We left a cold gray Paris the next morning, a convoy of eight Clubmobiles and at least as many supply trucks and jeeps headed to Bastogne, Belgium. We drove in silence for the first hour, the three of us in melancholy moods after a night of too much fun and not enough sleep.
“I think having a break like that? It just makes it worse,” Dottie said. Her eyes were puffy from crying, and Barbie kept licking her face to try to comfort her. “We’re better off pushing through, working hard, forgetting what it’s like to sleep in real beds and wear pretty dresses.”
“And kiss handsome men,” Viv said, smiling. “That’s what you’re really saying, Dots.”
“True. Well, one handsome man anyway,” Dottie said. “And ugh, the worry, the nervousness of what might happen to him.”
“Isn’t he pretty safe being the leader of a band?” Viv said, her question hovering between compassion and sarcasm.
“I thought so, but believe it or not, the band ends up on the line too, especially with all of the losses the Twenty-Eighth has suffered,” she said. “Although I should consider myself lucky because they’re so beat up and exhausted, they’re heading to a rest center in Clervaux, Luxembourg. It’s quiet, a small town tucked safely in the mountains, not too far from us.”
“So, you haven’t even told us, is Harry a lord or a duke or whatever?” I asked Viv. “And where is he headed now?”
“Harry is here and there and everywhere,” Viv said, a bitter edge to her voice. “But he won’t be heading anywhere with me.”
“What are you talking about?” Dottie asked. I glanced over, and Viv’s face had turned grim.
“Harry is indeed a lord,” she said. “I asked him. And then I told him what that nasty British girl said about his family, thinking he would find it funny.”
“And . . . ?” Dottie asked.
“Instead he got very serious,” Viv said. “He told me that he hoped I didn’t expect to meet his parents. That they wouldn’t understand and ‘let’s just have fun and enjoy the night, darling. It’s the war, after all.’ And I realized at that moment that I had started to think of him as something more than just a war fling. And what really stinks is, I thought he thought the same of me. But he didn’t.” Her eyes looked sad, but her expression was angry. “So I told him I didn’t want to see him again. Because really, if that’s what he thinks, why would I? There are plenty of other fellas here to go dancing with.”
Dottie reached out and grabbed Viv’s hand.
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “From the way he acted, he certainly seemed like he was head over heels for you.”
“Yeah, well, that’s men for you sometimes. Most of the time,” Viv said with a shrug, wiping her face. “Your turn, Fiona. You’ve barely said one word since we left Paris. Out with it. What the heck happened last night?”
I paused for a second, not knowing where to begin. So I blurted out the most important detail.
“Turns out Danny is alive at a POW camp in East Prussia,” I said.
I could see both of their looks of shock out of the corner of my eye as I tried to keep my focus on the road and not get too emotional. I told them all the details of the romantic evening, the one that I was still reliving in my mind, despite my guilt. And how Peter and I didn’t bring up Danny until we had to say good-bye.
“Jesus,” Viv said.
“Were you angry that he hadn’t told you the news earlier in the night?” Dottie asked.
“No,” I said. “I took your advice, girls. I really just wanted to have a few hours being with him. Being happy. And I did. And now that I know? I’m sick over it, of course. I stayed up all night thinking about Danny in prison all of this time, of what shape he’s in and what he’s gone through.”
“Oh, Fi, I’m so sorry,” Dottie said. Viv put her arm around my shoulder.
“Do you want a cigarette?” Viv asked. “Spending an incredibly romantic evening with someone and then having them tell you that your dead fiancé’s alive? That’s kind of a lot to handle.”
“For God’s sake, Viv,” Dottie said.
“What?” Viv said. “It’s true.”
“No kidding, Viv,” I said. “It is a lot to handle. But no thank you. I’m not sure how or when it’s going to happen, but I want to be one of the first in the Red Cross to help liberate the POWs, maybe even get all the way to Stalag Luft IV itself.”
“I’ll go with you,” Dottie said.
“Ugh, then I suppose I have to go too,” Viv said, and Dottie elbowed her. “I’m joking. Of course I’ll go if we can get assigned, but that’s a big if.”
“And what are you going to do about Peter?” Dottie asked.
“Nothing,” I said. “I may never see him again.” The thought was hard to bear.
“I bet you’ll see Peter again,” Viv said. “But there’s not much you need to do about it, really. I know you care about him, but it’s not like you’re in love with him or anything. Wait . . . are you?”
I just looked at her. I couldn’t say the words out loud, but after last night, I couldn’t deny it either.
“Oh God,” Viv said, as we crossed over the border into Belgium. “Things just got way more complicated.”
The small city of Bastogne was in the Wiltz valley in the Ardennes, a region of dense forest, meandering rivers, and rough terrain. Twenty-four of us were billeted in an abandoned chateau just outside of town. We were all relieved we didn’t have to set up tents, as the snow had been falling almost daily, and it wasn’t more than twenty degrees out. The chateau was unheated, but at least it was real shelter, and there was a large courtyard where we could park all of our trucks.
The six of us found a room where we could set up our cots, bedrolls, and sleeping bags next to a large woodstove. We had a dinner of K rations with the entire group in the large, unfurnished dining room that night.
“Okay, just a couple reminders before you head to bed,” Liz said as we were wrapping up dinner. “Curfew here is eight p.m., because our guys are still finding Nazis hiding in the woods. Also, there are liable to be mines anywhere, so stay on the roads at all times. In fact, we don’t even want any of you turning around on the roads because the shoulders haven’t been cleared of mines yet.”
A couple of girls groaned at this.
“I know it’s a pain,” Liz said. “But the danger is real. And speaking of driving, pay attention to whoever is guiding you; one wrong turn could land you in enemy territory. The ‘front’ is all around us; it’s not one straight line marked by barbed wire and a big sign.”
She picked up her files and added, “Okay, that’s all; please be ready bright and early tomorrow morning, ladies. I’ll come around with your assignments.”
“Fiona, can you six set up in Bastogne’s town square at six thirty tomorrow morning?” Liz tapped me as I was getting up from the table. “It’s the perfect crossroads, the infantry heading to the front, medics coming back. And then in the afternoon I thought you could hit some of the engineering units repairing bridges. I’ll have a GI in a jeep escort you.”
“Of course,” I said.
“Is everything okay?” Liz said, watching my face. “You all were in deep conversation at the end of the table.”
After catching up with the girls from the Dixie Queen, I had huddled with Blanche, Martha, and Frankie to share the news about Danny. And Peter.
“I’ll tell you about it tomorrow,” I said with a yawn. “It’s a long story.”
“Okay,” she said. “Get some sleep. Oh, and if you have any trouble with the woodstove in your room, there are some GIs that will be checking in on us to help. Just let one of them know.”
The first couple of weeks in Bastogne, we settled into a regular routine and were even busier than we had been in France, with everything made a hundred times more difficult because of the freezing-cold temperatures, ice, and snow. We’d get up in the morning, wolf down some K ration “dog biscuits” as Blanche called them, put our field jackets on over every piece of clothing we owned, and head to the courtyard to make doughnuts. And we would always run into some sort of delay because the tub of lard was frozen shut or the British generator wouldn’t fire up.
Our teams from the Cheyenne and the Uncle Sam would open up shop in the square at Bastogne as hundreds of soldiers passed through, coming from all different directions. It was a seven-road junction in the middle of a dense forest where few roads existed.
In the afternoons, the trucks would split up for different assignments. For me, Dottie, and Viv, that usually meant nearly freezing to death as we followed a GI to one of the remote groups of engineers repairing bridges. The wind would whip through the unheated cab, chilling us right through our layers of clothes and the wool blankets on the seats.