Peter’s forehead crashed into a rock, and he dropped the German rifle as someone grunted and pounced on his back. Peter twisted underneath the man’s weight, feeling a punch to the side of his already tender face and blinking away bright flashes of light that clouded his vision. His assailant was a large German soldier, his face twisted in rage and stained with streams of blood. He rammed his elbow into Peter’s throat, and Peter’s peripheral vision faded. Stay awake! he told himself, knowing he’d die if he lost consciousness. He gripped the knife attached to his belt and forced his hand free of his attacker, ramming the blade into the man’s neck. The patrolman gasped and gurgled his last breath as Peter pushed the corpse away.
He staggered to his feet, dizzy, in pain, angry at the situation, and worried about his friends. It was quiet—the skirmishes were over. Peter winced when he tried to put weight on his ankle. Something was wrong with it. He limped down the hill anyway, determined to see if Jamie and Moretti needed his help. He’d hobbled about twenty-five yards when they came into view. Krzysztof had joined them sometime during the fight.
Moretti let out a low whistle. “All that blood yours, sir?”
Peter glanced at his shirt—one of his shoulders was solid red, and the rest of his shirt was splattered with blood. He put a hand to his face. It was sticky, and he had a cut where his forehead had struck the rock. Still, he thought most of the blood was the patrolman’s. He shook his head, which only made him dizzy. He put a hand on a tree to steady himself and shut his eyes so the world would stop spinning. “How many did you run into?”
“Twelve,” Jamie said. “You?”
“Seven, but one of them wasn’t as dead as I thought he was.” Peter lurched closer to them, stumbling as he put weight on his left foot.
“Let me help ya, sir.” Moretti slung Peter’s arm over his shoulder, helping him toward their gear and the rest of the team.
A few steps later, Peter noticed the bloody gash along Moretti’s forearm. “What happened to your arm?”
“Grazed by a bullet. Stings like something else.”
“Did anyone else get hit?” Peter asked, noticing the grim expressions Jamie and Krzysztof wore. “Jamie?”
He shook his head. “Not us—the peasant girl. One of the Nazis shot her. She is dead.”
Peter felt sick. Less than ten minutes ago, the young woman had been laughing as Jamie flirted with her. What would have happened if they’d left her alone?
“Chesterfield and Raspolic dead or just wounded?” Moretti asked.
“As far as I know, neither.”
“Then where are they?”
Peter grunted as he put too much weight on his ankle. “Probably still huddled behind some rocks, like they were the entire engagement.”
“What?” The surprise and anger in Moretti’s voice echoed on Krzysztof’s and Jamie’s faces.
“I think they fired a few shots in the beginning, but they didn’t even bother to unpack the grenades, let alone reinforce me.”
Jamie stomped ahead of the group and stopped when he reached Chesterfield and Raspolic. He crossed his arms and glared as the final two members of the team came out from behind their shelter.
“Jolly good show, men,” Chesterfield said. “Although that last bit was rather sloppy, Lieutenant Eddy. I saw the whole thing. I don’t know why you didn’t check where you were going more carefully. Running past a body without checking to see if it’s dead—you ought to know better.”
“If you saw the whole thing, why didn’t you shoot the Kraut?” Moretti asked, his dark eyes and eyebrows conveying fierce disapproval.
Chesterfield looked startled. “Me? My marksmanship isn’t quite good enough for that distance.”
“Then why didn’t you close the distance?”
“We were protecting our supplies.”
“Why you—”
Peter grabbed Moretti’s arm before he swung at Chesterfield. “Let it go,” Peter whispered. “Let’s get your arm taken care of.”
Moretti obeyed, forcing his clenched fists open as he walked past Chesterfield and dug out the aid kit. Jamie helped him with the bandages.
Peter sat down. He was angry at Chesterfield and frustrated to be in Yugoslavia, but most of all, he was exhausted. His face throbbed, and his neck ached, and his ankle felt awful. Jamie threw him a fresh shirt, and Peter used his handkerchief and canteen to wash the blood off his face.
“We need to move on,” Chesterfield said, stroking his mustache.
He had a good point—the nineteen German corpses would be missed, and if the team was still around when the next patrol came, they’d be in trouble again.
“We can leave after I wrap Lieutenant Eddy’s ankle.” Moretti knelt next to Peter.
Chesterfield’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t object. “Nelson, up the hill and keep watch. Zielinski, pack our gear.”
“Guess he finally learned the benefit of keeping a lookout,” Moretti mumbled under his breath.
“Better late than never,” Peter said.
Chesterfield stepped closer, straining to hear them. “What was that, Sergeant?”
“I was just telling Lieutenant Eddy how many ankles I’ve wrapped since Sicily. Paratrooping can be rough on the joints.” Moretti lied easily as he examined Peter’s ankle and wrapped it tightly before replacing Peter’s boot.
“Finally ready?” Chesterfield asked as Peter got to his feet. Peter clenched his teeth to keep from lashing out. Finally ready? If you had listened to my advice, we wouldn’t have gotten into this mess in the first place.
“Should we bury that civilian?” Moretti asked.
Chesterfield rolled his eyes. “Serbian scum. She shouldn’t have been there in the first place. We can’t wait.”
“She was Croatian, actually,” Jamie said. “And this is her country. Why shouldn’t she be out in the woods? Civilians have to eat the same as you and me. Not much food left in most villages.”
“Are you questioning my orders?” Chesterfield said.
Jamie gave Chesterfield his most charming smile. “In this case, I happen to agree with you. I think it best her family finds her. If we bury her, they will never know what happened.”
“Then move out,” Chesterfield said. “Sergeant, you take point.”
Peter slung his gear onto his back. Moretti’s wrappings helped, but his ankle still hurt as he limped forward.
Chesterfield eyed him. “If you fail to keep up, Lieutenant, you will be left behind. The same holds true for you, Kapral.”
Jamie stood only a few feet from Chesterfield. He dropped his gear, grabbed Chesterfield by his collar, and slammed his back into a nearby tree trunk. Raspolic brought out his pistol, but Moretti disarmed him in two seconds flat. Raspolic said something in protest, but it was in Serbo-Croat, and Jamie didn’t bother to translate.
“Let me make a few things perfectly clear.” Jamie’s voice was calm, his face inches from Chesterfield’s. “The only reason we are in this mess is because you failed to heed Peter’s advice to take the high ground, where you would have been able to see what was happening. And the only reason Sergeant Moretti and Lieutenant Eddy are injured is because we came to rescue you after you got yourself into an untenable position. So if we are to leave anyone behind, it will be you because you are useless in a fight, useless when it comes to protecting us, and useless when it comes to leading us. You are both incompetent and cowardly, and I’ll not obey your orders unless I agree with them. Nor will Sergeant Moretti or Kapral Zielinski or Lieutenant Eddy.”
Chesterfield opened his mouth as if to protest. Jamie slammed him into the trunk again, and not even Raspolic moved to stop him. “Here is how the rest of the mission will proceed, you ‘foul-spoken coward, that thund’rest with thy tongue, and with thy weapon nothing dar’st perform.’ Should you wish us to do anything at all, you will say, ‘Lieutenant Eddy, sir, would it be all right if we set out now,’ or ‘Lieutenant Eddy, sir, would it be all right if we camped now.’ Furthermore, if you see or hear any of us in danger, you will come to our aid, even if it involves risking your pitiful neck. And should anything happen to Lieutenant Eddy, you will defer to Sergeant Moretti, then Kapral Zielinski. And should anything happen to all of them, I will either shoot you or abandon you. Do you understand, Lieutenant Chesterfield?”
Chesterfield was pale when Jamie released his collar, but he nodded.
“Then let’s have a practice run, shall we?”
Chesterfield pushed himself from the tree, cowed into submission as Jamie, Krzysztof, and Moretti all glared at him. “Lieutenant Eddy, sir, is it permissible for us to move out now?”
Peter nodded, then trudged along for the next two hours. He was tired, his face hurt, and the pain in his ankle kept getting worse. He hated hospitals, but right then, he’d give just about anything to be in the one in Bari, where he could put his foot up and Genevieve could run her fingers through his hair and hum a song until he fell asleep. He stifled a yawn. She wouldn’t even get through a verse before he’d drift off.