. We must do what we can to save your husband." There was resigned disgust in the man’s voice. Someone took her arm and they began to move through a narrow wooden tunnel that seemed to have no ceiling. Once her eyes adjusted to the light, she realized that the tunnel was a maze of wood crates stacked on one another. They were in the warehouse.
"Are you going to tell me who you are?" she asked.
"Of course, as well as our addresses and where our mothers and other family members..."
"I’m sorry. I get your point. I’m to trust you, without reservations."
"You did once before."
All she saw of him was the back of his head, but she thought he was familiar somehow. She made no further effort at conversation as they climbed a wooden, rickety staircase. Pausing on the landing she looked down and was impressed by the size of the space. "That’s a lot of underwear."
"And uniforms and all manner of clothing. Some of which we will steal." He opened the door. The light increased enough that, when he turned to face her, she finally identified her rescuer. "Antonio?" she gasped as she recognized the cobbler who’d gotten them out of the convent in Cluny. "What? How did you get to Hamburg?"
"I work where I’m needed," he said impatiently. He pointed to the open door. "Come, come. There is someone who must see you.
Again, the irrational fear that they were somehow in league with Fuerst seized. "Who?" she demanded sharply.
Anger, disgust and amused respect colored his next words. "Someone who nearly destroyed our operation looking for you."
At first she thought it was Clay. Eagerly, she pushed past him into the room and looked around.
"Hello, doll." Mickey stepped out of the shadows.
She ran to him and hugged him tight. "Oh, thank God. Where’s Clay?"
:: :: :: ::
Outside Hamburg
September 15, 1942
In case Palmer had been watching, Clay and Mickey had made their separate ways to the Navy base off the North Sea at Grimsby. Mickey had grumbled at having to don the guise of a seaman, hopping a truck with other Navy personnel. Clay had made a production out of driving down and boarding the submarine in broad daylight.
The plan he’d come up with was simple. He’d explained it in the tiny first mate’s cabin that they’d usurped for the trip into enemy territory.
Mickey hadn’t been happy. "Yeah I speak a little German, but don’t you want me..."
Clay’d brutally interrupted. "I want you to board the train in Wilhemshaven. Sit in third class with your head down, get off in Hamburg, and go to the first address I gave you. If that fails, then you’ve two other addresses you can go to. Just get help. It’s the best we can do. Just remember this. Whatever happens, the only important thing is to get Sarah out."
"And what the hell am I supposed to tell her?"
"Tell her…tell her there’s a letter. I gave it to Proctor."
"Damn it. Look Major; let’s go to the underground together."
"I have to go in. Sarah won’t be able to withstand the torture. I’m not sure I can. But we’re both liabilities to the underground. Make sure that the underground knows that if they save Sarah, I’ll do everything in my power to die before they can torture me."
"Major!" Mickey’d shouted.
"No. You have no idea what the Gestapo is capable of doing to people."
"Oh, yeah. I did a little bootlegging for Bugsy Segal!" Their argument had started to get heated, and suddenly the captain pulled back the curtain that was the only door to the small cabin.
"Gentlemen? I thought this was supposed to be a silent crossing."
Clay had nodded and, in a low deadly voice, ended the conversation. "I want you to remember the worst thing you’ve EVER seen in your life."
Mickey hadn’t even had to think. "Those two little kids that they found in Battery Park."
"Yeah, that’s good. That was a real terrible crime. If I remember correctly, the murderer tortured them to death."
"Yeah. I was there when they pulled the bodies out of the abandoned warehouse. I was doing a favor for a buddy who normally drove the meat wagon," Mickey had whispered. "It was terrible."
"Then remember this. What happened to those kids, the Nazis do every day to thousands of people just because they aren’t Aryan. I can’t stand the thought that Palmer and that Fuerst have their hands on Sarah." He reached out and gripped Mickey’s shoulder. "Promise me, you’ll take care of her."
Mickey had nodded mutely and they hadn’t talked after that. After the submarine let them off at a deserted section of the Norwegian-German border, Clay had gone toward Emden and Mickey had walked into Wilhemshaven to catch the train.
Now Clay stood in front of the apartment building where he and Sarah had lived together before the war, before they were married. Even then, they hadn’t had many moments of happiness. He vowed that if, somehow, he got her out of Germany, they’d run to Switzerland and sit out the war there. It was a happy dream, almost immediately shattered by familiar laughter. "Shall I move her here, Clayton? Would you be more amenable to helping us if I allowed you a few moment of bliss?"
Clay didn’t even bother to turn around. "How did you know I’d come here?"
"I followed you from the train station. I was waiting for you."
"Where is she, Palmer?"
"That’s not important right now. Do you have the list?"
"You know better," Clay snapped angrily.
"You didn’t bring it?"
"Of course I brought it. But do you think I have it on me?" Slowly he turned, keeping his hands away from his body, and a smirk on his face. "You want to search me?"
Palmer wore an answering smile. "Not out here. It would get too personal."
Clay sighed. "I always suspected you were a pervert."
"Ah. But Germany is the perfect place for perversion. The entire government is perverted."
"Is that all you want?" Clay toyed with the idea of trying to buy Palmer’s defection. Perhaps if he could trade himself to Palmer, he could save Sarah that way. It was a long shot, and one that he’d only resort to if Plan A or B didn’t work.
"You’re getting good at this." Palmer looked behind him. "You don’t see him, do you?"
"See who?"
"The man with you. I have him. I had him the moment he approached the underground."
"You do? Poor bastard."
"That’s all you have to say?"
Clay shrugged with a calm that he didn’t possess. "If you arrested someone, then he’s a poor bastard to get involved in our little game. I brought no one with me. You think I would risk Sarah’s life with outsiders? If you really captured anyone, which I doubt, you’re torturing someone who knows nothing — at least not about me."
Maybe it was wistful thinking on his part — or maybe he really was getting good at this. He was sure he saw a flicker in Palmer’s eyes. It’d been a trick; bait that he’d been smart enough to ignore. "Let’s get on with this. I have the list of the underground members in Hamburg. I’ll give them to you for Sarah."
"Not good enough. I want..."
"I don’t give a damn what you want. I know I’m not walking out of this country alive. I was stupid to fall in love with the lady, but there it is. Bring her to Tanzingers at eight tonight. If she’s well, I’ll give you half of the names. If you release her, you and I will wait two hours. At that time, someone — you’ll never know who -- will signal me, and I will take you to the other half."
"Very pretty, Clayton." Palmer reached out and cupped his cheek affectionately. Then without so much as a hint, slapped him hard. "Arrest him!"
Clay spun around, more for show than anything else. He knew what to expect. He would’ve been disappointed had Palmer not played true to form. More than a dozen soldiers surrounded them.
Roughly, they shoved him into the backseat of the car. Two guards climbed in on either side of him. Palmer sat in the front, next to the driver. Turning, he gave Clay a vicious grin. "Now my friend, let’s go and reunite you with dear Sarah. She’s looking forward to meeting Grisella."
"They’ve met," Clay pointed out.
"Did they? Neither mentioned the fact. Sarah seemed quite excited by my little plan."
Clay forced himself to continue with the game. He hoped he could play Fuerst against Palmer.
He just needed them to take Sarah to Tanzingers one night - any night during the next seven —and, if Mickey could convince the underground to help, then they’d spirit Sarah away and Clay would give Palmer the useless list of names.
They turned down the street that both men knew well. Their reactions were totally different. Clay took one look at the wing of the RAF plane sticking out of roof of Gestapo Headquarters and started laughing. That, of course, earned him a hard punch to his jaw. Palmer began to swear, first low, but, by the time the car came to a stop, he was shouting obscenities that had the driver and other Nazi’s blushing. Finally turning to Clay, he shouted. "Laugh all you want you fool — that’s where I was keeping Sarah!"
The last thing Clay remembered was lunging and grabbing Palmer by the throat. Then the world exploded as one of the guards struck him hard with the butt of his gun.
[She’s dead!] Clay heard Fuerst as he was waking up, already planning his revenge. [She died in the explosion along with one of the guards. Do you have him? He’s mine! You cheated me out of the girl, now I want him.]
[Shut your stupid mouth, Fuerst, or I will shut it for you.]
Clay opened his eyes and found he had a view of black boots and brown gravel. He didn’t try to move. History had taught him that moving his head after being struck was a very bad, and ultimately hopeless, idea. Besides, what did it matter? Sarah was dead.
A sudden, vicious kick to his side sent another wave of pain to join the first. [Bastard! You are going to pay!] Fuerst spat down on him.
[Get him up.] Palmer ordered.
Clay didn’t immediately open his eyes. Instead he prayed that Mickey Carlo would escape. He didn’t want anyone to die trying to save him. There was no need for that now. Sarah was dead and he knew that living without her just wasn’t an option.
[Bring him inside.] Fuerst insisted. [We will talk in my office. Does he have the list?]
[Not on him. But he would have given it to us as long as he thought Sarah had a chance to escape. You had to blurt out that she was dead. You’re an idiot!]
"I want to see her body." Clay no longer cared about anything. A deep, black pit was opening before him and he knew it was the rest of his life.
[Later! Get him into my office.] Fuerst ordered and stalked away.
"Palmer!" He was desperate. "I want to see her. You’ve won. You’ll get what you want out of me. Please."
Palmer looked at him in disgust. "You’re pathetic. She was a woman. Nothing more."
"I won’t help you," Clay snarled. "I’ll fight you. Beat me to a pulp. You think I care anymore?"
He went limp, forcing the guards to drag him. He noticed that the flap on one of the guard’s holster had come undone. All he wanted was a moment. Just a moment and Palmer, and more importantly, he himself, would be dead.
[Herr Palmer.] A young German soldier stopped for just a moment beside them.
[Hans! You let her die!] Palmer said. [Why didn’t you die with her?]
[She’s not dead. Fuerst is lying. He used the crash as an excuse. I know where she is.]
Clay and Palmer both sucked in surprised gasps of air.
[Good man. Meet me tonight.] Palmer hissed.
[Yes, Mein Herr.] The soldier hurried away.
Yanking on Clay’s hair, Palmer issued a terse warning. "You will do well to remember what you’ve heard here. If you want to see her alive, you will say nothing to Fuerst."
Clay struggled to his feet and, for a moment, he had the opportunity to grab the guard’s gun. He studied Palmer’s face. Was he lying? Was this all part of the torture that Palmer was so good at? He couldn’t take the chance. He had to see Sarah one last time.
Five hours later he wasn’t sure if he’d ever draw a full breath again. He knew that at least one rib was broken. His face was a mess of cuts and bruises. But he’d said nothing. There’d really been nothing to say. The list, when and if he told them where he’d hidden it, was useless. Every name there was fictitious, or the person long dead with no survivors.
During the times when Palmer and Fuerst had been too busy arguing to beat him, he’d tried to figure out a reason why the young guard would’ve lied. He’d known that Palmer would never tell Fuerst that he knew Sarah was alive. But he couldn’t understand why Fuerst had removed Sarah in the first place. What did he hope to accomplish? A cold wave of nausea shook him as he came up with a plausible reason. If Fuerst had already begun exacting his revenge on Sarah, using her for his own pleasure, then he wouldn’t want Palmer to know.
Finally, Palmer threw up his hands in disgust. "We’ll get nothing from him this way. Tomorrow we’ll begin the sodium pentathol."
"Very well." Fuerst agreed. "Throw him in one of the cells. Feed him nothing. No water. Nothing!"
Palmer waited until Fuerst had shouted his way up the stairs before waving the guards out of the room. Through the eye that wasn’t swollen shut, Clay warily watched him lean against the desk. Palmer shook his head. "Pity, but what was I to do, Clayton?" He reached out and rubbed his thumb over the bleeding cut under Clay’s eye, then slowly brought his thumb to his mouth to suck it clean. "Do you want to see Sarah, Clayton?"
Clay looked away. Tomorrow or the next day, Fuerst would lose the last shred of control and exact his bitter revenge. Clay would be lucky if he was allowed a bullet to the head. "Yeah. I want to see her."
"Where’s the list?"
Clay licked his lips. "I’ll tell you the moment I see her. Not before."
"You’re learning. Perhaps I’ll have more fun that I first thought." Palmer pushed away from the desk, shoving his groin inches from Clay’s face. Clay could see the erection outlined against the wool of the pants. He shuddered at the thought of what was to come. Palmer fisted Clay’s hair, jerking his face up until Clay could see the desire and insanity in the deep brown eyes. "You’ll tell me everything I want to know, Clayton. Or you’ll watch me rip Sarah in two. So many lovely things I’ll do to her. And I’ll make her hate you. You believe me, don’t you?" he crooned. He didn’t give Clay a chance to respond on his own; like the puppet he wanted Clay to become, Palmer jerked Clay’s head up and down.
He went around behind Clay and freed him. "I don’t even have to cuff you, do I?" Palmer laughed. "Come along, little man." He turned on his heel and opened the door. Clay spotted the letter opener in the pencil cup on Fuerst’s desk. Stumbling forward, he palmed it, pushing it up his sleeve, before turning to face Palmer. "Get a move on, Clayton. I’ll go without you and let the guards put you in the cell just like Fuerst wants."
The guard who’d given them the information was waiting for them in a command car just outside the back gate. Palmer pushed Clay into the back and climbed in after him. "Now, Corporal Fetlz, take us to where Fuerst has the lovely Sarah."
[Yes, Herr Palmer.]
Clay hugged his arms tight across his chest, holding the precious weapon close. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do. He knew he should kill Palmer now, but he had to see Sarah one last time. He hung his head. "I’ll give you the names, just promise me, you’ll protect her from Fuerst."
"Oh, you’ll give me the names, and I’ll keep her for myself. But why don’t you give me that pathetic little letter opener. I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself." Clay looked up to find the barrel of Palmer’s gun in his face. "Hand it over, carefully."
Clay did as he was told, totally defeated.
[We’re here, Mien Herr.] The guard said from the front seat. Clay saw they were in a residential neighborhood.
[Where is this place?] Palmer demanded.
[A home that Colonel Fuerst keeps for himself.] The guard answered as he climbed out and opened the door for Palmer. His own gun was trained on Clay as Palmer exited the car. [Out!]
Clay decided that dying here was better than giving Palmer ammunition to use against Sarah. He lunged for the gun, praying that the soldier would kill him. All he accomplished was falling to the ground. The guard kicked him in the side, not nearly as hard as Clay had anticipated. Palmer jerked him to his feet. "Naughty boy. You’ll pay for that." He propelled Clay toward the house and up the steps.
The door opened and another soldier stood there. [What is this?]
[Out of my way! I’m under orders of Heinrich Himmler. You’re no longer taking orders from Colonel Fuerst. Take me to the woman.]
The guard looked back into the house, then nodded. Just as they stepped inside, another car pulled up. Fuerst was out of the car before it stopped.
[Swine!] Palmer chortled. [Let the bastard explain!]
Fuerst came barreling up the steps. [What the hell is the meaning of this? What do you want that couldn’t wait until tomorrow morning?]
It took Palmer precious seconds to understand, but by then a dozen guns were trained on both Nazis. The driver of Fuerst’s car never made it up the walk. He staggered back, clutching his chest, trying unsuccessfully to staunch the flow of blood from the bullet that had been delivered by a silenced pistol.
Palmer stepped back, raising his hands, an appreciative sneer on his face. "Well done."
Fuerst was another matter entirely. Roaring in rage, he lunged for Clay, who threw up his hands, grabbing Fuerst around the neck. The two stumbled back, grappling for an advantage. Insane fury fueled Fuerst’s attack and he soon pulled Clay to the ground, straddling him, pounding his already bruised head against the floor with such force that the bruise under his one eye burst, flooding Clay’s face with more blood and incredible pain. Just as he was about to pass out, a shot rang out. The pressure on his neck tightened then relaxed. Clay, with the last of his strength, pushed Fuerst away. There was a powerful ringing in his ears that muted the harsh commands from his…his what? Captors? Rescuers? Who? Then everything was answered. All the voices faded away.
Sarah was pushing through the crowd of men.
She sank down next to him, her hand hovering just off his cheek. He could see the fear in her face. Tears were threatening, but she managed a weak smile. "You’re a mess."
"Yeah," he croaked, unable to joke. "Are you okay? Did they hurt you?"
She shook her head. "I’m okay."
"We have to get out of here." A voice rose, stilling the others. "The neighbors will report the shot. Help him up."
Clay looked past Sarah. "I heard that you’d come to Hamburg, Antonio. Once again, I owe you our lives."
The resistance leader nodded. "And I collect my debts, Major Webb."
"And I pay my debts," Clay shot back. He let Sarah help him up and support him. He turned to face his adversary. A wry smirk was on Palmer’s face.
"Well, children, it seems that we’ll have to put off our little romp until next time."
"There won’t be a next time," Clay snarled. "Someone give me a gun."
However, before anyone could comply, Palmer reached into his pocket and pulled out an American hand grenade. Holding it up, he showed them that he’d managed to pull the pin. "One of the few things that Americans make better than the Germans. Sarah. Come here."
Clay pulled her behind him. "Get her out of her. This is between…"
Another shot rang out and as everyone watched in horror, Palmer, a look of total surprise on his face, dropped the grenade. Clay tried to dive for it, but a hand reached out from behind Palmer’s falling body, grabbed the grenade and tossed it through an open doorway. The explosion seemed to rock the entire house, sending shards of wood flying everywhere. Clay managed to twist out of his dive and push Sarah to the ground covering her with his body.
Even before the smoke began to clear, Antonio took control. "You and you, get the Webbs to the safe house." Someone pulled Clay off Sarah. He held his breath until she stood before him, unharmed.
"What happened?" Sarah shook the dust out of her hair. "Where’s Mickey?" she demanded.
"Mickey? He found you?" Clay gasped, looking around at the men standing and dusting debris off their clothes.
"Yes." She was looking around frantically, but finally her gaze settled on the floor next to Palmer’s body. "Oh, no!" As she sank to the floor, Clay stumbled and, his pain forgotten, followed her down to kneel next to where Mickey’s face was partially covered by the pile of debris. Clay pulled off the large chunk of plaster. "Help him!" He stared helplessly at the shard of wood sticking out from Mickey’s chest.
"Oh, dear God." Sarah sobbed and she reached for Mickey’s hand.
"It worked before," Mickey gasped.
"What worked?" Clay asked softly.
"Crazy Jake Shaunessy tried that move back in the days I ran hooch for Bugsy Siegel. Tried to takeover the operation. When I saw that bastard try the same trick, I figured…" Whatever he figured was interrupted by a spasm of coughing.
"Hang on. We’ll get a doctor." Sarah looked up at Antonio. But before she could plead for their friend, Mickey gripped Clay’s arm.
"Major. You gotta do something for me. I know I ain’t gonna make it."
"Mickey, don’t say that," Sarah wept.
"Hey doll. Don’t cry. I hate it when dames cry. Major?"
"Anything, my friend." Clay brought his free hand out to hold Sarah and Mickey’s hands between his own. Tell me."
"We have to go," Antonio demanded.
"Shut up!" Clay said.
"Tell Jordan…tell her, I’m real sorry." Mickey’s body convulsed and then went limp. Strong hands pulled Sarah and Clay away. They stumbled out the back, even as sirens were screaming to a stop outside the front. They were lifted into the back of a truck, where they huddled, clutching each other, weeping for their friend.
"I shouldn’t have brought him," Clay said bitterly.
"He saved our lives," Sarah leaned her head back against the canvas of the truck side. "When he showed up, I almost fainted."
"I don’t understand any of it." Clay laid his battered head in her lap and she held him, caressing her fingers through his hair.
As the truck made its way through the city, Sarah quietly told him everything that’d happened to her. From her capture at the coast, to her weeks of waiting to finally escaping with the young German guard. "Clay, I know we owe Antonio our lives, but I don’t trust him."
"What did Mickey think?"
She shrugged. "We didn’t get a chance to talk about that. He showed up last night. I thought that Antonio was going to shoot him just to shut him up. Oh, Clay. Why?"
Before he could answer the truck screeched to a halt. Sarah brought up the gun she’d picked up as they were being hustled out of the house. Clay just watched her in wonder.
"Hurry. We have to get you inside." Two men climbed up next to Clay and helped him out of the truck. Neither tried to take the gun from Sarah as she followed them.
The house was on the outskirts of town. The woods rose up and they could see that, at one time, there’d been a farm here. Antonio strode up to them. "You’ll rest here tonight. Tomorrow we’ll move you."
"He needs a doctor!" Sarah insisted.
"There are medical supplies inside. Do what you can for him."
"Where are we going? Switzerland?"
"Bah! From Switzerland you can do me no good. I’ll have a list for you tomorrow. You’ll be taken through the Netherlands. We’ve already radioed London. The submarine will be waiting for you off the coast."
:: :: :: ::
Port Moresby
American Headquarters
October 1, 1942
Corporal Donald Mallard, behind the wheel of the jeep, kept looking over at Kate. "Ma’am? You’ve got to hold on ma’am. Please don’t have the baby now." His voice squeaked even over the roar of the engine.
"Just get me to the hospital!" Kate gripped the handle of the car and let another contraction rip through her. "Please, sweetie," she whispered. "Please don’t do that. We have to get to the doctor first. Please, God, don’t let my baby be born yet." She rubbed her belly and whispered to her child, "You waited two weeks, just wait a little longer. Please let Victor get here in time."
Two weeks ago, when AJ had sent word through channels that he, Sturgis and Bobbi had not only discovered something important on Choiseul, but had also found a small prison camp, and had escaped with most of the prisoners, including Victor Galindez, Kate had thought the news would send her into labor. Evidently, her baby had a strong desire to wait. Last night, Captain Flagler had brought her the news. "They landed at Musu. Mr. Roberts is going to fly them home." The contractions had started one hour later. She’d never been one for prayers, but now she’d been given a reason to pray.. However, the rains had started again and she’d been sure that Bud wouldn’t chance a flight in this weather.
This morning, her water had broken, and she’d called Ducky to get her to the hospital. She’d made him leave Victor a note, and now she prayed that her child would hold out until she made it to the base infirmary. They were just pulling up to the hospital when the familiar ‘rumble, cough’ of Bud’s Grumman Goose sounded overhead. "They here!" she cried.
Ducky ran around to her side of the jeep. "Ma’am, let me help you out. Hey, you!" he cried to a sailor. "Go get the doc! Mrs. Galindez is having her baby."
"Ducky!" She grabbed him by the collar. "Go down to the port and get them. Please."
"Ma’am, I’m not supposed to leave you."
"Ducky!" she screamed as another contraction gripped her. "Get! Victor!"
"Okay, okay." He pulled her hand off his collar, gasping for breath as he did. "Man, you’re strong." He turned to the nurse and the orderly who’d run out of the building. "You take her. She wants me to do something."
They helped Kate up the steps and onto a waiting gurney. "My baby can’t come yet. He has to wait," Kate kept insisting, as they wheeled her into a surgical room. She gripped at the nurse’s arm. "Please don’t let him come yet. His father has to be here. Please."
"Oh, honey," the nurse calmed her. "Your baby will come when he’s ready, and there’s nothing any of us can do to stop it."
The contractions were coming fast and furious now, and she knew that it’d be too late. Tears began to fall. "It’ll be okay, sweetie. Daddy will come for us."
"Kate!" His bellow rang through the halls. "Kate!"
"Sir! You have to be quiet."
"Where is she?"
"Sir! You’re not very clean!"
"Get out of his way," AJ’s deep rumble joined Victor’s frantic pleas.
"Kate!" And then he was next to her. "Thank God, I found you."
She looked into his eyes and sighed contentedly. "You’re safe."
"I’m here." He bent down and kissed her forehead. "Marry me, Kate."
"I’m kinda of busy here," she pointed out.
"AJ. Find a priest."
"Victor! It’s a Naval hospital."
"Actually, sir, Father Flanagan is the chaplain on duty," the nurse pointed out.
"Please, Sister, find him," Victor said.
The rest was a blur of contractions, the doctor’s orders to push and a surprised voice asking her to repeat words she’d only dreamed she ever say.
"I see the head."
"Do you Katherine…uhm…Do you Katherine take Victor to be your…"
"Yeesss!"
"Push."
"Do you Victor…"
"I do!"
"Push one more time."
"I now pronounce you man and wife."
"Push!"
The baby’s wailed filled the air.
"It’s a girl."
Victor leaned over and kissed Kate softly. "I love you, Katherine Galindez."
"Love you," she responded as she gazed upon her daughter. Her eyes fluttered shut.
When she woke again, she was in a room and the nurse was placing the baby into a bassinette next to the bed. "Let me hold…her?"
Victor, now looking much cleaner, although no less tired, stood next to her, tears streaming down his face. "Katherine, our daughter is beautiful."
"AJ?" Meredith’s voice floated in from the hall.
Katherine spared a smile for the man whom she owed so much to. "Thank you, AJ."
AJ smiled at her and turned to look into the corridor. "In here, darlin’."
Meredith entered, gave AJ a sound kiss, then moved to the bed. "Hello, Victor," she said, never taking her eyes off the tiny bundle in Kate’s arms.
"Meredith." He, too, was focused on his wife and child.
Kate began to cry, the emotions too much for her. "I don’t have a name for a girl. I was going to name him Victor."
"How about Victoria?" Meredith suggested.
"No." Victor said cupping the baby’s head in his scarred hand. "Patricia Katherine. Patricia means noble in Spanish." He leaned down and kissed Kate.
Kate sighed contentedly. "Patricia it is."
Meredith hugged Victor briefly, then allowed AJ to lead her from the room so they, too, could share a proper ‘welcome home’ embrace. "I can’t believe you made it in time."
"I thought you were on the Enterprise," AJ said.
She shook her head. "They need me to go back to Washington – or so they say – to meet with intelligence. Something else came up, too."
"Really?"
"They sent word that my picture of Harm climbing out of his airplane is stirring up a lot of publicity. They’re sending him home to work the War Bond circuit. Counting his service in England, they’ve credited him with twenty-five kills. With his good looks, they figure he’ll do more for the war effort at home than shooting down more planes."
"How does he feel about that?" AJ asked.
"You can ask him yourself. He came with me when he heard that John Farrow had been rescued. He’s down in John’s room now."
Even though he just wanted to pull her back to the apartment and wrap himself around her to sleep for days, he followed her down the hall to the room where they’d moved Farrow. It’d been a tight fit on the way from Musu. Lieutenant Coulter had been willing to wait with the others for transport later. Farrow had refused. They’d made a pallet for the injured flyer, and she’d knelt next to him throughout the harrowing flight. AJ’d taken the seat next to Bud, and Victor and Sturgis had sat in the back passenger seats. Bobbi had sat in back with Coulter and Farrow, hugging her legs against her chest.
"Oh, my goodness!" Meredith gasped and pulled out of the light embrace that AJ was holding her with. She ran down the hall and embraced Bobbi as she and Sturgis walked into the hospital. "Oh, thank God. I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again." She looked up at Sturgis and reached out her hand to him. "Welcome home."
"Meredith." Sturgis acknowledged her greeting. Bud came in, and it was like the war didn’t exist for a moment.
AJ stood and watched his friends greet each other. He was abreast of the open door of the room and looked inside. There he saw Harmon Rabb standing at the foot of the bed, watching in surprised awe as Terry Coulter fussed over the care that the other nurses and doctors were giving John Farrow.
Harm stood there, unable to speak for a moment. The guilt that he’d carried these past months, knowing that his friend had died, was a bit relieved, but only a bit. John looked like death warmed over. Even as banged up as Harm had been after ditching in the Thames, he didn’t think he’d looked this bad. "What did they do to you?" he finally whispered.
"Not now, Commander," Terry Coulter snapped. "He’s alive and that’s all that matters."
John opened his eyes at the sound of his friend’s voice. "Hey," he croaked. "You’re still alive."
"Yeah. You, too." Harm struggled to keep the tears from his voice. Men didn’t cry. He couldn’t be seen as weak. He had a mission to accomplish, and Meredith had given him the tool. "We’re both going home, buddy."
"We are?" John batted away one of the nurses bathing him. "Terry?"
She stepped forward and gripped his hand. "I’m right here."
"Harm says I’m going home."
"I don’t know about that." She glared back at the handsome flyer with the determined look in his eye. She wasn’t sure that she liked – or trusted – him. "Why not Sydney? Or Hawaii?"
"Because I’m going to take my friend home with me. He deserves the accolades as much as I do." Harm met her steady gaze with one of his own, already revising his plans. He could tell that the feisty, pretty, young lieutenant was important to his friend. Well then, he’d just make sure that everyone was happy. "John, you let the nurses and doctors patch you up." He turned to one of the doctors. "Make sure the lieutenant is checked out, too." He stepped around the side of the bed and gripped John’s hand. "We’re going home. No more missions except shaking hands and getting the word out."
"Word out?" John looked from Harm to Terry then gave a great sigh. "Terry?"
"We’ll figure it out, John."
The nurses and doctors filed out of the room, leaving the three in their as-yet-unspecified battle of wills.
AJ wondered at the sudden tension in the room, but Meredith was tugging on his sleeve. "Captain Flagler’s here."
AJ turned to meet Flagler to find a look of severe exasperation on the man’s face. "Captain?"
"We’ve just gotten word, Chegwidden. Nimitz wants you to accompany Miss Cavanaugh back to Washington. The War Department wants to talk with you."
"Wouldn’t my information be better used here?" AJ demanded.
"Of course. But it’s the War Department. You’ll need to make a couple of hops. One of those will be in Hawaii. You’ll be debriefed there first, then sent on." Flagler shook his head in disgust. "We go where we’re needed, Chegwidden. But then, you wouldn’t understand that. Spending all your time out here in paradise while the rest…"
"Excuse me, Captain!" Meredith snapped angrily. "Mr. Chegwidden spent two years in the hell of France during the last war. How dare…" AJ had to keep her from attacking the startled prig before them.
"Easy, darlin’. It doesn’t matter." He pulled her close and murmured in her ear. "We’ll be together. Now, hush."
She glared at Flagler but nodded. "Of course, AJ."
~~~Fini~~