May 25, 1944
Anna shimmered in the light, her blue dress skimming her figure as she hurried away. Sid couldn’t take his eyes off her. She wouldn’t disappear that quickly. He followed her to a corner, where she grabbed the arm of a gal who looked vaguely familiar, but then most of the gals here did. “Let’s start again. Good evening, Miss Goodman.”
She startled as she turned and met his gaze. “Specialist Chance. You don’t give up, do you?”
“Not when it involves a beautiful woman.”
The gal with her looked between the two of them, then unhooked arms with Anna. “Your first dance arrived. Told you it’d be fun.” With a wave of her fingers, she headed toward the refreshments table, leaving the two of them alone.
Anna stared after her, a subtle stiffening to her stance.
The first notes of “Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy” filled the air, and Sid bopped his head to the beat. He cleared his throat and reached for her hand. “Join me?”
“What, the other girl won’t dance anymore?”
“I’m not asking her.”
“Maybe you should.” She blew out a breath. “I am not another girl to add to a long list of conquests. If that’s what you’re looking for, then kindly leave.” Sparks lit her eyes. She had no idea how enchanting her anger made her.
“No. You’re the girl I want to dance with this evening.” He offered his hand, and her chin tipped as if to challenge him, even as her hand slid into his.
“You really don’t want to dance with me.” A shadow of something like fear darkened her eyes.
“I can’t imagine why not.”
“I’ve danced with Clark Gable. He sets a high standard.”
“That’s funny. I’ve heard he has two left feet.”
“Merely a rumor from Gone with the Wind.” A smile softened her lips with a hint of promise that left him wondering.
He led her to the floor, and they started a quick jitterbug. By the time the song ended, color tinged her cheeks. The stress and worries that burdened her when he saw her on the farm evaporated before his eyes. Something about her captured him, made him want to learn more. The band slid into a beat that had some swing to it, and she followed his lead as if they’d practiced many times. It felt like they were in a Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers movie as they glided around the floor with the other couples.
He lost track of time as the song melted into another. After three or four, he pulled her to the side. “How about some punch?”
“Sounds wonderful.” She fanned her face. “I’m a bit out of practice.”
“So how did I do?” He led her to the table and offered her a cup of the red liquid.
“What?” Mischief filled her eyes. “Well, I didn’t jitterbug with Mr. Gable, so I can’t compare. I’d say you held your own, soldier.”
Sid wiped sweat off his brow. Anna took a drink, then placed her empty cup on a tray. Before she could say anything, a soldier approached her.
“May I have a dance, ma’am?”
Anna glanced at Sid, and he shrugged. Much as he’d like to keep her to himself, he didn’t have the right any more than she should have been angry when she saw him with someone else. Even so, as she walked away on the other man’s arm, his chest tightened. Maybe he’d need to change their status.
The next week dragged as Sid wondered when he could see Anna again. The image of her from the USO filled his thoughts. She’d been so full of life. He wanted to learn how to bring the butterfly out of her self-imposed cocoon. She lived like she’d forgotten how to enjoy life.
He walked the perimeter of the Shivelys’ sugar beet field. The denim shirts of a dozen POWs dotted the field, easy to spot among the low crop. Sid stifled a yawn. The morning had begun earlier than usual in order to get the men to the farm with plenty of time to work.
Word had spread. The demand for labor had him driving all over southern Nebraska.
At noon, the farmer’s wife and children lugged out baskets filled with sandwiches and well water for the men. They dug in heartily, while Sid and Trent counted noses on their rounds checking on the prisoners. With so many here, it helped to have Trent along.
Sid stopped and counted again. “Tell me I’ve missed someone. We’re short one.”
“Impossible. Where would he go?”
“Get the list out of the truck. We should have a dozen men but don’t.”
Trent hustled to the truck and returned with the clipboard. “I double-checked. Twelve prisoners are on the roll.”
Sid shoved his hands deep in his pockets as he struggled to explain how they had eleven. He couldn’t imagine the flak if they lost a prisoner or one escaped.
“I count eleven, too.” Trent tossed the clipboard at Sid, his face white as a sheet.
Trent stayed with the eleven and interviewed them without success while Sid spent the next hour scouring the farm .
Sid hung his head in his hands. “How does a prisoner disappear?”
“Do you want me to rouse the alarm at Camp Atlanta?” Trent looked at him like the answer better be no.
“No. I’ll handle that and take the other prisoners back. I don’t believe any of them saw anything.”
Trent shrugged. “Maybe their jobs absorbed them.”
“No, they’re covering for their buddy.” Sid scanned the horizon again. Nothing but fields surrounded them, with an occasional farmhouse visible on the horizon. “Round them up.”
The drive to camp passed too quickly, and then he’d returned the prisoners to compound A and stood in front of the camp commander and tried to explain.
Commander Moss sat behind his desk, a dark scowl on his face. The man prided himself in running a tight ship without problems. “Where’s Private Franklin?”
“Searching the farm, sir.” Sid stood at attention, back stiff, as he waited for the verdict. Kitchen patrol couldn’t be too terrible, right? His mom made sure he knew how to use a potato peeler. He’d survive KP.
Commander Moss ran his hands over his thinning hair, his eyes fixed in the distance as if developing a course of action. “You were at Fort Robinson with the war dogs, right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“All right. Take five men and the bloodhounds. Sniff out the prisoner.”
Sid swallowed and considered the task. He’d worked with many dogs but never bloodhounds. “Are they trained search dogs?”
“Consider this a training exercise. One that can’t fail.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ll notify the sheriff and town police. We have to find this man before he gets away.”
Sid saluted, then collected five men from the barracks. A vague uneasiness filled him at the thought of using bloodhounds. He’d prefer any dog he’d trained at Fort Robinson instead.
None of the men he’d found had experience with war dogs, though a couple of them hunted. Hopefully, those skills would transfer to a search like this. “Either of you worked with dogs when you hunted?”
Blank stares met his, until one soldier nodded. “We had a mongrel who went with us. She was pretty handy at bringing back the fowl. She never treed a man, though, if that’s what you mean.”
“I’ll take any experience. We’ll pick up a few bloodhounds, then head to the farm. Private Franklin and I noticed this prisoner missing at lunchtime.” Sid glanced at his watch. “It’s now four. The other prisoners claim they didn’t see him slip away. Since we can’t pinpoint a time, he could have quite a head start on us. We’ll begin on the farm, see what the hounds pick up. We’ll fan out from there.”
“And when we find him?”
“We bring him back. In one piece. We don’t know he tried to escape.”
“Sure. He wandered off.”
“Maybe. Our job is to find him, not try him. Let’s head out.”
The men climbed into the bed of the truck, and after picking up the hounds at the barn, Sid returned to the Shively farm, which stood within a mile of the Goodman place.
Mr. Shively met the truck as it pulled to a stop at the barn. His overalls strained to contain his stomach as he marched toward them. “It’s about time you got back. Private Franklin’s searching the hills, while you’re off gallivanting.”
Sid took a deep breath and tamped down the flare of heat filling him. “Where is Private Franklin?”
“Off that way.” Mr. Shively waved in a northerly direction. “You’d better find that German before something happens. Maybe he’s headed to Kearney to sabotage the air base.”
“Then he’ll walk a long way.” Sid turned and found himself face-to-face with seven other men. Some looked familiar, because they had prisoners at their farms periodically. “We’ll find him.”
The men stared at him with hard eyes, broad shoulders set in firm lines. One clutched a shotgun. Sid looked from man to man, taking each’s measure. This situation could turn ugly in an instant, and he didn’t want the fallout. He had to find the prisoner before the word spread to the locals and they turned into vigilantes. He hurried back to the soldiers and Mr. Shively where they waited by the truck.
“We’ll break into groups of two each with a dog and head into the field the prisoners worked today.” He watched the bloodhounds mill around. He didn’t have any way to alert the dogs to the scent they should track. Without that, he doubted they’d help at all, even if they were trained. “Let’s move. Private Franklin is somewhere in front of us. Keep your eyes open.”
Hours later, as the sun sank low on the horizon, Sid wiped perspiration from under his cap brim. His feet were sore, his skin itched, and he hadn’t the first clue which direction the prisoner had gone. The only good news was they’d found Trent.
“Any thoughts?”
Trent gulped a swig of water from his canteen. “We covered this farm. Unless we move to the next ones, we’re done. Problem is which direction to explore. There’s nothing to track.”
“I’ll head back to the farmhouse and call the command post. Maybe somebody had better luck.”
Trent snorted. “This land’s too wide open. There’s nothing to stop him from walking to Kansas or hopping a train.”
“But where would he run? His clothes are clearly labeled. He has no papers to get out of the country. And he’s one of those who barely speaks ten words of English.”
After checking with the camp, Sid told Trent that none of the search parties had found the prisoner yet. He also hadn’t shown up in his barracks or anywhere else.
Sid returned to the group of men waiting on the ground around the truck. “Nobody’s had any luck. We’re to check the nearby farms. Trent and I will take his Jeep.” He tossed the truck keys to another soldier. “You can drive the rest of the men back to Atlanta. Take the east road and check the farms on the way back. Don’t forget the barns and out buildings.”
After stopping at another farm, Trent pulled into the Goodmans’ driveway. “You get to talk to Goodman.”
Sid nodded and jogged to the door. Knock, ask his questions, and leave. It wouldn’t take long, and they’d be off. Though, if Anna’d come home, he’d love an excuse to stay. One look inside the kitchen, and he forgot about Anna. The prisoner sat in a tall kitchen chair, Mr. Goodman leaning over him with a gun.
“Look what the wind blew in.” Mr. Goodman limped toward Sid. “I was about ready to walk him to Camp Atlanta for you boys.”
“I’ll escort him to camp, sir.” Sid approached the prisoner. He appeared unharmed, though an unusual glow filled his eyes. Sid eased between the two men, a knot forming in his belly that this prisoner might be a rare, hardcore Nazi. He’d return the man and let the commander sort out the prisoner’s status.
Mr. Goodman pulled his gun to his chest, then nodded. “Get him off my property. He’s the kind I fought in the last war. I don’t like him on my farm.”
“Come with me.” Sid grabbed the prisoner’s arm and tugged him to his feet. He looked Goodman in the eye. “Thanks for your help.”
Mr. Goodman walked away without a word, then sank onto his chair and grabbed a bottle. He took a swig from it, clearly ignoring them. Maybe lost in a sea of memories from the earlier war.
Sid backed the prisoner out the door and into the Jeep. Trent raced back to Camp Atlanta while Sid kept his gun at the ready while he watched the prisoner carefully. Sid whispered a prayer that God would free Mr. Goodman and his family of the effects of the Great War.