Chapter Thirty-Four

He’d been in camp almost a month before he learned about sending mail.

He stood outside one of the cook houses reading the prison newspaper tacked to the wall. The news had been transcribed from the BBC broadcasts received on secret radio sets hidden somewhere in the vast array of prison compounds. Ted hadn’t been around long enough to know the secret inner-workings of the camp’s news service. He only knew that at least once per week, new reports were circulated throughout the camp and posted on the cook house wall.

A couple of prisoners stood nearby talking about letters. At first Ted thought they meant letters they received. When he realized they meant they were writing letters, Ted went over and asked them.

“Someone in your combine should have told you. You can write up to four letters or cards a month, but they have to be on these special forms.” He held up a postcard-like form with printing on it. “Or they have some folding letter forms you can send.”

Ted went in search of these elusive forms while making a mental note to speak with Lynch about his failure to tell Ted about the mail system. He tried to tamp down his anger. He knew it would do no good. The men in his combine still didn’t trust him. And getting mad at them wouldn’t help the situation. But he wouldn’t let it slide. Writing to Kitty and his family meant too much to him.

He assumed his grandparents and his mother had been notified by now that he was a prisoner. They knew he was alive, but Kitty didn’t. She would have figured out by now that his plane was shot down. But that’s all. She probably thought he was dead.

The idea of her grieving for him brought an ache to his heart. She’d been so upset when her brother was wounded. And even though he wasn’t her brother, they’d been close. Very close.

It had all happened so fast. He ran the memories of those few days over and over in his head. God, how he missed her. How he wanted her, just to see her, hold her.

The memory of that day on the beach flashed before him. That beautiful face surrounded by a halo of hair. The sense of safety and belonging he’d experienced when he saw her, like he’d finally come home. For years he believed that vision and that feeling had been a dream. Until she reappeared, in the flesh. A quirky, self-conscious girl with an inner strength and a special glow about her. He’d felt the same sense of coming home when he held her in his arms.

If they only let him write one postcard, he knew it had to be to her.

And he’d keep writing her until she answered.

Guys who’d been here for a long time occasionally got mail. If he wrote her, she’d write him back. He was certain.

****

In the boredom of the camp, Ted spent more time thinking than ever before. He preferred action. Action accomplished something. Action kept his mind occupied and his body fit. Thinking could creep into worry and worry accomplished nothing. It only led to obsession about things that he had no control over. So he worked to control his thinking, worked to stay in reality and focus on what he could control.

Yet he indulged himself in thoughts of Kitty. Reliving in his mind every second he had spent with her. Imagining the feel of her skin, the softness of her hair, the scent of her body.

Another prisoner warned him that he’d go crazy thinking about women. But Kitty wasn’t ‘women.’ She was his woman, and not just that, she was his other half, the part of his soul that had been missing—until that day, the day she rescued him, not just from the water, but from being lost.

So he continued to think of her, to write to her, even though he wasn’t allowed to mail the letters. He sent the short messages on post cards. Three so far.

He carefully contained the hope she would write to him. With the war progressing, mail would be disrupted. The Germans may not be mailing the cards. There was no way for him to know.

He feared most that in her grief she had turned to another. He didn’t think she would, yet it was possible. She’d turned to him when her brother was wounded. Would someone comfort her the way he had? Thoughts like that were pure torture. If he let himself dwell on such thoughts, he would lose his mind.

Better to focus on action.

Early in his incarceration, he approached the compound leadership about organizing a basketball team. They in turn convinced the Germans to acquire the equipment from the International Red Cross. Two authentic balls with a hand-pump to keep them inflated and a suitable goal, net and all. When they got the new goal set up, several men signed up for the team. Ted even recruited a couple of the taller prisoners and taught them to play.

It was amazing how men with nothing to do got involved. They marked off the court boundaries. They leveled and beat the ground until the ball bounced as it should, at least in the center portion of the court. No one wanted to get more than fifteen feet from the goal. Beyond that dribbling became pretty iffy.

Every day the weather permitted, a group of men played basketball. Usually, several non-players watched and cheered them on. Even on rainy days, Ted would go out and shoot a few, just to maintain his sanity.

Basketball kept both he and the other men fit and occupied. Months passed and the weather gradually grew colder until in November it got really cold. A warning of what winter would bring. And still a few hardy fellows bounced the ball and practiced lay-ups. Only heavy rain, then snow, stopped them.

Ted became friends with several men he played with. Paul Wynn, usually among the spectators, never gained enough strength to play, but Ted taught him to shoot. Ted worried about Wynn and wondered if he would survive as winter set in.

Even when the weather was too bad to play basketball, Ted continued his daily walks around the perimeter. In December, the American commanders ordered every man to walk every day to maintain their strength and stamina. So a constant parade of men made the daily trek.

By the time the temperature hit the freezing mark, the men in his combine had thawed and become friendly. Ted had joined in their established routine of daily chores. Other combines became slack and disorderly which made him appreciate his well-disciplined roommates.

But his aching loneliness persisted. He longed for female companionship. A very specific female. And his humorous side became stale. Always a sociable guy, he found himself longing for a place to be alone. Solitude was the one thing that was never possible in this crowded environment.

****

Preparations for the upcoming Christmas holiday were well underway. The secretarial staff at SHAEF planned a dance on Christmas Eve with a real, live band. Kitty volunteered to help and found herself in the middle of planning for decorations. Versailles wasn’t exactly the place to shop for the type of Christmas decorations Americans were accustomed to. So she had to improvise. Luckily, the girl helping her had loads of ideas. She’d listed all kinds of green and red items they could use.

“No OD green,” Kitty insisted. “No one will think it’s the least bit Christmasy.”

“That narrows the list, but there are plenty of other things we can use.” Nancy stepped closer and almost whispered, “Are you still planning that little trip outside the city to cut evergreens?”

Kitty smiled and nodded. “I found someone who’ll take us. He also said he’d provide the ax.” She spread her drawings out on her desk. “We’ll put a wreath here, and here, and a big one here.”

The girl grinned with glee, her feet going up and down as if she were ready to launch herself into a cheer.

Kitty had met a sergeant in the infantry who, after recovering from his wounds, was assigned to guard detail for senior staff. A casual conversation about holidays back home had turned into a conspiracy for finding the appropriate evergreen decorations. He’d located the greenery and offered to take them to gather the garlands right before the dance.

The coup pleased Kitty. Not only would the hall look festive, real evergreens would make it smell like Christmas.

“Excuse me, Sergeant.” The WAC stood near her desk eyeing the crude drawings.

Self-consciously, Kitty placed her arm over her artwork and smiled up into the anxious face. “May I help you?”

“The captain wants you.” She looked around. “Both of you.”

“Now?”

“Yes, now.” The girl disappeared almost as quickly as she had appeared.

Kitty looked at Nancy who shrugged her shoulders. Whatever it was, they had to go.

The next thing she knew, she sat at a small typing desk in a back corner typing multiple copies of reports. She’d trained herself not to read the things she typed. Instead she focused on accuracy and speed. But this was different.

Something had happened. The Germans had attacked, or rather counter-attacked, and overrun American troops. What the brass thought was a minor offensive had turned into a major battle. The reports were chilling. Many units couldn’t be contacted. No one knew if they were dead, captured, or if the Germans had cut the communications wires.

“Greenlee, report to the conference room and take notes.”

Kitty looked up in shock. She’d been typing for three solid days. Now suddenly they wanted her to take notes.

The girl must have seen the look on her face because she added “There’s no one else available right now.”

Kitty leaned down and pulled a note pad out of the stack of papers beside her desk. When she pushed the chair back and tried to stand, her legs froze in place. Slowly she pushed herself to her feet. They felt numb.

“Got to move around more,” she told herself as she walked stiffly toward her next assignment. Sitting for long hours in the unheated office was taking its toll.

“Got to get the airborne in there.”

“Can’t fly in this weather.”

“Then put ’em on trucks. Whatever it takes. We can’t let the Germans take Bastogne.”

Kitty had heard the names of so many places in Europe that none of them meant much to her. Somehow this one stuck. Maybe because of the importance the generals gave it.

She wondered where it was and why we had to hold it.

Back at her desk she continued to type—copies of reports, letters, memos—three carbons at a time. They appeared to be sending copies to everyone. Whatever was happening was big. She hadn’t typed this much since she arrived in France.

Days later her friend from the infantry appeared at her desk.

“Here you are. I’ve had a time finding you.”

Kitty smiled at the friendly fellow. “I’m sorry. I’ve just been so busy, what with everything going on and all.”

“Yeah.” He shook his head. “I knew we wouldn’t make it home this Christmas, but I sure thought we’d get there by the next one.”

“I know what you mean.” Everyone was discouraged by what had turned out to be a major German offensive. They were supposed to be almost ready to surrender then they started attacking again.

“Thought I’d come by and see if you still wanted that greenery for the big dance.”

“Oh. I’d forgotten all about it. I don’t even know what day it is.”

“December twenty-third.”

“Oh. Well…” She tried to think who had been in charge of the dance. “I don’t even know if we’re still having it.” She tried to stand, but her feet were so numb she had to catch hold of the desk to keep from falling.

The kind soldier came to her rescue and helped her sit back down. He squatted down and took one of her feet in his hand. “You’re freezing.”

Kitty didn’t want to admit that she couldn’t feel her feet.

He slid her shoe off and massaged her foot. When he looked up at her he must have realized she couldn’t feel anything. “How long have they been numb?”

“I don’t know. On and off for days.”

He looked around. “It’s too damn cold in here for you to be wearing these thin shoes and stockings. You should be wearing heavy socks—and boots—and pants.” His voice rose as he spoke. “You need to see a doctor.”

“Oh, no. It’s nothing. I’ll just rub them a little and it’ll be okay.”

“Ma’am, no disrespect, but I’ve seen frostbite and trench foot, and I know a problem when I see one.”

“What? I don’t understand.”

He stood up. “Where’s your company commander?”

She tried to take in what he was saying. When she realized he was waiting for an answer she spoke up. “The captain’s down that hall at the end.”

When he came back, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her down the stairs and across the street to the nurse assigned to the WAC. From there they took her to a nearby hospital.

Gradually the numbness in her feet gave way to pain. The nurses assured her it was natural in such cases. Frostbite. A mild case but nothing to ignore. If she’d been moving around more, it might not have happened. But sitting so long in a freezing cold environment had been a problem.

When she returned to work a few days later, the military had issued the women heavy pants, socks, and boots. They didn’t fit well and looked worse, but the women were warmer.

The incident made Kitty think of the men at the front, in the snow, crouched in fox holes, with the Germans shooting at them. She would never complain about her living or working conditions. She had it made. They were suffering and dying. There was no comparison.

For once she was thankful that Milton was in a hospital in the states.

****

The mail clerk carried her daily bundle of undeliverable mail to her sergeant.

“Here’s mine for today.”

“Put them there.” The sergeant pointed to one of a row of baskets. “I’ll get to them as soon as I can.”

“From what I see that may take months.”

The thin, bright-eyed woman laughed. “Weeks, maybe.” She looked around her. “I’ve got a system. And it works.”

“If you say so,” the WAC private replied with skepticism.

“I’ll have you know I’ll have those out of here in three weeks. You mark my word.”

The private laughed. “Okay. I’ll be watching.” She shuffled through the stack she’d just deposited in the basket and picked out a strange looking postcard. “This one. I’ll keep my eye on it and see how long it takes.”

The sergeant took the card and eyed it curiously. She’d seen these before.

“What is it?” the private asked.

“It’s from a German Prisoner of War camp. One of our boys sending something…” She read the scrawled message. “to his girlfriend.” Her voice trailed off as she remembered seeing another one almost identical addressed to the same person.

She got up and went to a box she kept on a separate table.

“What’s that?”

“These are the ones I’m researching. The hard ones. The ones who’ve been reassigned so many times they’re hard to follow.”

“And what’s in there?”

She shuffled through the letters careful to keep them in order. “This.” She proudly held up another card with the same German printing on it and the same address written in the same hand.

“What is it? Another one?”

“Not just another one. Another card addressed to the same WAC at the same address and from the same man—Ted.”

“What do they say?”

“That he’s alive, and he loves her.”

“Oh,” her voice was soft and full of understanding. “You’ve got to find that one.”

“I will,” the sergeant answered, her face beamed with pride. “I’ll make a special effort to make sure these get delivered.”