Page 275 of Dirty Discipline, Vol. 2

Harvey nodded and turned away, his steps heavy as he walked to his car.

Once inside, Jane led Betsy to the couch, guiding her to sit. She didn’t even try to press the telegram into Betsy’s hand. Instead, she sat beside her and taking a deep breath, she opened the envelope and withdrew the sheet of paper, reading the words aloud.

Dear Miss Riddle. Stop. As commanding officer over Major Novak, and as his friend, I am taking the personal responsibility to inform you that Jack is missing in action and presumed dead. Stop. His plane was reported shot down over the English Channel. Stop. There have been no reports of survivors. Stop. His dedication to service was as unmatched as his apparent love for you. Stop. Please accept my deepest condolences. Stop. Richard Helmsley.

“I’m so, so sorry,” Jane said, tears streaming down her cheeks as she laid the telegram on Betsy’s lap. “I know how much you loved him.”

“No, not loved.”

The words were so softly spoken that Jane wasn’t sure they had been said. “What, honey?”

“Not loved, Jane. I love him.”

“Honey—”

Betsy stood, ignoring the paper that fluttered to the floor. “I don’t give a damn about that telegram. It says “presumed” and yet I know Jack isn’t dead… he isn’t. I’d know if he was.”

Her tears didn’t begin to fall until she was behind her bedroom door, the picture frame in her hands. “I don’t know where you are, but I know you’re not gone, Jack.” She stroked a finger down the glass, now wet with her tears. “I don’t know if you’re hurt, but if you are, you fight. Do you hear me? Don’t you dare leave me, Jackson Novak. You promised to teach me… to love me forever. Come back to me, Jack. I-I love you. I’ll be waiting… no matter how long it takes, I’ll be right here.”

She sobbed for hours, not because she feared he was dead, but because she feared he was alone, hurt somewhere, and she couldn’t do anything to help him. “You come back and let me hold you, promise me, Jack, promise me.” His pain became hers as she reread every letter he’d sent her. Finally, exhaustion claimed her, and she curled up on her bed, her prayers continuing until blessed sleep overtook her. When she awoke, it was to find Jane curled up beside her, holding her in her arms.

Chapter Seven

It hurt to breathe, it hurt to move, God, everything hurt, and he was burning up. He was so hot and in such pain—was he in hell? He groaned as he struggled to open his eyes. The vision that swam before him of chestnut hair and blue eyes had his heart rate spiking.

“Betsy?” He didn’t recognize the sound of his own voice but recognized the negative shake of the woman’s head. He groaned as she wiped his face with a cloth that was far too cold, lifting a hand to push hers away.

“You’re safe but you’ve got a fever…”

That was all Jack heard as he slipped beneath the waves again. It wasn’t just the Germans he had to battle… it was the fever brought on by an infection that was raging through his body. His dreams had him tossing and turning as his mind replayed the plane crash, but even among the sounds of bullets whizzing and metal shrieking as it tore away from the impact into the water, he heard a voice telling him to hang on, to fight, to come back. It was that sweet voice, those heartfelt pleas and assurances that she loved him that kept him from dropping into the abyss. The next time he opened his eyes, it was again to see the woman sitting beside him.

“Who?” he croaked.

“My name is Emilie. Welcome back, Major.”

“Where am I?” Jack asked.

“St. Anne,” the woman said, moving to stand and pick up a bowl from the small table beside the bed.

It took him a moment to comprehend what she had said. Though he had no reason to doubt her, he didn’t understand how he could possibly be on St. Anne. His thoughts were fuzzy but if his geography was correct, St. Anne was a small island off the north coast of France. Their flight would have taken them several miles to the east. The last thing he remembered was the plane going down in the channel. “The pilot? How—”

Emilie shook her head again. “Let me get Bernard to explain and fetch you some water. Your throat must be very sore.”

Jack nodded, the effort of simply speaking exhausting him though he was determined not to succumb to sleep until he had some answers.

Bernard was a large man who seemed to fill the small bedroom as he helped Jack into a sitting position. The move had Jack groaning and Bernard explaining that he had taken a bullet in his left thigh and had several broken ribs. Once he’d managed to settle against a pile of pillows and drink two glasses of water, Jack felt marginally better. “Thank you,” Jack said, swiping his hand across his face, shocked to discover thick facial hair. “How long?”

“You’ve been in and out of consciousness for two weeks now.” Bernard settled on a chair by the side of the bed and Jack listened as he began to explain what had happened.

“We are fishermen, not doctors, but we’ve had our share of accidents. Fishing is a dangerous job, and we did our best to patch you up. Despite our efforts, an infection set in. We thought we were going to lose you a few times. My son and I were out and saw your plane go down.” He paused for a moment, his dark eyes studying Jack. “We managed to get you out before the plane sank. I’m sorry about the pilot… he didn’t make it.”

Jack nodded, remembering seeing him slump over the wheel, his body riddled with bullets.

Bernard continued. “We barely got you on board before we saw German coastal patrol boats searching the area.”

“And they didn’t question you?” Jack asked, familiar with the tenacity of the German people… especially when it came to the resistance and those Allied soldiers who worked with them.

“They did,” Bernard confirmed, a grin appearing on his face. “But when they boarded, all they saw was a single, weary fisherman who’d had a bit too much wine.” He chuckled and Jack felt his lips twitch in a matching grin, waiting to hear how this man had deceived the Germans. “I might have been in my cups, but my hold was full. It was actually my son’s idea. He kept your head above water down in the hold beneath the day’s catch.”

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