The second was from Dane, also hoping he’d get well and come down to San Diego. He added that there was a surplus of beer and steaks. Well, Farris thought, that was a plan.
The third was from Sandy and he looked at it hesitantly. She hoped he was well. Hell, if he was well he wouldn’t be in a hospital. She wanted him to come down to see her. She was friendly but curiously noncommittal. She said they’d started something very nice, kind of like Amanda and Tim, and she wanted to know where it would end. Well, so did he, but he wondered just what lay under the bandages. Did he have an eye? If not, would he get a glass eye? He’s seen people with glass eyes and they looked so terrible and out of sync with the rest of a person’s face. Maybe he’d just wear a patch. Or was he so scarred under the bandages that he’d scare her away? Tim had mentioned a buddy of his who’d been burned when the Enterprise sank and whose scars were very slowly disappearing. Was he going to be like that or would his situation be even worse?
Damn it to hell. First, though, he had to get out of the hospital and out of Vancouver, no matter how friendly the natives were, and go south. In order to do that, though, he had to quit feeling sorry for himself and start working what was left of his body into shape.
Krause was bored to tears. But, he consoled himself, at least he was alive. He had been billeted in a rather pleasant two-bedroom bungalow on an American naval base and he was being treated with at least a small level of respect. The Yanks had made a promise and he was relatively confident they’d live up to it. He had decent food, comfortable furniture, and even a small garden that he found surprisingly pleasant to work in. The house had once belonged to an officer who’d been killed in the Midway debacle. A shame, he thought, but at least he could put the house to good use.
Of course, the Americans didn’t trust him any farther than they could throw him. He’d done his part and now wanted to be released from this genteel captivity as soon as possible. He was guarded by military police under instructions to keep conversation to a minimum, although he was permitted a radio and local newspapers that kept him abreast of the course of the war.
The news reinforced his decision to throw in with the Americans. Germany was not succeeding against the Soviets and had not expelled the Americans and the British from North Africa. He was convinced that Hitler had not succeeded on either front because the German army simply didn’t have the numbers or resources to fight both the Soviets and the Americans. It would take a while, but Germany would be defeated. So too would Japan. Yes, he thought, he had definitely made the right choice.
Every day either Harris or Dane would come and visit. The occasions were not social. Today was Dane’s turn.
“Commander, I’m bored.”
“Forgive me for not caring,” said Dane. “At least you’re still alive. There are those who feel you should be hanged.”
“For what?” Krause said incredulously, even though they’d had this conversation several times. “Are your people angry because I helped derail a couple of trains? Please, those were all acts of war. What do you think British and now your bombers are doing to trains and other targets in Germany? Trust me, they are not making distinctions between freight trains and passenger trains. Nor are they avoiding civilian areas when you and the British bomb German cities. Luebeck, Rostock, and Cologne have been severely damaged and many civilians have been killed or maimed. Even Berlin itself has been bombed.
“And don’t bring up the issue of those poor Mexican boys. They were criminals and they would have betrayed Braun and me. They were unfortunate casualties of a cruel war. Wasn’t it an American who said that war was hell?”
“You weren’t in uniform, which is a violation of the Geneva Convention.”
“And you are not a signatory to that ridiculous document, even though you did agree to abide by it, a distinction that confuses me. I also have it on good authority that you and your so-called Allies are sending saboteurs in to France and elsewhere and I am quite certain that they would not be so stupid as to wear American or British uniforms.”
Dane glared at him. “Is this all we’re going to do, rehash old arguments? If so, I’m going to leave you to feel sorry for yourself.”
“Of course not, Commander, and I assure you I am not feeling sorry for myself. I have a suggestion that will help expedite the process of drawing the Japanese into your trap. Are you interested?”
“Of course.”
“You are building a mock carrier task force down in the Gulf of California, are you not?”
Somebody has a big mouth, Dane thought, and then realized that maintaining such secrecy on a huge base was virtually impossible. Besides, who could Krause tell, and, more important, what would encourage him to? Information was his lifeline to a life of freedom.
“Of course we would be interested in any ideas you might have.”
Krause smiled, looking almost pleasant. “I knew you would. So, here is my idea. You had me tell the Japanese that one of your carriers, the Saratoga, would be in the Gulf. Well, they say that Yamamoto is a gambler. Therefore, why not make it double or nothing?”
CHAPTER 19
AMANDA LOOKED STERNLY AT HER FRIEND. “WELL, MAKE UP YOUR mind. Are you in love with him or not?”
Sandy grimaced and wiped away a tear. Her eyes were red from crying. “I don’t know. We only went out a couple of times and now he’s badly wounded.”
Grace inhaled deeply on her cigarette and smiled as she exhaled a perfect smoke ring. “Let’s face it, Sandy dearest, you are afraid that you’re going to wind up with a war hero who’s a cripple and so badly mangled that you won’t want to be seen with him, much less wind up screwing him, even with the lights off.”
Amanda smiled. “You do have a marvelously tactful way with words, Gracie.”
“The hell with tact,” Grace said. “I think it’s time to be blunt. When young Mister Farris went north, Sandy moped and then did what she does best at a time of crisis, she ate. Sandy, did anyone ever tell you you’re getting fat again?”
“I am not getting fat,” Sandy said loud enough for the handful of the others in the restaurant to hear. They stifled grins and turned away.
“All right,” Sandy said and wiped away another tear. “You’re right, I am gaining. I’ll stop eating, so don’t call me a baby.”
“Good,” said Amanda. “Now what are you going to do about Steve Farris? If he’s coming down here, you are going to have to meet with him and deal with whatever problems he has. That is, if you want to have a future with him. Even though you two aren’t married and maybe never will be, that for better or worse thing still counts. Maybe it’s even more important before you get married, or even begin to take each other seriously. And, by the way, if he’s on his way down here, he can’t be all that badly wounded, can he?”
Sandy had gotten a brief note from Steve, written with obvious difficulty and just delivered. In it he said he was having trouble with his left arm and eye, but was otherwise okay and looked forward to seeing Sandy. All of this said that he wasn’t an amputee and strongly implied that he wasn’t confined to a wheelchair. But was she really looking forward to seeing him? He would be coming down by train in a few days and said he was delighted that a wounded army officer was being sent to recuperate in what was essentially a navy town.
Amanda pressed her. “Sandy, you are a nurse, remember? You’ve seen some sights that nobody should ever have to see. You’ve worked on patients so badly mangled it’s a miracle that they’re still alive. You’ve seen men missing limbs and eyes and faces, and you’ve seen relatives who’ve sucked it up and decided that they would take care of their son, their brother, their husband as best they could. You’ve heard grown men cry for their mothers and dying boys say they didn’t want to die a virgin. Steve got a medal for what he did, but those people are heroes too.”