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Even though the evac hospital had shut down, local citizens still showed up for care, along with some soldiers. This morning, a GI with a leg wound waited near the pile of boxes that used to be the hospital tent.
“Could you change my bandage?” He pulled up his pant leg to reveal a questionable wrap on his ankle.
“Sure.” It took a while and asking a corpsman for help, but Dorothy found sulfur powder, tape, and gauze. Whistling Mersey Dotes, she changed the bandage. As she applied ointment, the soldier started a conversation.
“Pretty happy, aren’t you?”
“Yep.”
“Gimme one reason.”
“I could give you ten. We’re not being shot, that’s a plus. I’ve got some good friends in my unit, and just heard my three brothers are all right, and—”
“Got it. Bet you have a fella, too.” He leaned back against a box and she ignored his comment, but heat crept up her neck.
“How about lighting a cigarette for me?”
“Is something wrong with your hands?”
“No, miss, but you’re a nurse, aren’t you?”
“Sure am, but there are plenty of other patients waiting. Hmm, your wound needs debriding, so this is going to hurt.”
“Aw, come on—light one for me.”
“I’d rather not—I don’t like to breathe smoke.”
“Sister, I’m dyin’—for a Lucky Strike. You know how the ad goes, ‘Lucky Strike Green has gone to war.’ I heard it on Information Please, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I was one of those listeners that it annoyed. Who wants to have the announcers stick in an ad during the program? Whoever did that had a really bad idea.”
“They was just advertising—”
“Well, it had the opposite effect. My friends and I were in training, and tuned in NBC every Friday night at 8:50 we weren’t on call. But for a while, we stopped because of that monotonous interruption.”
“You did?”
“Yup. Did they really believe all that repetition would convince listeners the company was patriotic? Who would fall for the claim that they changed their packages to white because of a green paint shortage?”
The soldier moaned as she finished cutting away proud flesh. “Makes sense, don’t it? What ain’t green here? No green left when the army got done paintin’ everything.”
“My friends and I took bets on it—ten to one the company planned to change the color anyhow. The war just happened to come at the perfect time. They’re trying for a bigger name than Camel.”
“Anyway—how about that light?” He grabbed a smoke and leaned closer.
“Private, I don’t think smoking’s good for you, and I want you healthy.”
“I’ll just get somebody else—”
Dorothy picked up her bandage tray. “All right.”
A wave of chagrin hit her en route to a thrown-together supply box. No reason to be so snappy. That GI had survived a lot so far, and one nurse’s opinion wasn’t going to change anything. Besides, the Red Cross kept the soldiers supplied with cigarettes to quiet their nerves. Time to give herself a talking to.
“You’re in fine form today, Moonbeam, but you’d better watch your tongue.”
Sunlight undulated on the beach, creating sparkles on reflective particles. She’d had to fight worry ever since Pinky said he’d be bombing enemy positions in Italy, and soon be making raids on Germany from Adriatic air bases recently claimed as the Allies began their advance north.
He and his buddies—she grinned, recalling how he called them chums—were “softening up” the Rhine for tank and infantry units. Once they chased the Germans out of Italy and Southern France, that final challenge remained. The dangers made Dorothy tremble. So many planes and lives had already been lost to anti-aircraft fire. Millie still hadn’t heard from Del—he might be one of them.
But one of Pinky’s statements stuck with her. “What I wouldn’t give to be back home with my feet in a river, fly-fishing. I’d take you to meet my family. I’ve already written them about you.”
When she’d returned from her walk that morning, Hank had quizzed her. “Where’ve you been?”
“Out walking again.”
“You take more walks than a centipede. Did Douglas Fairbanks decide to leave his wife, after all?”
“That doesn’t even deserve an answer.”
“You’re head over heels for somebody, I’d bet money on it.”
“You’ve already figured that out—it’s Paul, right?”
“Yeah, but you’re two-timing him. This is somebody else.”
“A girl can’t even take a walk without getting the what-for.”
“You haven’t heard the last about this from old Hank, hon.”
“Hey, listen. If it were true, I wouldn’t want you to say anything to Millie. She hasn’t heard from Del for so long—”
“Of course not.”
At dinner, a corpsman asked, “Has anyone heard when we’re leaving?”
“I don’t mind waiting. We don’t want a repeat of the Sicily landing, right?”
Her mind still on Pinky, Dorothy pondered his description of the RAF’s next assignment. Softening up the Alps... That reminded her of Bremen, and for the hundredth time, she pictured the beautiful old home at 149 Admiralstrasse. Could it still be standing?
And were her brothers still safe? Once, she and Albert had been skating on a frozen pond and he veered too close to the edge. She’d been the one to rescue him, and how many times had she shielded little Ewald from disaster? Now she could only pray for them and Vernon. That was all she could do for Pinky, too. That, and knit up a storm.
January 12, 1944
“We’ll be crossing the Tyrrhenian Sea—see how it’s sheltered by these islands?” Colonel Tabor pointed to a large map someone had drawn. “That should guarantee smooth sailing, but one never knows.” He glanced around at the gaggle of corpsmen, doctors, and nurses.
“One thing I can guarantee: we will not be fired on when we land. Our infantry and marines went through that already. You know how to prepare—fill your canteens, and go easy on breakfast. Any questions?”
“Can you tell us what’s happened so far with the Seventh?”
“I’m sure you’ve heard the Germans were ready for them at Salerno, and we made some tactical errors. Jerry had no intention of mounting a counterattack at the toe of Italy—too much territory to retreat over. But we still mounted Operation Husky, so the British Eighth had to traipse 300 miles north over land mines and bombed-out bridges to meet up with our units.”
“So that was our main mistake?”
“In retrospect, the landing on September 11th should have been preceded by naval or aerial bombardment. There was no surprise to the enemy at all. I’m going to level with you. I can hardly believe our first wave was accompanied by a loudspeaker message to give up. The Nazi commanders must’ve enjoyed a big laugh, with their 88s poised right at us.”
In the silence, Eric struggled in Hank’s hands and Dorothy reached for him.
“We’ve been dealing with the aftermath in surgery. The enemy nearly broke the beachhead—some of our pilots were so sure they’d have to return to Sicily, they slept under their planes’ wings that night.
“But when all was said and done, neither side gained the initiative. The fighting has moved northward, and more information will be forthcoming once we set up at Vairano, toward the middle of the boot. I trust our forces will make adjustments based on what they’ve learned.
“We’re tasked with replacing the Ninety-fifth Evac, which is moving forward to a place called Anzio. We open on 14 January, so enjoy your last few hours of leisure.”
“We’re seasick and headed where nobody wants to go. So what else is new?” Hank spoke for everyone as their LST approached Italy’s coast.
“At least the new commander told us the truth.”
“Oh, you are such a romantic.”
“And you see the dark side of everything.”
Dorothy threw a comment into Millie and Hank’s back-and-forth. “I’m about as nauseated as I’ve been since we left the States.”
“That’s really saying something. Your stomach’s made of iron.”
“Why can’t they pick calm days to send us out on the Mediterranean?” Millie’s color resembled a pale green tablecloth Mama used in the dining room back home.
Captain Siemons pointed off the bow. “We’re not really on the Mediterranean.”
“I thought I smelled Wrigley’s Spearmint. How did we end up with you?”
“Search me, Hank. Must be random good fortune.”
“You’re way too smart for us peons.”
“I bet somebody can name the small island at the top of this sea. Any takers?”
Long-ago geography classes passed through Dorothy’s mind, but no answer surfaced.
“It has to do with a famous Frenchman from the last century.”
“Elba!” She couldn’t tell who came up with the answer.
“There you go. We’re privileged, living history right here and now.”
“Privileged? Are you out of your mind?”
Hank’s barb incited Captain Siemons’ chuckle—he expected this stuff from her “Absolutely. Say, does anybody know what’s between ship and tanks in LST?”
“A space?”
“Nope, a comma. Technically, it’s landing ship, comma, tank.”
“I think it should be a slash.”
“They’re not asking you.”
Having the Captain on board gave Dorothy something to focus on besides her rolling stomach. Usually she managed, but this heaving vehicle seemed intent on producing its own casualties.
“Speaking of LSTs, imagine how tough it’d be to unload one under fire. A Navy radioman told me his vessel tried to land in Operation Husky, but Jerry disabled one of their engines. The Germans kept hitting their mark while he called for help.
“His commander waited in the bay until our planes bombed the German positions. Then they tried again, but still had to turn back. At one point, he really thought all was lost. When they finally received orders to reverse course and approach the other end of Green Beach, he requested a smoke screen. Even so, artillery fire killed several of their sailors.”
A doc spoke up. “The Sixteenth Panzers?”
“Yes. Our units beat them off and made progress throughout that first day, but failed to link up with each other until the next evening. The Germans knew the Eighth was advancing from the south, so they battered us. We were spread way too thin, so the commanders reduced the perimeter—a good move. That was the beginning of it.”
“The pilots really slept out under their wings?”
“So I hear. The situation must’ve looked pretty bad. But the Eighty-Second paratroopers and Gavin’s 505th chuted in to reinforce the lines until the British Seventh Armored could land. The Fifth Army finally advanced toward Naples on the 19th. It took until October sixth to reach the Volturno River line, and from there, they secured Naples. Meanwhile, the Eighth advanced to the Adriatic coast.”
“At least this time, they waited until things settled down to bring us in.”
“Amen to that.” Hank spoke up again.
“Our former commander, emphasis on former, thought combat nurses really meant combat nurses. It’s a miracle you made it through that one—even Eric survived. Who’s got that little fella, by the way?”
Dorothy spoke up. “Millie just took him down below.”
“Anyway, in spite of screw-ups, we got our foothold, and the fighting’s bound to be intense now. You’ve probably heard that the Fifth Army has a new commander, General Lucas.”
Shouts broke out from the forward deck—maybe they were nearing land.
One thing Dorothy counted on. This landing would be far safer than the one in Sicily. Whether the nurses took a train, trucks, or even horse carts to Vairano made little difference.
The noise on deck quieted down, and she found a corner to nod off. Her dreams took her back three days, to the morning when Pinky once again appeared and renewed her hopes.
A northerly wind off the Mediterranean had whispered in her ear before dawn, “This day starts a new chapter.” The moon still cast silver shadows on the shore from the west when she left the tent, with Millie in a sound sleep.
In this lull as the Eleventh awaited the order to load up, early morning solitude had become a luxury. Today, she and the other nurses would continue packing the final supplies and their own belongings, but right now, silence reigned.
Even at that hour, ragged black-eyed children scavenged for scraps. Captain Siemons warned that the population fared even worse in Italy, since the Germans had taken over after Mussolini’s downfall. Impoverished Italian mothers sold their bodies to save their children from starvation, since the country’s cattle and swine had been slaughtered to feed the German army and navy.
People raided animal salt licks for otherwise unobtainable salt. But dwelling on those stories did no good.
Along the dock, massive loads of supplies lay piled to kingdom come. At an open spot, Dorothy scanned the shoreline, a gorgeous silvery thread hugging the island.
And there stood Pinky. The sight took her breath away.
“Houston Pinkstone here.” His first simple words had enticed her. Since that morning, she’d been analyzing his brogue. Book sounded like boot. Monk rhymed with honk, and a double t back in his throat made Scottish sound more like Sco...ish. The differences intrigued her, forced her brain to keep working.
But that morning, he might have spoken an African tribal tongue, for all she knew. His brilliant eyes beckoned her, but her feet failed to move. When he waved her closer, she obeyed. His tanker pants blew in the wind, his pilot’s jacket and warm smile convinced her he was real, and feeling his welcoming embrace settled all doubts.
“Aat for a walk s’eerly?” His voice quickened her pulse.
“Yes, and such a worthwhile one.”
“Ready for your crossing?”
“As ready as possible.”
“We heard about your adventure in Sicily. Such lovely targets in those days—Catania, Gerbini, Sciacca, Comiso, and Milo. I cannot imagine how the natives will ever restore their coastline after the wreck we made of it.”
“But where would our infantry and marines have been without you?”
“True—we lost only 13 planes to the enemy’s 44, a good percentage, what say?” Pinky looked at his watch. “Enough about the war. Tell me about your trip here.”
“You mean across the Atlantic?”
“And any other trips. I want to learn about them all.”
“We sailed on the USS Monterey, a transformed cruise ship, in a convoy of 600 ships, and landed in Casablanca on November 18th at midnight. We’d been warned to take great care on the gangplank. Another troop ship had landed before us, and General Patton met them.
“They got their introduction to war right away—an infantrymen lost his balance on the plank between the ship and the dock. He was so loaded down, he sank and drowned before anyone could rescue him.”
“Whew.”
“Your whew sounds just like an American one.”
“Glad I’ve got it right. Such a horrible death for that fellow. So after you went ashore—”
“We were taken to Rabat, to the Sultan’s racetrack, where the Eleventh had set up surgery under the grandstand. Most of our patients at that time were accidents, or—” Dorothy’s pause created a glimmer in Pinky’s eyes.
“Let me guess—diseases of the private parts?”
“That’s a good way to put it. One infantryman told me that before we came, he and some others had volunteered—at the commander’s request—to bare themselves before all the troops to serve as a warning. Said he hoped he kept at least one GI from consorting with the local women, especially in some parts of Casablanca.”
“Aha—the age-old temptation. If it’s any comfort, some of my mates have had outbreaks, as well—visits to the Casbah got them in touch with more than one sort of thief. Hopefully, their suffering has deterred others. But do go on. Did you cross Algeria by train?”
“No, by truck—lorry. Those long days gave new meaning to the word sore. But the first battles were the worst. I still have nightmares about one. North Africa taught us what to expect, at least. One of the nurses says if Africa was all she’d experienced, it would be plenty.”
“Did your training not prepare you?”
“We had no basic training. I barely knew how to salute. But how could they prepare us for Africa, when none of the instructors had ever left the States?”
“No basic. Who taught you the ropes?”
“Our mistakes, but at least none of us have gotten killed.”
“And glad I am of that.” Pinky climbed a rise and sat looking out to sea, so Dorothy joined him.
“Our good fortune to have met, and re-met.” He draped his arm around her shoulders, and nothing ever felt so good. “War is chaotic, but also gives us opportunities we’d never have experienced.”
“That’s how I feel. I’d never have seen all these places or met so many great people. Your turn. Tell me about your home.”
“Wigtownshire, in the southwest of Scotland, borders the Irish Sea on the west, the Solway Firth to the south, Ayrshire to the north, and the Stewartry of Kirkcudbright to the east. You have heard of Galloway, perhaps?”
“Maybe.”
“Wigtownshire and Stewartry together make up Galloway. In the western section of Wigtownshire, the Rhinns of Galloway, when I was far too young to realize it was the best place to be born, I came into this world.” His dimples seemed even deeper than she remembered.
“Do you have a big family?”
“No, much to mother’s chagrin. She could have managed lots, but as she says, was blessed with only a daughter and a son. Where were you born?”
“In Iowa—have you heard of it?”
Pinky shook his head. “Not to my remembrance. Is it in the east?”
“No, the Midwest. My older sister and two brothers were born in Germany, but my grandfather’s sister convinced our father to move to the States in 1914. On our mantel at home, we have a picture taken with the ship’s captain.
“Mama used to tell us that my oldest brother Karl had injured his leg before they boarded. During the trip, the leg worsened and he felt sickly.
“The ship’s doctor wanted to amputate and tried to convince Mama to allow the surgery. She refused, and by the time they docked, Karl was still having trouble walking. So Mama devised a story for everybody to repeat when they went through port entry.
“She gave Karl an empty suitcase to carry, so it looked like he was too small for such a heavy load. That disguised his limp, since regulations didn’t allow sick or unfit people to enter.”
“What a quick mind your mother has.”
“Yes, but she had lots of trouble adjusting, and when I was about eight, she wanted to move back to Germany. We all did, but Papa stayed in Iowa to close up the bakery. In the meantime Mama changed her mind, so he saved enough to bring us back again. We re-crossed the Atlantic when I was ten. Nothing like the troop ship this time, zigzagging to avoid the mines.”
“Do you recall the name of the ship you took from Germany?”
“Oh, yes. The Lloyd Bremen.”
“Quite possibly, that vessel now transports German troops. We may even have targeted it. Now, tell me about your county.”
“It must be harder to hit a ship than a city?”
“Requires more of a bird’s-eye view, one might say. Now, about your county?”
“Counties don’t mean so much in the States. Ours is called Black Hawk, after an Iowa Indian tribal chief.”
“Do Indians still live there?”
“Yes, but on a reservation, land the government set aside.”
“And your county? Tell me more.”
“There’s not a lot to tell. Our county system is simpler than yours.”
“We’ve had lots of extra centuries to complicate things.” Pinky’s grin brightened his whole face, and the rising sun set his red hair aflame. “But I should like to visit yours one day, and take you to mine.” In a gust of sea breeze, he threaded his fingers through hers.
“Yes.” That seemed enough to say as they watched the sun rise. Half an hour later, they walked toward the tents, and Pinky stopped shy of the workmen in full bore at the docks.
“Against the morning sky, you have a halo.”
“Believe me, that’s a mirage—I doubt anybody in camp would accuse me of being an angel.”
“Perhaps not—you seem quite spirited, which can be mistaken for disobedient. And sometimes we fail to see ourselves as we are.” He sounded so earnest and thoughtful. “Do you know which ship you’ll be boarding?”
“The USS General G. O. Squire, they tell me. The one they’re loading right now won’t have room for the nurses.”
“And ye’re leaving...?”
“In a few days, but you know how unreliable military predictions can be.”
“We shall soon be blowin’ the Jayrmans apart in the Andes. So glad you won the date with that movie star, Daaroothy. I had been thinking of you ever since we met in Tunisia.”
“I didn’t want to go that night, but now I’m so glad I did.”
“And we have some time. Whatever we have we shall enjoy, righto?” Pinky held out his arms. “Do give a poor pilot a prop’r goodbye, will ye? I expect the next time we meet might be in Italy, or farther north, if good fortune shines upon us.”
Obliging him seemed so natural, and when he kissed her, time stopped in Sicily. Then his voice became a whisper.
“No more words. This is what I want to remember. Tomorrow I shall be gone, but your tents are easy to spot—I hope to find you somewhere along the way.” With that, he turned and walked south.
If feelings could be trusted at all, she and this man belonged together, but when would they see each other again?
Salt spray launched overhead and the spray wakened Dorothy from her nap. Shouts overwhelmed the swell of waves along the Italian coast, and she opened her eyes. Eric was licking her hand and Millie shaking her shoulder.
“We’re here, kiddo. Italy’s right over there.”
