For Love and Country

by Candace Waters

  Harry, who seemed to be one of the ones in the best shape, held out his hand to help Lottie out last.

  “I’m not sure you need a hand,” he said, “after what you just did.” But he extended his anyway.

  “I’ll take all the help I can get,” Lottie said.

  When she set foot back in the belly of the flying boat, everything she’d just been through finally hit her. She swayed and might have fallen if two of the men hadn’t put their hands out to steady her, while another pulled her launch in and fastened the hatch against the rain and the wind.

  “You okay, princess?” one of them said.

  Lottie barely had enough energy to stay on her feet. But a fire rose inside her. And she shot back, “I’m nobody’s princess.”

  Even more than their helping hands, the looks on the men’s faces steadied her. They were gaunt and hungry, clearly in more need than she was, whatever she’d just been through.

  “We’ve got crackers,” she said. “And water. It’s not much, but—”

  “It’s more than we’ve had,” one of the men said as Lottie hurried over to the box of supplies they’d thrown into the plane before they left, hoping as she did that the provisions wouldn’t be completely soaked. “Thank you.”

  “Not too much at once,” one of the men called.

  “Ah, doc,” another said, waving the advice away.

  “That’s right,” the first man said. “I am. And you don’t want to eat too much when you’ve been starving. It’s a good way to get sicker than you even are.”

  As the other men fell on the crackers and canteens of water, Lottie’s glance landed on the wounded man, who hadn’t stirred. She grabbed a canteen and knelt beside him in the water that now sloshed in the belly of the plane, and gently brushed aside the hooded raincoat hiding his face.

  His features were gaunt and ghostly white. His lips were cracked and had turned a purplish hue. But still there was something so familiar about him. She hadn’t realized until this instant that some part of her, some crazy, hidden part, had been hoping she might find Luke among these shipwrecked men. It was such a silly dream that she hadn’t even let it break the surface of her mind. But now the twist in her heart told her she had been holding that hope somewhere, in some secret chamber. She held the canteen up to his lips and let the smallest amount drip in.

  “Wake up,” she whispered, almost as a prayer.

  Then the man’s eyes opened.

  “Lottie,” he said.

  Suddenly, her breath was knocked out of her.

  Lottie stared back into Luke’s eyes, not sure if she was dreaming or awake. She felt flooded with heat and frozen at the same time. Blindly, her fingers found his and closed around them. His grip was so weak that tears sprang to her eyes.

  “Doctor!” she said, looking up for help.

  One of the men detached himself from the rest as another looked after him. “It’s Woodward!” someone cried. “He’s awake!”

  “He hasn’t been awake for a day and a night,” the doctor said, coming over.

  As he knelt beside Luke, Lottie heard a voice calling from above. “Palmer!”

  It was Cunningham. And she knew what he wanted. As the plane rocked under them and the rain pelted down on the hull, there was no time to waste. They needed to get these men home.

  It took everything she had to let go of Luke’s hand. If his eyes had still been open, she might not have been able to do it. But they had closed again, as he’d slipped back into oblivion.

  Taking a deep breath, feeling as if her limbs weren’t really her own, she climbed back up into the cockpit.

  “Am I glad to see you,” Cunningham said with a toothy grin.

  Lottie’s mind flashed to what he must have been through in the past few minutes. That drop that she had felt when she left him behind and struck out on the open waves, that sense that she might soon be the only living person for miles—she could imagine he had lived through his own version of that, himself.

  She knew better than to think he’d ever put it into words, if he had. But his big smile said it all.

  “They ready to go?” Cunningham asked. “I think we can outfly this storm if we take off now.”

  Lottie thought about telling him that Luke was down there, with the other men, but she could barely bring herself to speak the words out loud, in case she might break the spell that had somehow brought them together by putting it into words.

  Instead, she nodded, then ducked back down into the hold. “Hold tight,” she yelled. “We’re taking off!”

  Some of the men were already seated with their backs against the wall, exhausted by the trip. Some of them kept right on eating. The doctor crouched over Luke. Lottie went over to the hatch, made sure it was fast, and then headed back up to the cockpit.

  “All clear,” she said.

  “Then get up here,” Cunningham said. “We need to get out of here.”

  Suddenly, Lottie was exhausted. The last few steps to her seat beside Cunningham seemed like an uncrossable distance.

  But these were the last steps, she told herself, on her way home. Once she took that seat, the next steps she’d take would be on solid ground.

  With a sigh, she somehow found the strength to reach her station.

  As she was about to drop into her seat beside Cunningham, something banged into the side of the plane, knocking her sideways on her knees. As she fell, her head struck the control panel.

  “Palmer!” Cunningham said. “You all right?”

  Then he let out an oath.

  Lottie sat up, holding her head. From the alarm in Cunningham’s voice, she was afraid that she’d split her forehead open. But she didn’t see any blood on her hand. It just stung and ached where the blow had struck.

  She settled weakly down into her seat, but when she looked at Cunningham to reassure him, she realized she was the last thing on his mind.

  His eyes were fixed on something beyond the windshield of the plane. Something outside.

  Thirty-Two

  WITH A FEELING OF dread, Lottie turned to follow his gaze.

  As she did, she heard a shriek of metal. It took her a minute to recognize the hulking form that now filled the entire windscreen of the plane.

  It was the abandoned Japanese ship that she’d just rescued the men from. It had rammed straight into the hull of the flying boat. And as the abandoned ship bounced off, one of the propellers of the Catalina scraped all the way down its side.

  “We can’t take off,” Cunningham said. “Not with that thing this close.”

  But almost as if he’d muttered a magic spell, the Japanese boat began to drift back into the mist, headed for God only knew where.

  Cunningham took a deep breath and began to flip switches.

  “Thank God,” he said. “I’m getting us out of here before that thing comes back.”

  As he said it, the cockpit was filled with the comforting hum of a warming engine. But as the engine sound grew to the whine that could drive actual flight, it turned from the steady sound of a healthy bird to an eerie shriek.

  “Shut it down,” Lottie called. At the sound of disaster, some part of her just wanted to rush to Luke. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to go to him for comfort for herself or to comfort him. But in any case, she couldn’t indulge it. She had to stay focused or none of them would ever make it home. “Shut it down.”

  Cunningham stopped the engines and looked at her. Then he said the dreaded words they both already knew: “Something’s wrong.”

  Somehow, Lottie managed to lift herself out of the seat again.

  But as she did, a surge of adrenaline rushed into her. She clambered back down to the hold, where she saw a single glimpse of Luke’s face, which was still alarmingly thin and pale. But she didn’t have time to think about that, rummaging through the boxes that lined the interior, looking for a kit of tools. She found a hammer and a wrench, stuffed them into the pockets of her overalls, then went over to the hatch.

 
; When she opened it and looked up, she could see that the wing of the plane with the busted engines was close, maybe three or four feet beyond her reach. With water from the storm spraying in her eyes, she jumped as high as she could but didn’t come close.

  “Hey,” Harry said behind her. “What’s going on?”

  “Help me,” Lottie ordered. “Give me a leg up.”

  Harry looked up at the wing of the plane, looked out into the storm, then obediently made a stair step for her with his hands. She planted her foot in it, but it still didn’t give her enough height.

  She slid back down into the hatch.

  “I need to get up on that wing,” she said. “Something’s wrong with one of the engines.”

  Harry squinted up at the wing, then looked at her again. “Permission to pick you up?” he asked.

  Lottie nodded.

  Kneeling down, Harry caught her around the calves, then somehow managed to stand himself, giving her just enough height to clamber from the hatch up onto the wind-whipped surface of the wing.

  At the first gust of wind, she flattened on her belly—the only way to keep from being knocked off. Then she crawled over to the closest propeller. Instantly, she could see what had gone wrong.

  When the Japanese boat smashed into the Catalina, a spar had been driven into the propeller’s engine. Jammed between the cylinders, it was cutting off power to the propeller.

  Gripping the slick surface of the wing as well as she could, Lottie climbed down onto the busted engine.

  The engine itself actually gave her more traction than the wing had, and for an instant, she clung to it gratefully as the water churned below, turning darker as night set in around them.

  The metal spar had jammed deep into the works of the cylinder, and only God knew what kind of damage it had done along the way. In the shop, fixing the prop would have been a complicated operation, with testing, retesting, careful calibration.

  But perched on the wing of a wounded seaplane in the middle of the churning Pacific, Lottie just began to yank. She pulled at the crooked spar with all the force she could manage, striking the wrench against it and leaning into it with all her strength, until it had begun to wobble loosely, and then pulled free, and dropped into the black waves below with a loud slap.

  In a perfect world, she would have called to Cunningham for a test, scrambled down from the wing for safety, then gone back up to make adjustments based on whatever the test revealed.

  But she knew Harry wouldn’t be able to hear her over the roar of the storm, let along Cunningham up in the cockpit.

  So she just prayed that what she’d done would be enough.

  Then she began to crawl back toward the hatch.

  She made it all the way to the seam where the wing met the plane. Below her, she could see Harry’s hands reaching out to draw her back in.

  Gratefully, she judged the distance, exactly how she’d have to jump to make it back.

  But as she did, a big roller washed up against the nose of the plane, knocking her off her perch.

  She began to slide, and on the slick wing, there was nothing she could catch to stop herself. With a sickening drop, she fell past the hatch.

  Angry water closed over her head.

  The sudden silence underwater was a strange relief after the roar of the storm. But the water was so cold it almost knocked her unconscious. Her body alive with alarm, she struggled to the surface, but when she got there, all she could see was mist and more water.

  In what seemed like the far distance, she heard men’s voices shouting.

  Then strong hands closed on the fabric of her uniform, and someone was dragging her back into the hold.

  “You all right, missy?” someone asked.

  “Is she all right?” someone else asked. “Is she alive?”

  With a shock, Lottie realized that none of these men, whose lives she’d just saved, and who had just saved hers, even knew her name.

  She sat up and gestured toward the hatch, struggling to get to her knees.

  “Fasten it shut,” she ordered. “We have to take off.”

  This time, she didn’t even allow herself to glance at Luke as she clambered back up to the cockpit.

  “Start her up,” Lottie said.

  With a nod, Cunningham fired the engine.

  Lottie was too exhausted to feel the strain she might have felt otherwise, with the knowledge that whether the engine worked now or not could be a matter of life and a very unpleasant death, not just for her but for Cunningham and all those men in the belly of the plane.

  She just leaned her head back on the seat behind her, listening.

  A hum.

  A whine.

  And then—a slight wobble, but that was all. It might not have been perfect, but it would fly.

  Cunningham grinned and pushed the bird forward, picking up speed.

  Lottie took a deep breath and let her eyes fall closed.

  Thirty-Three

  “YOUR DISCHARGE WILL BE immediate, Palmer,” the officer behind the glossy desk said, looking across it unsmilingly at Lottie.

  Beside her, Cunningham shifted in his seat, obviously about to burst.

  Before he could, the officer raised his hand for silence. “But it will be honorable,” he added.

  “The Navy should be giving this young lady a medal,” Cunningham growled.

  But the officer’s face remained impassive.

  “You’ll ship out tomorrow,” he told Lottie, and stood, signaling that the meeting was over. “Thank you for your service.”

  Cunningham was on his feet instantly, and in a stance that showed he was ready to fight.

  But Lottie rose slowly. It felt almost as if she were just in a dream, as if the officer and his giant, shiny desk weren’t quite real.

  They hadn’t come for her while she was still recovering from the exhaustion and minor injuries of her rescue foray. But as soon as she’d been released from the sick bay, there had been an order waiting for her, to report on her activities.

  As soon as she’d heard the tone the questions were asked in, she knew she wouldn’t be part of the WAVES much longer. But she didn’t plan to fight it. She’d already had her fight. She’d fought where it counted. And she’d left everything she had out there, on the field.

  So now she simply nodded and turned to go.

  She didn’t even give a second glance to the secretary at her desk just outside the office. All Lottie wanted now was some peace and quiet, and as soon as she got outside, she promised herself, she could have it.

  But when she came through the door, squinting slightly against the blazing Hawaii sun, she was greeted with a roar.

  A small crowd was gathered outside, with a running jeep behind them. Lottie recognized the men from the boat, grinning and cheering.

  “Recruit!” Maggie called, pushing through the crowd toward her. “I’m here to take you to your next assignment.”

  “Oh, really?” Lottie said. “And what’s that?”

  “You’re ordered to report to a party at the club,” Maggie said, stifling a smile. “We’re all going. Double time.”

  Suddenly the men from the boat rushed her, lifting her up on their shoulders with a round of cheers—and not just them but the guys from the shop, including Pickman, who cheered the loudest.

  When they put her down, Eugene was waiting in a wheelchair, a massive bouquet of flowers across his lap.

  “The florist thought this must be for a bridal bouquet,” Eugene said with a grin. “I told her it was something even better.”

  Gratefully, Lottie hugged him, the flowers smashing and giving out their lovely fragrance between them.

  The club on the beach, as it always was, was packed to the gills when they arrived. But now that the tide of the war had shifted, with the Allies racing across Europe and the balance of power in the Pacific Theater changed, the mood was different than it ever had been before. The faces were older, and maybe wiser. They bore traces of suffering and
sorrow, but they no longer carried the shadows of worry and death. They were still alive, still young—and they’d been given the gift of knowing how lucky they were just to be those two things.

  Lottie danced and laughed with the rest of them as people pressed around her with congratulations, eager to hear her tell the story one more time.

  But after they’d all been there for hours, she caught sight of someone on the other side of the club, and for an instant, everything stopped.

  There, among the laughing crowd, was Luke. She glanced around, wondering if anyone else—Pickman or any of the others—had seen him as well.

  But when her eyes fastened on the spot again, it was only an ordinary seaman—and one who didn’t look particularly like Luke to begin with.

  Lottie shook her head. While she’d been waiting for the Navy to determine her case, she’d gone to visit Luke when he was recovering with the other wounded in the hospital. But unlike Eugene, he hadn’t seemed thrilled to see her. At first she’d thought he was just too weak, but as he recovered, the distance in his eyes grew greater, until she finally got the message: he didn’t want to see her. She didn’t know the reason, even though she’d made a thousand guesses.

  Maybe the things he’d said to her before he left weren’t from the heart, but just the kinds of things men say to girls as they’re going off to war. Maybe whatever he’d seen or been through in the last battle had been too much—and there wasn’t room left for anything else.

  So eventually, she’d stopped going. Still, in this moment, she couldn’t help but think of him—and be grateful for everything he’d taught her. Thank you, she prayed silently, even as her friends laughed and celebrated around her. Whatever happened, I’m glad I had the chance to know him.

  As the sun sank into the ocean, the celebration showed no sign of stopping, despite the official disapproval of the naval powers that be. But as the light drained from the sky, Lottie slipped out on her own, with something tugging her heart back to the cove.