by Terri Meeker
Gordy looked into his eyes. “I expect an invitation to your and Bluebird’s wedding, you know.”
Sam shook his head and smiled. “No one has ever worked harder for one, Gordy.”
The air was filled with the sounds of thudding suitcases and squeaking carts as men prepared to leave. VADs and sisters wove throughout the ward on various little missions. Through the milling throng, every now and then, he could see Lily and Dr. Raye—growing distant as they worked their way through the ward.
Several men burst through the front door, the ambulance drivers who’d been in and out of the ward daily since his arrival. He felt a sentimental twinge at not even knowing the names of these familiar faces. They grabbed officers’ suitcases and carried them out the door to the waiting ambulances.
Before Sam had a moment to collect himself, he watched as his own suitcase was snatched up. He tried to reach for his duffel bag, but Gordy had already gotten it over his shoulder and was hobbling toward the door. Sam had no choice but to follow, searching through the milling crowd, trying to spot Lily’s little white scarf among so many.
A few other men filed in behind Sam and blocked his view. It wasn’t until he reached the door that he finally spotted Lily. She’d stepped out into the aisle, her arms down at her side, but her chin up. She wore a very brave face.
It was all Sam could do to keep moving his feet forward. Lily forced a smile on her lips and raised her palm—courageous, darling girl. He stopped and lifted his hand in return. Then the men behind him gently nudged him backward through the open door and she was lost to him.
Sam turned to see four ambulances idling at the curb. Since Gordy was loading his duffel bag into the lead vehicle, Sam climbed into the back. The upper bunks had been removed so that the men could be seated upon the two remaining lower beds. After depositing his burden, Gordy hobbled backward a few steps and watched Sam with a newly familiar solemn expression.
A few other men settled in beside Sam and a soldier climbed in next to the driver. As soon as their little convoy could hold no more, his driver climbed behind the wheel and eased down New Bedlam’s driveway. As they turned the corner, Sam caught one last glance at the place. Faded red brick looking brighter than usual in the morning sun. A flurry of men and suitcases scrambling about the front steps, like ants on a hill. And standing at the top of the stairs, leaning against the rail for support, stood Gordy, one hand raised in a salute against his wobbling head.
Sam saluted in return, but his eyes were so cloudy that he had no idea if Gordy had even seen the gesture.
Sam closed his eyes and tried to relax. Once again, he attempted to force his headache away with willpower. Each time he heard the metal clanging of the ship, the sound reverberated inside his mind.
It had been a very long day.
After two hours in an ambulance, they’d loaded the men onto a hospital train. Due to the limited number of ambulances available for the evacuation of New Bedlam, it had taken over five hours to completely load the train. The journey to the hospital ship at Le Havre had been much quicker, but upon their arrival, they’d had a considerable wait on the docks. Most of the men had waited in the sun, but Sam had been insistent upon finding a spot inside the station. He felt like a selfish prig to make such demands. His memory of the look in Lily’s eyes spurred on his persistence.
By the time the hospital ship was loaded, it was early evening and the baby headache that had hatched earlier that day had turned into an adolescent with attitude. Since they were crossing at night, the ship was brightly lit, to be evident to all that it was a hospital ship and therefore a noncombatant. Not that this distinction had made a great deal of difference to the Germans of late.
The ship was well out of the harbor and the patients had begun to settle before Sam had a chance to hail a passing nurse. “Excuse me, Miss. Might I trouble you for a bit of pain relief? I’ve a terrible headache.”
The plump nurse had a kindly face and met Sam with a smile. “Crossings can bring that about. Let me just check your chart and see what I’m allowed to give you.” She scanned his chart quickly. “It says you’ve been prescribed Phenobarbital three times per day. Is that correct? And you’ve received all three today?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The woman gave a humming sound. “Nothing in here about restricting you from medications, but with phenobarb, it can be tricky. I’ll be back in a moment.” When the woman returned, it was with a small glass of foul-smelling liquid. Sam downed it and thanked her.
He lay back on his bunk and pulled the covers around his head. He knew that he must appear quite silly, like a child hiding in bed from a monster. But his headache wasn’t dimming. He tried to relax and concentrate on something else, but the only thing he could possibly think of was Lily. The feel of her warm breath against his neck as he lay with her. The way her soft breast pressed against his skin. The brave look in her pretty green eyes as she watched him leave her.
To his surprise, the exhausting day combined with the rumble of the ship’s engines eventually coaxed him into a light sleep.
He came to some time later when a loud shout filled the air, quickly followed by the wah-wah-wah of a siren, screaming a warning from somewhere on deck. He, and his headache, stirred to life immediately.
“Up! Up you all!” The plump nurse ran along the aisles, shaking the men’s feet as she passed. “Those of you who are able, you’re to get up on deck. Now.”
“Why? What is it?” a voice asked.
“U-boat attack.” She bent over to assist one of the patients to his feet. “All able-bodied men up on deck. Now. Standard procedure.” She nodded toward Sam. “Come along then.”
Sam crawled out of bed, his headache giving a kick of protest. He followed the trail of men toward the narrow stairwell in the rear. They spilled onto the deck and were shoved toward the bow of the ship. The wind whipped across the bow, which was shockingly cold despite the tight crush of men. Sailors scurried about amidst shouted orders.
The plump nurse herded the men farther toward the front of the ship. It was least protected from the wind there, but it was necessary so that they could fit the maximum number of men topside. Once the men were relatively settled, she returned below decks to assist others.
Though his position at the bow of the ship was freezing, it offered a fine vantage point of the ensuing action. All the ships in the small convoy of seven were brightly lit. Two of the smaller vessels were fitted with bright spotlights, which roamed over the surface of the waves, searching for signs of the U-boat.
Another blast of cold wind hit and Sam felt his headache kick up a notch.
He heard a snatch of shouting from one of the destroyers and noticed the spotlight had stopped searching the water and had focused on a single point. Sam couldn’t tell what it was in the dark and at such a distance, but by the reaction of the men, he could only assume they’d found the enemy vessel.
“He’s going to ram it,” said a voice at Sam’s elbow.
“Bit of a risk, isn’t it?” asked another.
“It’s the most effective way of taking them out. Even the war department approves now.”
As if on orders from the fellow at Sam’s elbow, the second destroyer headed directly toward the U-boat while the other ship kept its beam of light pointed directly at that specific point on the water.
A small bang sounded, then a great deal of shouting. With his headache roaring about his ears, Sam couldn’t tell for a moment, that it was a celebratory sound.
Soon, all the men on deck joined in the cheering, and the hospital ship celebrated in the only way they could. By sounding the siren and flickering their deck lights.
When the beam of light struck Sam’s eyes, it felt like a physical blow, directly to the back of his brain.
“No!” Sam shouted. “I need to go below.” But his voice was lost in the sound of the men’s ch
eers.
He closed his eyes, trying to fight what he knew was coming. Blindly, he pushed through the throng of men, scrambling like a rat trying to find a hole. To no avail. The light had already blasted through the gate in his mind, flooding his mind with pain and…red…and then nothing.
Sam’s heart lurched as he was immediately transported into a place of icy, bitter cold. The chilly wind on the deck was nothing to it. This was a heavy blanket of ice, of death, and it had its frozen fingers around Sam in a tight grip.
When he tried to extend his arm, it moved so slowly that it took Sam a moment to realize that he was in water.
The hospital convoy was just a few hundred yards away, still celebrating with flickering lights and cheers while he watched from his watery vantage point. The destroyer circled through the water, spotlight flickering over the water’s surface, searching for survivors.
Sam’s headache screamed around his ears as he turned his head. It seemed he’d landed a short distance from the point of impact. A surprisingly small amount of wreckage of the U-Boat floated around him in the water, but Sam knew, and dreaded, that bit of flotsam that he should be expecting.
He found the man quite easily. Only a few feet away, bobbing in the wreckage. The German sailor was young, early twenties—a handsome blond lad with his entire life before him. As he met Sam’s eyes, his expression wasn’t one of an enemy combatant, nor of fear. It was a look of absolute defeat.
The sailor lifted his chin toward Sam, as an acknowledgement. Then he lifted his gaze to the dark night sky, exhaled a long sigh completely emptying his lungs of air and sank beneath the waves.
Touch him. He wants to die. Just reach out and give him what he wants.
Sam knew he should swim toward the sailor, but he couldn’t move. He couldn’t bear to be thrust into the role of Grim Reaper, yet again. But the list of reasons to reach out to the sailor were compelling.
This man was the enemy, for one thing. For another, he clearly did not want to live. If Sam were to touch him, it would simply be a matter of easing a man who wanted to die. Finally, and most compelling, Sam knew that if he did nothing, then he would perish as well.
Can you let Lily down in this?
Sam dove down beneath the waves in pursuit of the soldier. The German wasn’t hard to find. He simply floated along just beneath the surface of the water. There was so much debris just beneath the surface of the water that it was, oddly, difficult water to drown in. Not that the sailor wasn’t giving it his all.
Reach out, Sam. Grant him his wish and live. You’re lying on the deck of the ship now, seizing, not breathing. Dying. Touch him, Sam.
And yet, somehow, he couldn’t force himself to do it. Neither could he watch the man drown himself. This bloody war had brought about so much death. Sam had brought about so much death.
He couldn’t bear being responsible for one more. Even if it was his last conscious action on earth.
Sam’s headache pulsed painfully behind his eyes, but he pushed it back. The German was a little lower in the water now, motionless flotsam. Sam reached out and grabbed a handful of the sailor’s uniform, just behind the neck. He was careful not to touch the man’s skin. The German stirred at that and moved his head slightly. It was too dark underwater to gauge his expression.
Sam kicked his feet as hard as he was able, pulling the dead weight of his enemy toward the surface. He burst through the waves and with a mighty tug, the German soldier followed—sputtering and taking in great, noisy lungfuls of air.
“Not…today,” Sam gasped. “Going to save a goddamned life, if it kills me. Even if it’s yours.”
The German looked at Sam, his expression utterly without hope. “Lass mich doch einfach ersaufen.”
“I’ll just assume that’s German for ‘thank you’. You’re welcome.” Sam kept a firm grip on the sailor’s uniform. “Ahoy there!” Sam shouted toward the Destroyer, still searching the water. It had moved closer to them at this point and its searchlight beam was now trained on waters only a few feet away. “Got a rescue for you, boys!”
The spotlight jerked toward the sound of Sam’s voice. When the beam of light hit Sam, his head exploded in light and pain and a shower of red sparks.
He turned to look at the German, but the man had disappeared, and so, Sam noticed, had the water.
Sam suddenly vomited in a great, noisy gush. As he expelled the contents of his stomach, the curtain of red and blinding white dimmed a little. He saw bodies above him, shouting at him, and strong arms holding him down. His back was pressed firmly against the deck of the ship. The plump sister hovered only inches from his face, a look of terror on her face.
“Sir? Are you all right?”
Sam tried to respond, but his throat was too constricted to speak. He trembled and turned on his side, breathing in a huge gulp of cold air.
Alive.
He was alive, and so was the man he’d been sent to take. He’d made it through. He’d made it on his terms.
A wave of hope broke over Sam. It was a small wave, more like a ripple in a pond, but he held onto it with all his determination. He closed his eyes and let the black carry him away.
Chapter Thirty
Lily buttoned up her coat and pushed out of the hotel lobby, onto the gray streets of Rouen. The December skies had threatened rain for days and were about ready to deliver on their promise. A bitter gust blew up the street, plastering her dress to her legs. She leaned into the wind and pushed toward the hospital.
She knew she was lucky. In many base hospitals, staff had to make do in tents, even in weather like this. Her quarters at Rouen were nothing if not posh: a large hotel room that had been renovated just prior to the outbreak of war. But she missed her little barred cell at New Bedlam.
Reassignment should have been wonderful in dozens of ways. Lily was now part of a unit which specialized in respiratory ailments and they boasted an impressive success rate. In addition, Matron Faulkner oversaw this hospital and staff relations were much friendlier. The nursing sisters treated VADs as comrades in arms instead of underlings.
Though Matron Marshall had come to Rouen along with the rest of New Bedlam’s staff, she’d been promoted off the ward floor and to an upper management office. It was the best place for her, really. And for all the staff.
It had been nearly three months since Sam had left her, since the bomb had blown up so many lives. He wrote with startling regularity. His letters waited at the hotel reception desk every Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday. In the beginning they were in Evie’s familiar script. He began with reassurances that he was improving and that his seizures were far behind him. Then he would mention a few details of life on the farm. He always closed by saying that he ‘thought of her with fondness’. He was terribly formal, but he was dictating them to his sister, after all, and Lily knew she could hardly expect tender intimacies in such a situation.
Three weeks ago, however, his letters were written in a new hand—one that was a little bit untidy and had great looping upper case letters. She’d never seen his handwriting before and traced the capital letter ‘L’ in her name, following the loops and curls with her fingertip—like a silly schoolgirl. Evie had been correct in her assessment about Sam’s writing. He had a tendency to over-punctuate. Although letters by his own hand were longer, they were not much more intimate than the ones he’d dictated.
Lily tried not to let his distance wound her. In her time at New Bedlam, she’d seen dozens of wartime romances blossom and die. An alliance forged in such an intense life and death atmosphere couldn’t really be expected to flourish under the expectations of a normal life.
Lily wrote letters to him, but her new duties in the respiratory unit left her with precious little time of her own. And she’d always been horrible at writing letters. Even her own father only heard from her once a month at best. As much as she longed for Sam, when pen touc
hed paper, she found her feelings and words too elusive. Since Sam remained so formal in his correspondence, it only seemed natural that she should follow suit. Besides, if she divulged how much she missed him, he might feel an even greater obligation to keep in touch with her. She shuddered to think that she’d ever hold him to words that he might have come to regret.
The wind whipped against her legs as she turned the corner and approached the hospital’s rear entrance, where the offices were located. She’d been so lost in thought about Sam that she’d momentarily forgotten to feel dread. Just as she’d gotten off duty yesterday, she’d been told to report to Matron Marshall first thing in the morning. Lily had never had a conversation with the woman that hadn’t ended in a scolding.
She walked down the corridor until she reached the matron’s office. She rapped on the door.
“Come in,” the matron called from within. Lily turned the knob and entered the small room. The matron was crammed behind a battered metal desk which was crowded with papers, files and a large, nearly-dead lemon tree. Only a handful of leaves still stubbornly clung to Henry’s thin branches now.
Since there wasn’t enough space for a chair, Lily stood before the desk. The matron seemed smaller somehow, diminished.
Lily gave a polite nod. “You wanted to see me, ma’am?”
“I did at that.” Matron Marshall had never been one for conversation and for once, Lily was glad of it. Whatever was to come, it would be best to have at it directly, like yanking the bandage from a wound.
“I have a request from Dr. Raye. Do you know anything about it?” The matron tapped a small stack of papers lying on top of her desk.
“Not a thing, ma’am.”
The matron eyed Lily skeptically before continuing. “They’re regarding your transfer to the Royal Army Medical Corps Headquarters in London.”
“London?” Lily stammered. “It’s the first I’ve heard of it, I assure you. I did not request any such transfer.”
