curved wings sporting black crosses. Heinkel 111, a small voice somewhere in the back of my head said, as I recalled a silhouette from Aircraft Recognition Class in OCS. This was a surprise. I never used to be able to remember anything from my classes when I was at school in Boston. But no one was trying to blow me up then. As I thought about that, I realized it had become quiet. The laughing nurse wasn't screaming anymore, she was crying and I could hear her. Someone else was yelling in the distance, but the bombs had stopped and the aircraft sounds were receding.
Gloria was looking around too, a dazed expression dulling her face. I took her hand. It was shaking. So was the rest of her. I could feel her muscles tense as she fought for control.
'Are you okay?' I said, a little too loudly in the sudden silence. Her eyes were wide and I thought she might start to cry or panic. She took a breath and I could see her pull herself together. Eyes closed, she shook her head up and down, then opened them. Her hand was still.
'I'm fine. I think I have work to do.' She winked at me as she got up to look around, dusting the dirt off her clothes as she stood up. 'Come on, girls,' she said to the two nurses, 'they're going to need our help. We'll do our crying later, honey.'
She touched the shoulder of the tearful nurse and bounded out of the trench. The nurses rose, held onto each other, and followed her out. They wiped dust, dirt, and tears away, and went to work, streaks of grime showing on their cheeks where their hands had brushed their faces. I had to admire them. Me, I just wanted to stay in this trench until the end of the war. I began to wonder why Major Harding hadn't hung onto Gloria. She was right up his alley. Or, maybe she hadn't hung onto him. I could think of a lot of reasons for that.
I stuck my head up and took in the view. Smoke was billowing up in front of the building where the vehicles and supplies were stored, and flames licked at a pile of wooden crates. Everyone was running in that direction. I ran towards Kaz's room. I knew I should probably help out but I had to know if Kaz was still in one piece. It was bad enough that I'd gotten him into this fix, without getting him killed in an air raid. Off in the distance I started to hear the sounds of more bombs exploding, far away. Crump… crump… crump. It sounded like the harbor in Algiers was being plastered. We had been hit by a handful of bombers while the rest went on to the harbor. The stacks of supplies outside the hospital must have been a secondary target. Maybe they hadn't marked the building with a red cross yet. In one corridor the wall was blown out and smoke from the fires outside was pouring in. The acrid smell of burning rubber filled the hall and I held my hand over my mouth and nose as I checked the rooms. They were all empty so I kept on toward Kaz, hoping this was the only hit the hospital had taken.
When I got to his corridor, I saw Doctor Dunbar treating a couple of stretcher cases for cuts from flying glass. Nurses and orderlies were running around like ants from a stirred up nest. There was a feeling of controlled hysteria in the air as they did their jobs with eyes still wide from fear and shock. For their first time under fire, they weren't doing too badly. It wasn't my first and yet I was glad I hadn't bawled like a baby when the bombs kept coming and coming.
I opened Kaz's door. His eyes were closed and he was so still I thought for a second he was dead. When I finally saw his chest rise and fall, I let out my breath. I was relieved, but at the same time amazed anyone could be doped up enough to sleep through an air raid. I left Kaz to his dreams and asked a nurse for directions to Ward C.
I headed out of the building, across the courtyard, and into a separate brick structure that jutted out from a tin-roofed white washed stucco building. A sign announced it was a MEDICAL CORPS SUPPLY DEPOT. The modern brick wing had bars on the windows and a small sign that said WARD C. It must have been an Algerian jailhouse until Uncle Sam showed up. There was a guard at the door who saluted.
I entered the reception area. A corridor led off it with doors on either side. The fresh Army-green paint job's smell mingled with the odor of strong disinfectant. A nurse sat at a desk working on charts. I asked if there was a French patient named Dupree in the joint. There was: Jerome Dupree, Georgie's kid brother. I walked down the hall to his room and took a deep breath before I knocked. I'd brought news like this to families a few times before. I didn't like it much.
I rapped twice and opened the door. A young kid, maybe eighteen or nineteen at most, with a mop of thick, dark hair nearly jumped out of his bed. Or would have if he hadn't been chained to it. He had manacles on his ankles attached by a chain that looped through the steel bed frame. The windows were barred and if he was going anywhere, the whole bed was going with him. His arm was in a sling, his head was bandaged, and his eyes were wide with fear. But I wasn't the person he expected and the look of fear disappeared.
'Who are you?' he asked. He spoke slowly, as if figuring out the right order for the words as he went along.
'Billy Boyle is my name. You're Georges's brother, right?'
At the sound of his brother's name he brightened up and started jabbering. 'Yes, did he send you? How did you know I was here? Have you been looking for me? I have been waiting for you three days!' His accent was pretty thick and I wondered if I had misunderstood him.
'What do you mean, waiting for me?'
'I did not know it would be you, Monsieur Boyle, but Georges told me he was meeting with some American officers and would put them in touch with me.'
'We were on our way to you and the other rebels, but-'
'No, no, not about the coup. About the notebook! Did not Georges tell you everything? There is not much time!'
I was confused. What notebook? I just wanted to get delivering the bad news over with. I tried to remember what my Dad used to say. Tell them it's bad news first thing. Then tell them to sit down. Then tell them. I had watched and listened to him deliver the bad news dozens of times before I had to do it myself, alone. I'm not sure his advice helped, but at least it gave me a plan, and maybe that's all he meant it to do.
'Jerome, back up a second. I have some bad news for you.' There. He was already sitting down, so time to deliver.
'What…?' His mouth stayed open, a confused and scared look on his face. His eyes darted around the room, as if he were waiting for someone else to come in.
'Georges is dead. He was shot the morning of the invasion.'
'No.' His head sank back into the pillow. 'No, no. He was supposed to meet the Americans, not fight them. You must be mistaken.'
'I'm not mistaken, Jerome. He did meet us. He was taking us to General Juin's residence when we were stopped.' I could see in his eyes that he knew what was coming next.
'Stopped by the Gardes Mobiles?'
'Yes. A German officer and a French captain…'
'Villard?'
'Yes. He killed your brother. You know Villard?'
Jerome squeezed his eyes shut. Tears leaked out as his lips quivered. He put his good hand up to his face and sobbed. I waited, wanting to be somewhere else. Wondering where Diana was and how I could get out of here to look for her.
'I know him,' Jerome said finally, spitting out the words with hatred. 'He is a criminal and a traitor. And he will kill me next.'
'Why you? You're not in the army.'
'It has nothing to do with that, Monsieur Boyle. It has to do with the notebook. That damned notebook!' He slammed his fist on the mattress. 'It will get us all killed.'
'What notebook? What does it have to do with the invasion?'
'Georges did not mention this at all to you?'
'No, he just said you were one of the leaders of the students and that wed meet you later that morning.'
'They are looking for it, and an officer from the Gardes Mobiles is coming today to escort me to Villard. He must believe I still have it. You must help me.'
'I don't understand.'
'Someone in the Gardes Mobiles stole the notebook from Villard and gave it to me. I couldn't read it since it was in code. I was going to give it to you, but we were taken. I was shot and passed out. When I woke up here the notebook was gone. We were allowed visitors at first, and I received word that our contact in the Gardes Mobiles
