With Love, Wherever You Are

by Dandi Daley Mackall

  Frank knew exactly who the “chap” was—Sergeant Whigham. Even Frank felt like he was under suspicion of the good sergeant. “Send him over.”

  The soldier hobbled into the surgical unit—a too-fancy name for the small area at the back of the tent equipped with only a table, a stand for surgical instruments, and a cot. Frank ripped his pant leg to get at the wound. He was already 90 percent sure his patient, named Leonard Fry, was American because he was so tall, basketball height, with broad shoulders and big-boned hands. If he was a Jerry, he was a lucky son of a gun to have run across an Allied uniform that fit him.

  After running through the usual questions and getting the usual answers, Frank said, “I’ll bet you played basketball before the war, Leonard.”

  “Only with my brothers. And please call me Lenny.”

  A quick intake of breath was the only reaction to Frank’s manipulation of Lenny’s leg, which must have been hurting like the devil. The femur was broken in three places and the fibula shattered. “Guess this ends my basketball career. Ah well, I like baseball better anyway. Used to dream about playing for St. Louis.”

  Frank nearly dropped the guy’s foot. “You’re a St. Louis fan? Browns or Cardinals?” At home, Frank never missed listening to either team on the radio. He loved the Browns and the Cards. His job had just gotten a lot easier. “Who’d you root for in the World Series?”

  “I love Stan the Man Musial,” Lenny began. “But you had to go with the Browns. They were a ragtag, patched-together group of misfits, alcoholics, and retreads, who somehow pulled it together to win games.”

  “And they had to win ten out of their last twelve to get there,” Frank said, testing his new friend.

  The guy shook his head. “Eleven out of twelve, including whipping the Yankees four in a row.”

  They settled into a steady stream of St. Louis baseball talk, from Dizzy and Daffy Dean to the Gashouse Gang. It was the best conversation Frank had enjoyed with any soldier, except Helen, of course. Local anesthetic made it possible for them to keep talking all night.

  When Frank went over to get each of them a cup of coffee, Bradford was pouring himself a cup. “Is the bloke one of you lot, then?”

  Frank grinned. “He’s American. One hundred percent.”

  A commotion behind them made Frank drop his coffee. He turned in time to see his patient holding a gun to the throat of another patient.

  Bradford charged toward them.

  “Stop right there, Major.” Lenny spoke in English, but the American accent was gone now. He looked over at Frank. “It was great talking with you, Doctor. My brother went to school in St. Louie.”

  Frank couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. How could he have been so wrong?

  Bradford stood his ground. “Nobody has to get hurt here. Let the patient go. You keep his gun and be on your way. We’re medical here, and—”

  A gun went off, so close it was deafening. Frank couldn’t hear anything except the ringing inside his head. He waited for the patient to drop.

  Instead, it was the SS officer. His eyes registered surprise, then resignation as his legs gave out and he tumbled to the ground. The gun dropped, and the British soldier behind him, Sergeant Whigham, his own gun still smoking, stepped up and recovered the weapon.

  Four Brits took hold of Lenny, or whoever he was, while two more helped the British patient back onto his cot. Sergeant Whigham checked Lenny’s leg, where the bullet hit. “I guess we need a doctor.”

  Frank took charge, ordering them to lift the captive to the operating table. For the next several hours, guarded by two British soldiers, Frank removed the bullet and reset the leg.

  Afterward, he apologized to the patient taken hostage. Then he searched out Major Bradford and found him pouring hot water over a tea bag. “I don’t know what to say, Will. I’m really sorry. That man knew more about St. Louis than I did. I would have staked my life on his American citizenship. I guess I did—and not just my life. All of ours. I did warn you I’m no hero.”

  “Stop apologizing, Doctor,” Bradford said. “That’s an order. It’s probably happened to the rest of us, and we haven’t found out yet. The SS are the most highly trained agents in the world. Yours just happened to see a way out. I believe he thought you were onto him. When he saw you coming over to me, he got worried.”

  Maybe. Frank didn’t quite believe it, though.

  “Let’s get you that coffee.” Bradford poured, which was a good thing because Frank’s hands were shaking.

  Frank took a sip. It tasted more like tea than coffee. “Guess I’ve turned out to be your weak link, Major.” Jack never would have fallen for that Nazi’s deception. “I was genuinely scared back there.”

  “As was I, Captain.”

  Frank didn’t know whether to believe him or not. Bradford hadn’t looked, or acted, scared. “Do you know Psalm 23? Is that one as famous on this side of the ocean as it is on ours?”

  “It is indeed. And even more so since Great Britain entered the war, I’d venture.”

  “I’ve been saying the part about fearing no evil every night before I fall asleep. Not sure it’s done the trick, though.” He stared down at his full cup, thinking that tonight was the closest he’d come to a genuine valley of the shadow of death.

  Bradford’s eyes smiled as he took a large sip to empty his cup, then stood. “Well, I could use some sleep about now. I suggest you do the same.”

  Frank gave up trying to sleep just as the sun topped the horizon. The camp stirred with soldiers heading for the mess tent. His mind filled with what-ifs. What if the Nazi had shot that patient? What if the SS sent more officers disguised as Americans? What if he failed to stop them? What if they stopped him? So many things he had no answers to.

  He took a deep breath and repeated to himself for the thousandth time, “I will fear no evil: for thou art with me.”

  ██████████████

  My darling husband,

  I was over the moon to receive 3 letters from you today. When I think of the ridiculous and time-wasting spats I initiated in █████████, when we had so little time together, I am still ashamed, though confident that you’ve forgiven me and that we are now closer than ever. Our love, I believe, is more real—and God smiles on our marriage, don’t you think?

  Thank you for agreeing with me about Eugene. You’re right—he wasn’t made for war, but he’s courageous to do what must be done to get better. Mom’s brief letter said that Genie is now helping out around the house and even farming a bit. My dad is a hard man to help, so Eugene must be gaining strength.

  Shall I tell you of my harrowing case with twins, two German POWs brought in yesterday? They were guards in a slave labor camp, where there was an uprising. Both were stabbed near the heart. One died shortly after arrival. This sent his brother into a fury that required Bill and three MPs to restrain him. We have him in restraints and would like to treat him—but he spits viciously whenever a nurse or doctor approaches. So goes another day in the war.

  I have been told that I must take a sick leave as my cough distresses patients. I don’t know if I’ll do it—so much work on the wards. Peggy says we should give my cold to all German and Japanese soldiers and declare the war at an end. I cannot wait until that day.

  With all my love, wherever you are,

  Your loving Tiny

  20 March 1945 9 pm Tuesday

  Oh, darling,

  I’m so worried about your coughing fits. Get a chest X-ray. Atypical pneumonia, practically symptomless at times, can, if untreated, leave bronchiectasis in its wake. Do you have circles under your eyes, and how do you feel?

  I have been giving more thought to the Lithuanian patient you wrote about some time ago. As a worker in a German prison for so long, he may have picked up a number of things. The prisoners we’ve seen here had the worst atrocities performed on them. One fellow’s skin had been systematically cut from his arms, legs, and sides. They are all hollow-eyed a
nd skeletal. How can one human do these things to another?

  More and more, I find it hard to live in the present. I replay the past, the moments when you and I were together. And I dream of our future.

  Darling, we must both make every effort to get together the instant this war in Europe ends, as one of us may well be sent far away. All here are expecting to serve another two years in Japan or the Philippines, and many in the CBI (China, Burma, India). Major Bradford intends to bring his message of peace to the war zone. He expects to be part of the occupation, even if Japan is defeated the same time Germany is.

  Know that wherever we are, we will always be together.

  With love,

  Your Frankie

  RENNES, FRANCE

  If the war really was winding down, Helen couldn’t see it. The Rennes hospital was overcrowded, with more patients arriving every day. She longed for another rendezvous. She’d gone so far as to wrangle a three-day leave, then had to admit she had no idea where to look for her husband. She’d ended up working all three days right here, where rumors grew like tumors: Nurses would go to Belgium when Germany surrendered. Then no, nurses would go to Germany. Nurses would go to the CBI. Or to Japan. Then, all nurses would head for Russia, where atrocities were rumored to occur daily.

  She called out, “Good morning!” to the packed ward and received a few weak greetings in return.

  Peggy rushed over, her green eyes dots on her haggard face. “I thought you’d never get here!” She handed Helen a clipboard.

  “I’m ten minutes early, you know.”

  “I still thought you’d never get here. How’s the cough?”

  “About the same. I’m okay. Anything I need to know?”

  Peggy yawned. “I need sleep.”

  “I can see that.” Helen lowered her voice. “How’s Phil?” Phil was a nineteen-year-old from Arkansas who had lied about his age and enlisted months before his eighteenth birthday. He came to them on a stretcher. Helen gathered that he’d been holed up in a muddy trench for days during the Battle of the Bulge. He’d been wounded, returned to battle, then wounded again while stuck in the trenches. They’d removed the shrapnel with no problems, no infection. But Helen had been first to notice the boy’s rotting fingernails. For a week, she’d stayed past her shift to shave his nails with a razor to let them drain. She’d convinced Captain Sutherland—the new doctor, Pugh’s recruit—to try antibiotics, but Phil hadn’t responded to treatment, and his fingernails fell off like autumn leaves. Then his fingers blackened and had to be removed.

  “He’s not so good,” Peggy said. “Sutherland says they’ll have to amputate his arms to the elbows.”

  As Helen prepared morning meds, she thought about all the strange diseases soldiers were picking up here and in Japan and the Philippines, so many odd strains of fungi and bacteria. Frank wrote that Lartz had been having trouble with his hands for some unknown reason. Lartz had sent her an amazing sketch of Frank, and he’d done one of Helen from a snapshot. She prayed he wouldn’t lose the use of his hands. Frank was pushing to get his friend shipped to the States for better care.

  “I don’t like that cough, Nurse,” Phil said, as she wrapped what was left of his hands.

  Helen muffled a cough that threatened to rattle. “I’m not crazy about it either, Phil.” She used her teeth to bite off the stubborn tape, then checked Phil’s bandage.

  Bill Chitwood leaned down to smile right into Phil’s face. Helen loved him for that. Most of the nurses shied away from Phil, as if they feared catching his bad luck. “How’s it going, Phil? I saw you got you a bunch of letters last mail call.”

  “I reckon my ma’s forcing everyone in Arkansas to write me.”

  “Good for her!” Helen said.

  Bill frowned at Helen. “Shouldn’t you be in bed yourself, Nurse? If you don’t mind me saying so, you look like death warmed over.”

  “How could any gal mind such a lovely description of herself, Bill?”

  “Nurse!” Sutherland shouted at her. He was only a couple of inches taller than Helen and so skinny his uniform hung like a bag around a coat hanger. But next to Pugh, he was the best doctor they had.

  “Doctor?” She followed him outside to a flatbed truck full of patients. When he turned to her, his eyes swam in tears. “Nurse Daley, I’m putting you in charge of these men.” His voice broke.

  “What’s wrong with them? Do we need to quarantine them?”

  Sutherland looked horrified by the suggestion. “No! They’re liberated. The last thing they need is quarantine. They were prisoners in one of the worst of the forced-labor camps inside Germany. They’re going to need special care, Nurse, and constant attention.”

  Not for the first time, Helen felt guilty for having German blood flowing through her veins. She felt guilty for not having believed the reports about torture the first time she heard them over a year ago. She believed them now. She’d seen the horror with her own eyes. Sometimes, like now, she wanted to run away, to get as far from the hospital, from the war, as she could.

  A quick prayer was all she could afford as she climbed into the back of the truck. She might have been entering a graveyard, a boneyard filled with skeletons. Two of the bald heads and crooked bodies belonged to women. Some of the men were naked. Others wore parts of uniforms, coats and shirts soldiers had taken off their backs to give to these victims of inhumanity. “You’re safe now.” She forced herself to stay calm. “We have you now, and we’ll take good care of you. Nobody’s going to hurt you anymore.”

  Bill was beside her before she could call for him. “Nurse, what can I do?”

  “Get some guys to help carry our patients onto the ward.”

  “I can help you get them to the ward.” He lowered his voice, though Helen doubted any of the patients could understand what he was saying. “But once they’re inside, I don’t know what we’ll do.”

  Helen frowned at him. How could he not know what to do? Then she remembered they only had one empty bed, and that one only because its occupant died overnight. There was more room in the basement, but she refused to put these poor souls with German soldiers.

  “Give me a minute.” She hopped from the truck and ran back to the ward. About two dozen American soldiers were recovering from injuries sustained en route to a battalion aid station yards from the front. Their unit had repulsed the Germans, extending newly conquered territory deeper into hostile country, when SS troops firing machine guns burst out of the forest. Surviving GIs had been patched up by medics and sent to the hospital, where doctors and nurses, including Helen, had worked all night to remove bullets and shrapnel.

  Helen believed her patients were good guys. She really hoped so. She pulled a folding chair in the middle of the beds, then stood on the seat. It was pretty wobbly. So was she, to tell the truth. “Could somebody give me a hand?”

  Five soldiers rushed to help, although rushed wasn’t the right word. Two had to grab crutches and hobble. Two more had their arms in slings and their feet wrapped.

  “We’ve got company on the ward, gentlemen.” She explained about the patients and the lack of beds. “It’s a lot to ask. I know you guys are hurting yourselves.”

  Phil spoke up first. “You can have my bed, Nurse.” He struggled to swing his feet over the edge of the bed. “I don’t mind the floor. I slept on worse.”

  “Thanks, soldier!”

  “All right. Count me in,” said a guy who didn’t sound happy about it.

  “I’ll get blankets from the nurses’ quarters!” Naomi shouted.

  All of a sudden, the hollering and shuffling stopped. Silence fell over the ward as emaciated survivors were carried in, held like babes in arms by nurses and soldiers. Beds and cots emptied, freeing far more than needed, and still no one spoke. Naomi returned with Peggy, Sally, and others, all carrying their own bedding. Helen directed traffic, assigning each nurse from one to three patients, who clung to the women as if they were saviors. She pulled Sally aside. “Can you get h
elp and bring them broth or soup?”

  Sally didn’t move, and for a minute, Helen thought she hadn’t heard. Then she sprang into action. “I can do that.”

  The last patient in the truck was a man whose cracked skull looked blackened from burns that left marks of varying shapes. He’d refused to leave the truck until everyone else was out. Bill helped Helen lift him out of the truck. The man had no visible muscles in his legs, only broken bones. One eye had been cut out, and the other receded so deeply into the socket that at first, she thought it was gone too.

  “I’m Nurse Helen.” She put his arm around her neck and felt nothing but bone. Every movement had to be torture for him, but he refused to be carried.

  Bill helped her get the patient onto a bed close to the others. But when she started to pull the sheet over him, he panicked and tried to get out of bed. “Okay. You don’t have to have it. You’re the boss here.” She handed sheet and blanket to Bill and smiled at the man until he lay back down.

  “Maybe he doesn’t understand English,” Bill whispered.

  Helen tried comforting the man in German, but he didn’t respond to that either. She’d stick to English. No way did she want to align herself with his captors.

  Bill fetched supplies, and Helen managed to superficially clean wounds and breaks that must have been left to heal on their own, only to have been rebroken. Everything they tried brought agony to both patient and nurse.

  Captain Sutherland called in Colonel Pugh, and the two doctors worked feverishly. Pugh asked Helen to join him on rounds, but when he saw the terror that would bring to her patient, he changed his mind. “This is worse than anything I’ve ever seen,” he said. “I hardly know where to start. They’ve all been systematically tortured and starved. They suffer from typhus, frozen feet, gangrene. I suspect eight out of ten of these patients have tuberculosis.”

  As if in sympathy, Helen had one of her coughing fits.

  “Nurse?” Pugh said. “Helen? You should get off your feet. Go on. Get some rest. We’ll be all right here.”