With Every Letter Read Online Free PDF

than Larry knew.
    In the darkness, the other ships of the convoy showed as a hint of shape, as too much black against the shimmering sea, as a disturbance of the waves. More black lay ahead on the port side, a giant triangle cut out from the starry fabric of the night sky.
    “Gibraltar,” Larry whispered, as if his voice might carry to the enemy.
    “Wow.” The British territory stood guard at the entrance of the Mediterranean, between Spain to the north and Spanish Morocco to the south. Officially neutral, Spain was one of many unknown variables in Operation Torch. Only a few years earlier, Hitler had helped Franco rise to power in the Spanish Revolution. Would Hitler call him on his debt?

    “What do you think the French will do?” Larry asked.
    “Who knows?” The French were the biggest variable. French Morocco, Algeria, and Tunisia were occupied by Vichy France, the government set up in southern France after the Nazi victory in June 1940. A few weeks later, the British sank French ships to prevent them from falling into German hands. Over a thousand French sailors had died. The Vichy hadn’t forgotten.
    Tom drummed his fingers on the railing. “The top brass thinks the French will drop their guns when they see Americans wade ashore. But if they don’t fight us, what will the Nazis do to Vichy France? It could go either way.”
    “What about the Germans? Sure, the British just routed them at El Alamein, and Monty’s got Rommel on the run. But do you think Rommel will send troops into Algeria?”
    “Who knows? Lot of unknowns. Our army’s one of them. None of us have seen combat yet.”
    “Yeah, well, it’s been almost a year since Pearl Harbor. About time we got in the fight.”
    “Yep.” Gibraltar grew more massive in Tom’s sight. Only one thing he could count on—the Rock of Ages, far stronger than Gibraltar.

5
    Bowman Field
November 7, 1942
    Bits of cloud flecked the sky as if angels had indulged in a pillow fight. Mellie crossed the tarmac toward a C-47 cargo plane and lifted her voice to stir up the feathery clouds, singing “All the Things You Are.”
    She rounded the plane’s tail and stopped short, her song suspended on a low note. Three nurses already stood by the cargo door, wearing their dress blues. Mellie had planned to arrive first.
    Vera Viviani snickered and whispered to Alice Olson, “All the things he is will never be hers.”
    Although her cheeks flamed, she gazed around with a neutral expression as if she hadn’t heard. How embarrassing that they thought she pined for love. She just liked the song. At least her dark complexion hid her blush.
    Mellie glanced at her watch. Today they were supposed to do something productive for a change. So far they’d done nothing but calisthenics and marching drills as the brass argued about whether or not to use the nurses and in what capacity.
    A tune drifted to Mellie—“Keep ’Em Flying.” Rose Danilovich and Georgie Taylor marched to the plane, arm in arm, belting out their own lyrics. “Get us flying. Get us in the air. Get us flying. Grounding us ain’t fair.”
    Mellie smiled and pressed her fingers to her mouth. Georgie had a rich, strong alto, which would blend nicely with her own soprano. Rose sang off-key but with courage and spirit.
    “Come on, ladies,” Rose called. “Sing along. We’ve got a squadron theme song.”
    “A song?” Kay Jobson stepped back and crossed her arms. “Then I need to transfer.”
    “We’re nurses,” Alice said in a condescending tone. “If you want to sing for the troops, join the USO.”
    Mellie edged forward. Her heart thumped, but the conversation had crossed into the professional domain. “As nurses, our job is to comfort our patients. What could be more comforting than music?”
    “That’s right, Philomela.” Georgie grinned and extended her free arm. “You’ll join us in our song, won’t you?”
    Mellie froze. The image of her singing arm in arm with two other girls was such a