In Perfect Time

by Sarah Sundin

  She marched to the door, to Lieutenant Lambert. “May I take a walk? Please? I’m desperate for fresh air.”

  Lambert exchanged a glance with the ward nurse, then nodded.

  A sigh flooded out of Kay, and she strode down the hallway. Another sigh of relief that none of her friends joined her.

  Right outside the hospital building, Kay stopped to drink in the unsterilized, unmedicated air. Where to? Mussolini’s Mostra Fairgrounds outside Naples had been converted into a large American hospital complex, complete with a medical supply depot and a blood bank. Giant colorful murals trumpeted the joys of fascism, but were now defaced by GI graffiti.

  “Kay?”

  The masculine voice made her heart jump briefly, but it didn’t belong to Roger.

  No, it belonged to Capt. Frank Maxwell. A grin covered his handsome face, and he held out one hand for a handshake.

  She didn’t take it. “Good afternoon, Captain.”

  “I’ll say. I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you.”

  Kay crossed her arms over her bathrobe. Why would he be happy to see her? And why wasn’t he dashing inside to see Vera? Two weeks had passed without a sign of him. Sure, the 802nd was based all the way up in Siena, but they flew to Naples almost daily.

  “Is Vera . . . how is she?”

  She was frantic with worry that her lover had forgotten her. “She’ll be thrilled to see you.” Venom leaked into her voice.

  “I’m . . . I’m not going in. I just need to make sure she’s all right, deliver a letter.”

  “A letter?”

  He pulled an envelope from inside his service jacket, his cheeks twitching.

  Kay narrowed her eyes at the man. “Let me guess. You’re going back to your wife.”

  Maxwell’s gaze jerked up to her, then darted around, making him look like the rat he was. “Well . . .”

  “You found someone else.” The venom tasted vile on her tongue.

  He pressed his lips together and held out the letter. “Please, just give her the letter.”

  “I’ll do no such thing.” Kay marched away. “Tell her yourself. Tell her cheaters cheat. That’s what they do. That’s what they always do.”

  “Kay . . .” Defeat tinged his voice.

  She marched around the corner under the gray overcast.

  Why did a rat like Maxwell walk this earth in freedom when good men like Roger Cooper didn’t?

  Northern Apennines

  February 8, 1945

  Roger paced the snowy mountaintop in dwindling light, drumming the air.

  Captain Anselmo sat before his SSTR-N1 radio set. He tuned dials and flipped switches and adjusted cables between the battery, power supply, transmitter, and receiver. The parts were designed to be carried inconspicuously by one man, some parts under his coat and one concealed in a fake loaf of bread.

  Roger glanced at his watch—1802. Anselmo was supposed to contact Naples at 1800. “Got a signal yet?”

  “No,” he said in a crisp, annoyed tone. “Might have to move you to a new spot, try again tomorrow.”

  “Or stash me in Genoa until the US Fifth Army marches in.”

  “No. I run too many operations. I can’t take the risk of having you there. You stand out.”

  Roger tapped a paradiddle on a tree. “Then let me help the partisans. I can’t sit around and do nothing.”

  “No. You’re under strict orders from your commanders not to get involved.”

  He huffed and whacked a branch, sending down a shower of snow. “So I’m supposed to sit around and wait for the Germans to find me and execute me, or for the Communists to get fed up and do it themselves, so they can throw the Nazis off their trail.”

  “Hush. I’ve got it.” Anselmo pressed the headphone to his ear and wrote on a notepad.

  Nervous energy propelled the drumsticks, slicing the air. It had taken two weeks for Maria to find Anselmo and for Anselmo to find Roger. The OSS man brought the great news that the rest of his party had escaped to Leghorn. Kay was safe.

  This was Roger’s first opportunity to get a message to the outside world. He had to keep his drumsticks quiet so signals could be heard.

  As Anselmo tapped on the transmitter, a tiny lightbulb flashed on and off. Then he wrote on his notepad, decoding the message. He frowned and rubbed the back of his neck. “Verify Cooper sing sing sing?”

  “Huh?”

  “That’s the final part of the message. They received the message that I found you, but they want to verify it’s you. That’s standard. Now we have to figure out the puzzle.”

  “Sing, sing, sing? Like the song?”

  “The song?”

  “Yeah. Big Benny Goodman hit—‘Sing, Sing, Sing.’ ”

  “Of course. That’s it. They want to prove you’re an American and know the song. The response they’re looking for—it’s ‘Benny Goodman.’ ” Anselmo slipped on his headphones and flipped the switch to transmit.

  Something squirmed inside. “Wait. It’s too easy, too obvious. It was a huge hit. Even the Germans might know it.”

  Wrinkles etched Anselmo’s brow. “You’re right. Why would they ask that?”

  Roger paced to the tree and rapped out a drumroll. “They want to prove it’s me, right? Not just any American, but me.”

  “Right.”

  He wheeled around. “Krupa. The answer’s Krupa.”

  “What?”

  Roger marched back. “Veerman’s on the other end. He knows I’m a drummer. He wants the name of the drummer in ‘Sing, Sing, Sing,’ and it’s Krupa. Gene Krupa.”

  “Yes.” Anselmo’s eyes lit up, and he scribbled on his pad.

  Roger glanced over his shoulder to make sure he spelled the name right.

  For the next few minutes, Anselmo tapped and scribbled and coded and decoded, and Roger couldn’t stop grinning.

  They’d gotten through. Maybe they’d try to get him out of here, get him back to his crew, to Kay.

  If he could send her a message right now, what would he tell her? That he missed her more than a hot meal, clean water, flush toilets, and a mattress? That he loved her more than any human being he’d ever known? That life felt incomplete without her?

  A joyful sense of purpose filled his lungs. Perhaps he’d tell her he wanted to take a risk.

  42

  Northern Apennines

  February 13, 1945

  Once again, Roger crouched by the edge of a makeshift landing field right before sunrise. Once again, Captain Anselmo held the last signal panels, waiting until all was clear. Once again, Roger prayed the plane would land.

  Enrico squatted beside him. “I’ll miss you, Ruggero.”

  “You can come with me. There’s room.”

  The boy shook his head. “My work is here.”

  Roger handed him a scrap of paper. “My Army address and my parents’ address. Write me when this whole thing’s over.”

  “I will.” Enrico stared at the paper, and his cheeks puckered.

  Roger clapped him on the back before the kid could start crying.

  Engine sounds arose to the east, beautiful American engine sounds. Anselmo held the orange cloth and didn’t move, and Roger scanned in all directions. Any minute now the crash of partisan feet through the underbrush could kill this dream.

  But no one came, and the planes grew nearer. Anselmo ran out onto the field, laid down the cloth, then ran back to Roger. “I don’t need to tell you to make it fast.”

  “No, you don’t.” He held out his hand. “Thanks for everything. I’ll never be able to thank you enough.”

  Anselmo shook his hand hard. “Aw, scram. I’m tired of being your nanny.”

  Roger smiled and glanced up. A C-47 passed by, plus half a dozen P-51 Mustang fighter planes. “They sent the cavalry.”

  “Sure did.”

  The C-47 turned for the approach. It was going to land. The ordeal was actually over. After almost three months, it was over.

  The plane rushed down
the field, and the wheels touched. Roger stood and saluted Enrico and Anselmo, his throat thick. As soon as the plane stopped, he sprinted onto the field, to the open cargo door. Propwash kicked up dirt and snow, and Roger gripped his hat, turned his face from the assault.

  He hoisted himself up through the cargo door. Two pairs of hands dragged him inside, and he lay flat on his stomach, panting, his palms flat on the cool, American-made floor.

  Someone shut the cargo door and shouted down the length of the plane. “Let’s get out of here.”

  The plane pivoted, the engines roared, and they jostled down the field.

  Roger grabbed the pole on the floor that the flight nurses used to secure the litters. Might as well lie still until after takeoff.

  “Another prank from Lieutenant Cooper. Making us fly all the way up here to pluck you from trouble, huh?”

  That was Major Veerman, mock outrage in his voice.

  Roger laughed. He laughed so hard, the cold metal floor hurt his ribs. He switched hands, rolled onto his back, and grinned up at his CO. “You know I can’t resist a prank, sir.”

  “I see you’re out of uniform, yet again. Where’s your cap, Lieutenant?”

  “Stuffed in a bread oven in some little village.”

  “And that scruffy beard. Don’t know why I bother.” But the grin on Veerman’s face said otherwise. He held out a hand and helped Roger up into a bucket seat. “Hungry?”

  “You have . . . food?” Longing filled his voice.

  “Sandwich and coffee sound good?” Veerman handed him a paper-wrapped bundle and a Thermos.

  “Good?” Roger ripped off the paper. He smelled ham and cheese and butter and mustard and bread. “Sounds great.”

  “Go slowly. Your crew overdid it and made themselves sick, most of the nurses too.”

  The sandwich stopped three inches before his mouth. “They’re really safe? All of them?”

  “Yes, all safe, thanks to you.”

  Roger sagged back against the fuselage wall, and his eyes flopped shut. “No. Thanks to God. Thanks to the OSS and the partisans and the whole group working together.”

  “With the right man in charge.”

  He shrugged and took a bite of the sandwich. The swirl of familiar but strange flavors overwhelmed his taste buds. He swallowed, and the bite plunked into his empty stomach. “Where are they? My crew? The nurses?”

  “They’re all at the same hospital outside Naples, where we’re taking you now.”

  In a couple of hours, Lord willing, he’d be in Naples. “Can I see them today?”

  “Probably. The physicians and intelligence officers will want some time with you, of course.” He sniffed. “But first you need a bath.”

  “No kidding.” He laughed at Veerman’s wrinkled-up nose, the same look his sisters used to give him when he came in the house covered in mud. He definitely wanted a bath and a shave and a clean set of clothes before he saw Kay.

  Kay. His chest felt light and cool. Today. Today he’d see her.

  “Let me fill you in on some of the plans.”

  “All right.” Roger bit into his sandwich.

  Veerman crossed his ankle over his knee. “You’ll have a week or two in the hospital for interrogation and recuperation.”

  A week or two with Kay. He drank coffee straight from the Thermos, had to stop himself from drinking too much, too fast.

  “Then we’ll fly you home. You’ll have a two-week furlough at home, and then . . . well, I’ll let the Public Relations officers brief you on the rest. You’ll like a furlough at home, won’t you?”

  “Yeah. Swell.” Two whole weeks at the Cooper farm? His family probably hadn’t even noticed he’d gone missing.

  He took another swig of coffee. That wasn’t fair. Even if he’d disappointed his family, they did love him.

  “Your family’s in Iowa, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Any chance you could get over to Chicago for a day or two?”

  “Sure. Why?” Another bite of sandwich.

  Veerman crossed his arms over his leather flight jacket. “My brother’s there. He wants to audition you.”

  Roger almost choked. He chewed and swallowed. “Audition? Me? Now?”

  “I knew you’d like that.”

  “Sir, I—I’m grateful, of course. But I haven’t touched a drum in three months. I haven’t sat behind a full drum set in almost a year.”

  “He’ll take that into consideration. He loves the idea of having a war hero in the band, especially since I told him how dependable you are.”

  Roger turned the triangle of sandwich in his hands. “Thank you, sir.”

  He’d done it. He’d achieved his goal. He’d prayed, and God had given it to him. A gift.

  Roger opened his sandwich, closed it, chomped off a bite. Why did his heart feel heavy? Wasn’t this what he’d always wanted?

  Yeah, but deep inside, he hoped God wanted him to be a teacher. Maybe even to get married and have a family and a home.

  But he didn’t. He wanted Roger to be a drummer.

  What was wrong with that? Roger sat taller and chugged some coffee. Nothing was wrong with that. Drumming was a fine dream. A fine dream.

  45th General Hospital

  Kay filed into an office in the hospital building with Lieutenant Lambert, Georgie, Mellie, and Mike Elroy. Major Barkley stood behind a desk with an officer Kay hadn’t met before—handsome, in his thirties, smooth sandy hair, tan complexion, no wedding ring.

  Just the kind of man Kay would have liked back when . . . back when she wasn’t in love with Roger Cooper.

  “Yes, yes.” Barkley scanned the group with a smile. “Perfect.”

  “Have a seat, ladies . . . Lieutenant.” The other officer gestured to five chairs.

  “Yes, pardon my manners.” Barkley came from behind the desk. “May I introduce Capt. Don Sellers, who will be assisting me.”

  “Good afternoon.” He nodded, his gaze lingering on Kay.

  She turned her gaze to Barkley instead, settled in her seat, and pulled the bathrobe over her pajama-clad knees. When on earth would they be allowed to wear real clothes again?

  Major Barkley stopped in front of Mike. “The congenial, clean-cut pilot.”

  “Copilot, sir.”

  “Humble too. Excellent. Crowds will love you.” He scooted in front of Mellie. “You’re the one with the father in the Japanese prison camp, right?”

  “Not anymore, sir.” Mellie’s wide smile broke free. “The US Rangers liberated Santo Tomas. I received a telegram the other day. He’s on his way to Pearl Harbor to recover.”

  “Still a great story—the plucky nurse serving her country while her beloved father was locked up by the Japs. The little old ladies will open up their wallets.”

  Their wallets? Kay and Georgie frowned at each other.

  Barkley moved down. “And cute, perky Georgie Taylor with the cute, perky Southern accent. The ladies will consider you their new best friend. And then . . .” His eyes gleamed and locked on Kay. “Then we have our bombshell. The fellows will buy bonds by the fistful.”

  “I’m a nurse, not a . . . Did you say bonds?”

  “Pardon my colleague, ladies.” Captain Sellers leaned against the wall, his long legs crossed at the ankle. “He enjoys his job a bit too much. And yes, Lieutenant Jobson, he did say bonds. War bonds.”

  Kay sank back in her seat. They were going on a war bond tour. How long would that last? How long until she could go to the chief nurse school?

  Sellers lit a cigarette and tucked the lighter back in his pocket. “You have to understand the situation at home. The Battle of the Bulge was bad for morale. The war is far from over, and the American people are tired. They’re tired of war, tired of rationing, tired of giving. But you people will capture their attention. The Army is sending you on a bond tour after a two-week furlough. You’ll have luxury accommodations all across the country.”

  Georgie chewed on her lower lip. “I’d
rather stay here and serve as a nurse.”

  “I’m sorry.” Lieutenant Lambert leaned forward in her chair to see Georgie. “That isn’t an option. Army policy states that anyone who’s been behind enemy lines cannot remain in the theater.”

  Mellie let out a deep sigh, and Kay gave her friends sympathetic looks. Of course they’d prefer to stay on the same continent as their men.

  Lambert straightened her skirt. “The other three girls need more time in the hospital, so they can’t go.”

  “They’ll miss out.” Major Barkley gripped his hands over his protruding belly. “Just think. A whole month of fancy dinners in Washington DC, adoring crowds in Oklahoma, lounging on the California beach. You’ll have the time of your life.”

  A whole month. Plus two weeks furlough. Plus travel time. Kay’s plans turned to dust. “When do we leave?”

  Captain Sellers angled a puff of cigarette smoke toward the ceiling. “Not for another two weeks at least. We need to wait until . . .” He turned to Barkley.

  The major glanced at his watch. “I can tell you now. We need to wait for the fifth member of your party—your pilot, Lieutenant Cooper.”

  “Roger?” Kay’s hand fluttered to her mouth. “He’s alive?”

  Lieutenant Lambert gave her a soft smile. “I was just notified today.”

  “The Twelfth Air Force flew in a rescue mission this morning,” Barkley said. “They arrived at Capodichino Airfield about two hours ago.”

  He was alive? He was in Naples? Kay’s breath puffed through her fingers in quick, incredulous bursts.

  “I knew it.” Mike laughed and slapped the armrest of his chair. “I knew he’d make it. Good old Coop.”

  “Thank you, Lord,” Georgie said.

  Yes, thank you, Lord. Kay stood on wobbly legs. “I have to see him. I have to see him now.”

  43

  Roger brushed the nurse’s hands away. “I can button my own pajamas.”

  “Sorry, sir. It’s hospital policy.”

  “Not my policy.” Sitting on the edge of the bed, he twisted his shoulders away from her and buttoned up the pajama top. Clean cloth against a clean body for the first time in three months. With a close shave and brushed teeth, he almost felt like himself again.