No Neutral Ground: A World War II Romance (Promise for Tomorrow Book 2)

by Terri Wangard

  Cal chewed and chewed before gulping down his bite. “I don’t think they took the time to slaughter the cow first. It’s way too tough and grainy.” He drained his coffee cup and shoved the meat away. “When I saw corned beef on the menu, I had visions of deli cuts on rye, smothered with mustard. Only thing that’s good for is to use as a door stop.”

  Warning noted. Rafe pushed aside his own portion.

  “When we left New York this morning, we were flanked by destroyers, battleships and a whole mess of liberty ships.” Cal sliced a roll into equal halves. “Blimps and planes flew over the whole convoy.”

  “And a couple hours later, they’re way behind and we’re on our own.” Alan leaned back as a server poured his coffee. “I wonder if being on a merchant ship in that convoy wouldn’t be better. There’s safety in numbers. I don’t like being out here all alone.”

  The ship lurched and a limp green bean fell off Rafe’s fork. “The Queen’s speed makes us safer than being in a slow convoy. This constant zigzagging will keep any U-boat from getting into firing position, although if one’s ahead of us, I don’t see why a good commander couldn’t anticipate our turns.” He speared the bean, and resumed eating. “Those convoys will take twice as long to reach England. I prefer the shorter trip.”

  Steve and his new friend pulled up chairs to join them. “Say, how’d you like that squall we went through a couple hours ago?”

  “I didn’t. The stench in our room is bad enough without adding fresh vomit.”

  Cal laughed and patted Rafe’s shoulder. “Aw, Rafe. You look good in green.”

  Steve eyed his navigator with a quirked brow. “According to one of the ship’s officers, that was nothing. This time of year we can expect storms a lot worse.”

  Rafe stabbed his fork into his potatoes. That kind of news he could do without.

  Rock a bye, baby. Watch me get sick.

  The North Atlantic

  Thursday, March 2, 1944

  Immediately after breakfast, Jennie headed for Rafe’s spot at the railing on the Boat Deck. He wasn’t there. She looked back and forth along the deck. Yes, this was the right place. Maybe he was at breakfast now, or waiting for the next shift. She’d wait right here. She had nothing else to do.

  The brilliant blue of the sky and shimmering glitter of the ocean hurt her eyes. The wind generated by their movement tossed her hair about and stung her cheeks. With her face turned into the breeze, each breath caused her nose to prickle and tempted her to sneeze. Ordinarily she didn’t consider herself claustrophobic, but the crush of people aboard the ship caused a yearning for wide open spaces. The endless ocean soothed that desire.

  After yesterday’s grayness, today was sharply in focus. Too bad she hadn’t brought her sketch pad out with her. Once again, crowds of men cluttered the deck, but she ignored most of them. One young soldier stood ramrod stiff at the railing. His eyes stared straight ahead. He could easily be the subject of a Norman Rockwell painting. Young recruit scared witless. Jennie studied him carefully, memorizing every detail to create her own rendition.

  “Maybe he stood her up.”

  “No, sirree. He wouldn’t do that.”

  Jennie frowned. Who was talking about whom? She looked around. Standing pressed together in a semi-circle surrounding her were six young men who looked vaguely familiar.

  “We’re from the Coolidge crew.” One of them raised his cap. “Where’s Lieutenant Martell?”

  Ah, yes. Rafe’s crewmen. “Hello, boys. I don’t know where your lieutenant is, but I expect he’ll be along shortly.”

  The boy with the big smile nodded. “We’ll be glad to chaperone you.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Yeah,” answered one with a hint of a swagger. “We know the dames are only interested in officers.”

  The boy two spaces over reached around to head-slap him.

  “Uh, sorry, ma’am. The ladies don’t look twice at us poor souls.”

  She could be amused or outraged at their audacity. Better yet, here was her chance to learn more about Rafe’s world. “What about your other officers?”

  “Aw, Lieutenant Coolidge is a stiff.”

  “Lieutenant Ellerbee’s always disappearing.”

  “And Lieutenant Downing’s always writing to his gem of a wife.”

  “Yeah, Ruuuby.”

  Jennie burst out laughing and the six young men tightened their circle, adoration in their eyes.

  “Atten—hut!”

  The six snapped to attention before wilting when they recognized the officer who stepped into their presence.

  “We were just keeping your lady company until you came, Lieutenant Martell.”

  “Yeah, so nobody else would move in on her.”

  “How very thoughtful you are.” Rafe eased next to Jennie. “Good morning.” He pitched his voice low, but it was a sure bet all his crewmen heard.

  A box tucked under his left arm rattled. When the crewmen didn’t budge from their spots, he sighed. “Jennie, may I present Mickey, our engineer and top turret gunner.”

  The swaggerer. He grabbed her hand and shook it hard enough to rattle her teeth.

  “Harold, our radio operator.” With his big hands and big feet, he resembled a puppy before his growth spurt.

  “George is our left waist gunner and Carlo is at right waist.” One was blond and the other dark, but otherwise they could have been twins as they bobbed their heads in unison.

  “Rusty is our ball turret gunner.” The little guy had enough attitude to make up for his lack of stature.

  “And Dan is our tail gunner.” The eternal smile. He, too, reached for her hand, but not to shake it. He tried to kiss it. Rafe slapped his hand away. Even that failed to diminish his smile.

  “Now, how about running along and finding something to do?”

  “There’s nothing to do on this tub,” Rusty whined.

  “Sure there is.” Rafe shoved his box into Mickey’s hands. “Here, this is from the Red Cross’ recreation hall. You’re responsible for seeing none of the pieces are lost.”

  “Why me?”

  “I signed it out in your name.”

  “Chinese checkers?”

  “Oh, swell. He gets the dame and we get marbles.”

  “Where’s the rec hall?”

  The crewmen moved off, arguing about who got what color marbles.

  Rafe looked around at the horde surrounding them. He smiled. “Alone at last.”

  Jennie laughed as they turned their backs to the crowd and faced the ocean. “They remind me of a batch of puppies eager to play. Your boys idolize you.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “It’s in their eyes. And you’re accessible.” No need to mention the suggestion of chaperoning. “They really are boys. They look like they should still be in high school.”

  “True. They’re all eighteen or nineteen. Most of them have never been anywhere, were still living at home, and probably never expected to leave their home state. They make me feel ancient.”

  Jennie eyed him sidelong. “And you’re their big brother who will be looking out for them.”

  Rafe groaned, and she laughed.

  An alarm sounded. The Royal Navy gunners raced for the ship’s six-inch gun and swiveled it. And fired.

  Jennie clutched her chest where her heart threatened a coronary. She whirled seaward and grabbed the railing as the ship vibrated. “I don’t see anything. Who are they firing at?”

  “No one. They’re just drilling. It’s a test to make sure it’s in working order and the crew stays sharp.”

  “Well, they ought to announce it’s only a test.”

  Rafe grinned. “They did, in the Daily Orders.”

  “Oh. We’re supposed to read those notices, aren’t we?” She scanned the waves. Could a submarine be nearby, watching them from a periscope? She wrapped herself tightly in her arms. “So many ghastly ways of dying in a war. I’d like a painless death.”

  “
Go to sleep one night and not wake up?”

  “Yes. Is that too much to ask?” She ought to bite her tongue. Yesterday, the sleeping arrangements had prompted a complaint. Now she voiced another whiny complaint when he was the one headed for battle. She laughed too brightly. “The booming of the gun probably scared away any porpoises.”

  He too scanned the ocean’s surface. “You’re hoping to see some wildlife?” Passing soldiers bumped against him. “Other than what’s on board with us?”

  “Someone once told me about her voyage from England. About strolling along the decks and quiet conversation on lounge chairs. A dip in the pool, which had waves of its own. English tea time in the afternoon. But this voyage, what do we do for six days? I had to pack light, so I didn’t bring any amusements other than my sketch pad.”

  “Welcome to the military life. Hurry up and wait.” Rafe glanced across the deck. “The lounge chairs are gone and strolling would be akin to an obstacle course. The pool’s been drained for the duration. However, they do serve tea at four o’clock in the lounge.”

  He snapped his fingers. “Say, do you like to read? Alan told me a big supply of books is onboard for distribution to servicemen. A lot of time in war is spent sitting around with nothing to do and these books have proven to be a popular diversion in Europe and the Pacific.”

  Jennie nearly clapped her hands. Rafe couldn’t spend all his time with her, and a book or two would fill many hours. “I did see someone reading a book in the chow line yesterday. But I’m not military.”

  He shrugged and extended a hand. “You’ll be working with a military staff. Let’s go find them.”

  #

  They met again later in the day and headed for afternoon tea. Many of the nurses were there, paired off with officers, and a few waved to Jennie. Rafe watched the waiters pour tea into dainty tea cups balanced on little saucers. Imagine his crewmates here, elegantly sipping tea. He nearly laughed out loud.

  He’d never had tea in his life, but how different could it be from having coffee? He took a sip and nearly gagged. Must be an acquired taste.

  Someone was watching him. He glanced up and his gaze collided with that of England’s King George in a portrait. He sat up straighter.

  “You said you have a brother and a sister?” Jennie offered him a reprieve from the monarch’s censure.

  “Yes, both younger.”

  “Ah, so you have practice at being an older brother. That explains your concern for your crew.”

  Her eyes sparkled with humor until she sipped her tea. Then they blinked rapidly. “Would it be rude to ask for sugar? Or do you suppose it’s not available for tea due to rationing?”

  Rafe chuckled. When a waiter brought by a cart of tea service paraphernalia, he joined her in adding a pinch of sugar to his cup. Easing back in his chair, he sampled the sweetened tea and eyed Jennie over his cup. She wore a navy dress with contrasting bands of bold lime green and turquoise around the bodice. The colors served as the perfect foil for her long blonde hair tinged with that hint of red. Curls framed her face. Truly, she was a vision of loveliness.

  Her brows rose and a blush stained her cheeks. He’d been staring.

  “What will you be doing in Sweden?”

  Her cup rattled in the saucer as she placed them on the low table before them. “I am going to experience life in a foreign country.” She sat back and laughed. “You look surprised. With the world at war, it’s a strange time to go gallivanting across a war zone.” She folded her hands and studied them. “I worked at the art museum in Chicago for a year until they made staff cuts. Last hired, first fired.”

  She looked up and pasted on a smile. “Dad never cared for the idea of me being alone while he and Mom are halfway around the world. I have a brother, Tom, but he’s off in the Coast Guard. Besides, Dad’s a firm believer in a quote from Augustine. ‘The world is a book and those who do not travel read only one page.’ This will widen my world.” She reclaimed her tea and sipped. “When an office assistant became necessary, Dad signed me up.”

  Rafe managed to finish his tea. He set aside the cup and balanced the spoon across the top. The waiters should understand he wouldn’t welcome a refill.

  “You’re close to your parents?”

  “Oh, yes. Mom says I’m a Daddy’s girl, and I suppose I am. He’s always taken pride in my artistic ability and paid my way through art school. Mom and I get along well too, even if she’s clueless about art. For every painting I’ve done, she says, “That’s nice, dear.’”

  Her bright laughter brought a smile to his lips but apparently not to his eyes. Her laughter died. “Are you not close to your parents?”

  “Mom’s great.” He sighed and ran a hand down his pant leg before meeting her eyes. “But I think I hate my father.”

  “Stupid, stupid, stupid.” Jennie tapped the spine of the book against her hand as she inched toward the dining hall with some of the nurses.

  “Goodness, Jennie, if that book is so bad, don’t bother reading any more of it.” Petite Lorraine didn’t seem a likely candidate to endure the rough conditions an army nurse would surely face, but she was Jennie’s favorite roommate.

  Ann twisted a lock of blue-black hair around a finger. “I wish I could have brought some books, but my suitcase is stuffed tight. Add a sheet of paper and it wouldn’t close.”

  Jennie held up her book. “I got this onboard yesterday from the Armed Services Edition collection. And I am enjoying it.” She shrugged. “Just flaying myself for some thoughtless words.”

  Ellie tilted the book to read the title. “Oh, The Robe. I’ve wanted to read this. Where are the books located?”

  “What else is available?”

  “Who is that delectable officer I saw you with? Was he the recipient of your thoughtless words?”

  Jennie laughed and tried to answer all their questions. “The books are available in the Red Cross lounge one deck down from the Boat Deck. They have lots of mysteries, westerns, popular bestsellers, nonfiction. I even saw copies of Walter Lippmann’s U.S. Foreign Policy and Homer’s The Odyssey. Rafe’s a B-17 navigator. And yes, he must think I’m a real dreamer.”

  Not that he’d given any indication. But why, when he admitted to hating his father, did she have to insist he didn’t mean that?

  Because the very idea of hating her own father was outrageous, that’s why. Their minister back in Chicago would have offered a beautifully worded response about the need for forgiveness and familial harmony. And if she’d been in Rafe’s shoes, she would have walked away from the trite retort. The dynamics of Rafe’s family situation were beyond her comprehension, and no bandage answer could cure it. He had mentioned when they met that his father divorced them.

  She stroked the cover of her book. His selections had been a surprise. Oh, Mark Twain’s A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court made sense. As he said, he’d be in King Arthur’s land. But a book of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s poems? Biography of the Earth suggested an interest in science, a more commendable choice than the western novels under debate by two soldiers too young to shave. She tuned back in to the nurses’ remarks.

  “Better be careful with him, Jennie. Those bomber crews don’t have good life expectancy.”

  “Oh, Ann, that’s a terrible thing to say.” Lorraine turned to Jennie. “I’ve heard the increase in fighter planes is doing a fine job of protecting the bombers.”

  Jennie forced a smile. Lots of bombers were still being shot down, but two days of conversation with Rafe didn’t exactly point to a long-term relationship. She wouldn’t object though. If only she knew a cure for the pain in his heart.

  Midway through their meal, the ship shuddered and the distant boom of an explosion sent shock waves through them. Ann froze with her coffee cup poised before her lips. Ellie’s fork clattered onto her plate. Lorraine’s face turned white. Jennie gulped down a mouthful of carrots before she choked on them.

  Ellie jumped up and grabbed her Mae West hanging fro
m the back of her chair. “We have to get to the lifeboats.”

  A passing server hesitated beside her. “Please stay calm and finish your meal, miss. The Klaxon alarm hasn’t sounded, so we’re fine. Enjoy your dinner.”

  The women looked around at each other. Jennie pushed her plate away. Enjoy her dinner? When it might be her last?

  #

  Rafe stared through his sextant.

  “So, do you know where we are?” Alan’s hand remained poised to jot down Rafe’s findings.

  “Yes. We’re further north than you’ve ever been before.” Rafe grinned as he reached for the notepad and slanted it up to catch the moonlight. “We’re just south of the western edge of Greenland.”

  “How can you tell with that thing?”

  Rafe turned to the frowning face of their waist gunner, George. In the press of humanity aboard ship, how did these guys always manage to find him, and in the dark? “This thing,” he held up the sextant, “measures the angle between celestial bodies―you know, stars?―and the horizon. That angle relates to the distance between the star’s geographic position and our position. Are you with me?” He had to bite his lip to avoid laughing at the blank expressions on the gunners’ faces.

  “I thought we won’t be flying at night. What good is it if you can’t see the stars?” Rusty could be counted on to grumble.

  Dan smiled. “We’ll take your word for it. Where’s the boss?”

  Alan waved a hand forward. “He and Ellerbee are visiting with friends in the Red Area.”

  “They’re in the Red Area?” Mickey sounded incensed. “I thought we weren’t allowed to leave the White Area. Or is that an officer privilege?”

  This guy had a chip on his shoulder, but the cause remained a mystery. “We’re all restricted to the White Area. Coolidge and Ellerbee are at the edge of the White Area, and the friends are at the edge of the Red.”