Page 274 of Dirty Discipline, Vol. 2

“That’s two days from now,” Jack complained.

“That’s true but there’s not anything I can do about that,” Maurice said. “Any message sent now might be considered a trap because we know the Germans are going to attempt to deny anything of value was lost tonight.”

Jack wasn’t happy at the wait but knew the man was right. “Sorry, it’s just that we’ve been looking for something like this for a long time. If we know what their plans are, we can fuck them up as much as possible. You and your people deserve all the credit for this discovery.”

“We share the credit,” Maurice said, cracking his first smile. “For a Yank, you are one determined son of a bitch. I’ve never met anyone as willing to get down and dirty and work with the partisans as you, Major.”

“For a Frenchie, you’re just as much a bad ass as any American GI I know,” Jack said, meaning every word.

Two days later, the request was sent, and it took another two days for the answer to be received. Every person was on edge as sightings of German forces were reported. The frantic activity told of just how pissed off they were about the convoy’s destruction. Jack could only pray that the German officer seen by one of the partisans was convinced that any vital documents had burned in the fires. There was no way he’d be able to make his escape until the coast was clear. Finally, the week drew to an end, and he was preparing to meet the plane that was being sent to pick him up. Jack accepted the parcel from Francine, Maurice’s wife. “Thank you,” he said, tucking the sandwiches and apples into the satchel alongside the documents.

“You be careful, Jack,” Francine said.

Jack had plans to do exactly that. “I will. I’ve got a gal waiting at home for me, and I can’t wait to hold her in my arms.”

Maurice gave his wife a kiss before he and Jack left the small house. They pedaled for two hours, arriving at the field just as dusk was falling. The sound of an airplane had their eyes turning toward the sky. They watched the wings wag, signaling they had been seen as the plane began its descent.

Turning to Maurice, he held out his hand. “It’s been an honor.”

“The honor is mine,” Maurice said, pulling Jack close and giving him a hug. “You tell your boss that anything he needs, we’re here. It’s time to end this war.”

Jack couldn’t agree more. The faster the war ended, the quicker he’d be able to be with Betsy. With a final salute, he sprinted across the field where the plane had rolled to a stop. He was soon seated behind the pilot, the routine a habit as he pulled the satchel across his chest and pulled his life jacket over it before tugging his safety harness tight.

“Where’s Jimmy?” he asked as the pilot turned to give him a thumbs up even as the wheels began to turn.

“Grounded, Sir. He said to tell you if he knew that you’d need extraction, he would have put off his celebration. He also wanted to let you know, he appreciated the recommendation for promotion.”

“He earned it,” Jack said. “Hell, every one of you pilots earn it.”

The pilot grinned and turned around as the plane began to lift and Jack settled into his seat. His thoughts were not on the mission but on his love. He didn’t need to pull the photo from his wallet to bring the image of Betsy to his mind. He saw her smile and the twinkle in her eyes and smiled. It was the only thing good about this godforsaken war. They’d shared hundreds of letters and yet not a single kiss. That was the first thing he’d set to rights the moment he had her in his arms.

“Fuck!”

The shouted curse jerked Jack back to the present. He didn’t have to ask why the pilot was cursing as bullets began to puncture the plane.

“Fuck,” Jack parroted when one bullet entered through the left side of the plane and traveled a bare inch above his lap before exiting the right wall. He swiveled his head, easily locating the source as tracers from gunfire lit up the shore all around him. The waves of the channel were dark beneath them as the pilot struggled to keep them aloft. More bullets tore at the wing and when the engine began to flame, Jack’s stomach sank. After countless forays behind enemy lines, was his luck about to run out? As he saw the pilot jerk and then slump over the wheel, Jack knew that they were fucked. As the plane began to dive toward the unforgiving water, he thought not of his life, but of Betsy.

“I’m so sorry. I love you, Betsy, I love you with all my heart,” he said a moment before the plane slammed into the water, somersaulting twice and his world went dark.

Betsy filled her days with anything she could think of to take her mind off the fact that the mailbox continued to yield no letters. Though she managed to keep her fear from her students, there was no hiding the fact that she was terrified from her roommate. She lost weight, only remembering to eat when Jane placed food before her. Nights found Betsy lying in her bed, her eyes on the frame on her nightstand. Looking into Jack’s eyes, she’d pray and whisper that she loved him with all of her heart. She continued to write a letter every day, refusing to think of the reasons why there was no response.

Weeks later, on a bright and sunny Saturday, the doorbell rang. Betsy tucked a curl behind her ear and opened the door. “Mr. Miller?” Betsy said, not understanding why the town’s postmaster was on her doorstep… until she saw the telegram in his hand and her world shattered.

“No!”

Her cry of anguish brought Jane to the door. “What’s wrong?”

Betsy stepped back, her eyes huge and filled with tears. “Tell him, Jane. Please… tell him it has to be a mistake!”

Jane’s arm snaked around Betsy’s waist as the man who often teased Betsy that she alone was keeping the post office solvent with her letter writing shook his head.

“I’m so sorry, honey,” Harvey said. When Betsy refused to take the telegram, he handed it to Jane.

Taking the thin envelope, Jane shook her head. “I thought only family was informed when a soldier—”

“It’s not from the war department,” Harvey cut in. “It’s from a General Helmsley in London.” Even though it wasn’t from the expected source, it was obvious by his tone that he had a good idea what the telegram contained. “I-I wanted to bring it myself.”

“That’s Jack’s commanding officer,” Jane said. “Thank you. I’ll stay with her.”

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