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Franz turned out to be a decent sort and they spent long hours talking about their lives in Britain before the war, and what their plans were for the future—whatever that might be. Gavin chafed at the hip, which kept him bedridden, but Franz told him not to complain. It was much better to be in the medical station than with the other prisoners. Gavin had to agree. Sitting out the rest of the war in an internment camp was not his idea of bliss.
Despite his newfound comforts and companions, every day he woke with Angus’s face as he’d last seen him—devoid of expression, cold. It haunted him and he prayed that his brother was all right. He thought of Flora and wished she’d stayed at home, where he would know she was safe. He wondered if she knew he was alive. They must know by now that he’d been taken prisoner, Gavin reasoned. After a moment, these thoughts depressed him and he got up and joined Franz and Karl, who were playing poker for cigarettes. Pulling up a chair, he prepared to join the game.
“Deal me in,” he said with an American twang that made them all laugh. He studied his cards carefully. Karl was easy to bluff. Franz played better, but Joachim, a lieutenant from Mannheim, was the best of the three. He lit a cigarette and the game progressed.
Half an hour later, the matron marched in. She pursed her lips, looked his way and announced with a triumphant smirk that a number of prisoners were to be brought in within the hour. Gavin pretended to concentrate on the game but he was excited. Perhaps he would finally learn some news. There was another fact to face, as well. Until now, he’d been comfortably letting time go by. But his duty as an officer taken prisoner was to immediately search for a route of escape. While he was healing, that hadn’t been possible. But although his thigh still ached and his hip hurt like hell when he walked, his arm was considerably better. If there were more British prisoners, then the situation might change.
He glanced at his cards, aware of the nurses hurrying through with fresh piles of blankets, followed shortly by stretchers carrying the wounded. He barely managed to control his impatience, ready to drop out of the game in his eagerness to question the newcomers. Watching as the wounded—more victims of the salient—were carried passed, Gavin realized guiltily that for the past couple of weeks he’d allowed himself to fall into the apathy of convalescence. The war seemed remote without the backdrop of artillery fire. He got up, unable to stay still, and went to the door. A particularly nasty case of gangrene reminded him of just how real the conflict still was. When a straggling group of wounded officers was directed into the ward under the matron’s vigilant eye, he moved next to them.
“Where did they get you?” he asked a pale lieutenant not much older than himself.
“In the shoulder, and a scratch on the head. It’s a bloody mess out there.”
“What regiment are you with?”
“Warwickshire. And you?”
“Fifty-first Highlanders.” Gavin smiled at Annelise, and got her to direct the lieutenant to the cot closest to his. The other man nodded and thanked him, sinking onto the bed in exhaustion.
“All hell’s broken loose. I hope this time it may get us somewhere.” He gave a tired shrug and closed his eyes.
“The Germans are as fed up as we are.”
“I’ll bet. When were you captured?”
“October.”
“You’ve heard about the French mutiny? They refuse to fight any longer, except to defend. Can’t blame them, poor chaps. Chemin des Dames was a bloodbath.”
“I don’t suppose you saw any of the Fifty-first, did you?”
“Only back at Etaples about three weeks ago. There were a couple of fellows wounded at Passchendaele—probably some of your chaps—waiting to be shipped home. The other poor buggers were waiting to die.”
“Does the name Angus MacLeod mean anything to you?” Gavin offered him a cigarette.
“Thanks.” The young man smiled his appreciation. “MacLeod. That rings a bell. Isn’t he Ghost MacLeod’s twin, the chap who braved the lines at Ypres and saved a whole battalion? That was either incredible courage or plain stupidity. He got the M.C. for it, you know. Apparently he was much younger than he made out, too. I think his twin was back at the field hospital waiting to be shipped home. He didn’t handle his brother’s death too well.”
“Death?” The lighter stopped in midair.
“I’m afraid so. There was no trace of him, poor devil. Did you know him?”
“They think I’m dead,” Gavin murmured, horrified. Wiping beads of sweat from his forehead, he sat down on the bed with a bang.
“Are you all right? Was MacLeod a friend of yours?”
“I’ll be fine. It’s just rather odd to know you’ve been given up for dead.”
“Oh God. What do you mean? You’re—”
“Yes. I’m Captain Gavin MacLeod. Angus is my brother.”
“Good Lord.” The man looked at him in sudden awe. “I’m Lieutenant Miles Conway, by the way,” he said, stretching out his hand and smiling from below the bandage. “It’s an honor to meet you, Ghost.”
“Thanks.” They shook hands and Gavin sensed an immediate bond.
Dead. They thought he was dead! Gavin assimilated this news, imagining Flora and his parents. How devastated they must all be. It was bad enough to picture them thinking him missing. But dead…The image of Angus’s impassive face flashed before him, but he refused to think of that right now. There were other priorities—such as escape—to be thought of, that took on new urgency.
“Any chance of us getting out of here?” Miles asked, voicing Gavin’s thoughts.
“I don’t know. Up until now I’ve been on my own,” he answered vaguely. “Difficult to believe one’s been given up for dead. Gives one a damn odd feeling, I must say.”
“They may know that you’re alive by now. Perhaps they’ve set the records straight.”
“I bloody well hope so,” Gavin replied, suddenly angry—at the army, at Angus for not helping him and at the damn Krauts for catching him. “Now that you’re here, perhaps we can get an escape plan going.” He rose and smiled at his new companion. “You’d better rest. By the way, my neighbor Franz is okay. Has a British mother, and lived in England all his life. He got called back here at the beginning of the war.”
Annelise approached, hustling Gavin away before attending to Lieutenant Conway. “You want to butter her up,” he said over his shoulder. “She’s a great girl.”
“Everything all right?” Franz asked him anxiously as Gavin flopped on his bed, cold sweat racking his body. He leaned back, his eyes closed, feeling nauseous. Was it possible his twin had left him to die? He squeezed his hands into tight fists, his knuckles white, seized by doubt.
That night he barely slept, tossing and turning, positive one minute that Angus had betrayed him, convinced the next that it wasn’t so. To distract himself, he set his mind on ways of escape. Glancing at Franz, peacefully asleep in the next bed with his face etched by the light of the full moon, Gavin wondered just how far the man could be trusted. He seemed to be on their side, but could he be sure?
At 3:00 a.m. in the pitch dark, he rose, stiff and restless, to smoke a cigarette.
“Wo gehen siehen?” the nurse asked peremptorily.
“Annelise?” he whispered, offering her a cigarette. She relaxed, smiled as his eyes lingered on her face and he ran his fingers though his hair. The patch that had been shaved was growing back, thick and black as ever, and she was obviously not oblivious to his Gaelic charm, whatever she might have heard about the British.
He motioned for her to go to the far end near the door, where they could sit, the flame from the match lighting her face. She was pretty enough, he considered. Full, round breasts, a trim waist, shapely hips that could only be imagined under the stiff uniform. He went suddenly hard, picturing her skin melding to his. As though reading his mind, she leaned closer. It was a risk, he realized, blood pounding. A big risk, yet an enticing one. If she so much as squeaked, they’d shoot him. But for the first time since arriving in the godforsaken hospital, he felt alive, back in the game, dodging danger.
He raised a hand to her cheek, his eyes mesmerizing. “Shön, beautiful,” he whispered, hearing the quick intake of breath and sensing no rejection when his hand dropped below the stiff edge of her collar toward her generous breast. He reached her nipple and she shuddered under the many layers of material that separated his fingers from her flesh.
It was exhilarating to peer through the shadows and know that this enemy nurse, decked out in her prim stiff uniform, was hot, wet and throbbing for him. A rush of power, followed by the primeval need to possess her, overwhelmed him, and he wondered where he could take her to satisfy the urgent, consuming need.
Pulling her close, he felt her breasts press against his chest. Then she led him by the hand, glancing about cautiously as they slipped from the ward, out into a muddied alley that separated the buildings. She pointed to a nearby hut some two hundred feet away.
Making sure the coast was clear, Gavin followed her across the alley and slipped inside the hut, closing the door hastily behind him before striking a match. As his eyes became accustomed to the dark, he recognized a bed and what appeared to be piles of clean laundry in the corner. He laid the matchbox on the table, fascinated by the shafts of moonlight lighting Annelise’s hair. In one swift movement he reached up, pulled the pins from the neat chignon she wore and watched the thick, silvery-blond mass fall about her shoulders. Then their bodies cleaved impatiently and they tumbled onto the tiny bed, the need for one another too acute.
He was about to undress her, but his hip brought him to a grinding halt. Swearing under his breath, he smiled apologetically, wondering what the hell to do. To his surprise, she turned her back to him and kneeled forward, leaning on the bed. Twisting her neck, she smiled invitingly. Gavin got behind her. Raising the stiff skirt above her waist, he gazed through the shadows at her pert, shapely bottom, encased in the ugly suspenders that held up thick regulation stockings.
Fumbling with excitement, he undid his pajamas, all danger forgotten as she raised her buttocks in a brazen demand for satisfaction, and slipped his fingers between her firm thighs, savoring her need, her stifled gasps, prolonging the moment for as long as he could before entering her with a swift, hard thrust. She moaned softly, writhing as he grasped her waist, and they fell into a frantic rhythm. When he came, he spewed all the pain, doubt and anger of the past months, and let out a sigh of satisfaction as he leaned against her, still feeling her throb. Then, as he opened his eyes, he heard Annelise mutter a strange name in a muffled whisper. All at once, he realized with a shock why she hadn’t wanted to look into his eyes. They were the wrong ones.
The sound of boots squelching in the mud had him extricating himself hastily. He pulled up his pajamas, while Annelise straightened her skirt and fumbled on the floor for her hairpins. Retrieving them, she gave her hair an expert twist, and he handed her the cap, laying a finger over his lips and listening carefully as the footsteps came closer. She trembled, and he slipped his arm around her as the sound grew louder. When the footsteps stopped outside the hut, she began to shake. A nurse who betrayed the fatherland would be shot, just as he would, if they were caught. Gavin felt suddenly ashamed for allowing instinct to overcome reason, annoyed that he’d put her in danger. After all, she was just a young girl, suffering the ravages of war.
All was silent now except for their heartbeats. He leaned forward against the rickety wall of the shanty, ears tuned, and peered through the darkness for another way out, reluctant to strike a match. As far as he could see, there was only the flimsy wooden door by which they had entered, and that opened onto the muddy path leading to the ward. He couldn’t risk letting her leave alone, he realized, squeezing her close. If she were caught she might scream rape to save her skin. Damn. He could tell by the sudden darkness and chill in the air that day was about to break. He was almost certain there was only one man out there. Probably the sentry, doing his last round, had stopped for a smoke. Gavin held his breath, feeling the girl’s heart beating wildly and her teeth chattering.
“Annelise, we must raus,” he whispered. “If they find us here, they will kill us.” He drew his hand across his throat, then pointed to her and at himself. She nodded tearfully and the trembling increased.
As a tiny sliver of gray light appeared, Gavin pressed his eye between the slats but could see nothing. Withdrawing, he turned again to Annelise. Then, as dawn broke, he distinguished clothing, hanging on hooks on the opposite wall and piled in a number of baskets. Looking closely, he saw they were freshly pressed German uniforms. He turned Annelise around by the shoulders and pointed silently to the baskets, indicating that he needed something to wear. She nodded, moving quickly, while Gavin picked up a heavy, unlit gas lamp from the shelf and stood with it raised behind the door, in case it opened.
Annelise rummaged through the piles, then turned, holding up a German uniform that looked about his size. He smiled and their eyes met as he laid down the lamp and took the uniform from her, putting it on over his pajamas.
“What about boots?” he whispered, pointing to his feet, clad in felt army slippers. Gavin watched in amazement as she opened a locker, where several pairs of immaculately polished boots stood in a symmetrical row. She went straight to the largest pair and handed them to him, along with some heavy, gray, knit socks. He pulled the boots on, ignoring the steady increase of pain in his hip and thigh. Finally, she handed him a cap. Gavin put it on, then grinned and raised an eyebrow. Annelise smiled despite herself, easing the tension as they tiptoed to the door. Gavin pointed to himself.
“Ich first. Count to ten minuten.” He held up all his fingers and she nodded. When she grabbed his sleeve, he saw the fear in her eyes and held her close, then dropped a hard kiss on her mouth. “It’ll be okay.” He used the universal American expression and raised a thumb. She nodded. Then he edged the door open and sent up a silent prayer that it wouldn’t creak.
Peeking through the crack, he saw the sentry’s back turned toward the telltale smoke rising above his shoulder. Gavin guessed that he was probably three-quarters of the way through his cigarette. The seconds dragged as they waited anxiously for him to finish. Other than the sentry, the coast seemed clear. All that lay between him and the field hospital was a muddied stretch of dirt.
Finally he saw the cigarette butt tip into the mud, and the sentry tramped off. With a sigh of relief, Gavin slipped outside and walked purposefully toward the ward, realizing he had no idea what rank he held. Two soldiers passed and saluted respectfully. He returned the salute, struck by the humor of it. This was easier than he’d thought. The other uniforms in the hut had set his mind working. As he walked quietly through the silent ward toward the curtain separating the officers from the men, he came to a sudden decision. Reaching Miles’s bed, he clamped a hand quickly over his mouth. Miles’s eyes darted open in horrified surprise.
“Don’t worry, it’s me,” Gavin whispered. “Just don’t squeal, that’s all.” He removed his hand and continued in an urgent whisper. “I think there may be a chance for us to escape, if we’re very quick.”
“How?” Miles asked, blinking sleepily at Gavin’s uniform. “Where on earth did you get that?”
“A couple of hundred yards to the left, outside the ward, there’s a laundry hut full of ’em. It may be our only chance. Annelise will help. She’s in there now,” he continued urgently, ignoring Miles’s raised eyebrow and amused admiration. “If anyone comes around, remember to address her as Schwester. Can you speak any German?”
“Not a bloody word.”
“Damn.” Gavin glanced over his shoulder and ducked when he saw Franz, lying in the next bed, move. He was too late, though. Franz pulled himself up.
“How the hell did you get that?” he asked, gazing at Gavin. Gavin turned quickly, gesturing for silence as Franz slipped from his bed.
Gavin and Miles eyed him warily. He could save them or sign their death warrants. As though sensing their doubt, he whispered urgently, “You can count me in. I’ve had enough of this bloody mess, too.”
“Okay. Then let’s get the hell out while we can. Franz, you’ve got your uniform. Better get it on.”
Franz returned to his bed and silently retrieved his belongings from beneath it, while Miles and Gavin made their way to the entrance of the ward, making sure no one was awake. “Make a run for it, Miles,” he said when they reached the door.
Franz joined them. “Wait. We’d better stick together. If anyone speaks to us I can talk to them and explain we’re taking Miles for questioning. Just look haughty, Gavin. You’re a high-ranking officer.”
“He’s right,” Gavin whispered. “Let’s go. First hut to your left across the stretch.”
The air was raw as they marched smartly toward the hut, the only sign of life a thin spiral of smoke from the kitchen chimney. Gavin breathed hard. There was still the risk that Annelise might have called someone. But his gut told him no, and silently they slipped inside the rickety wooden hut.
Annelise stood inside still, her eyes widening as she recognized Franz. “Was machen sie?” she whispered, horrified. “Why are you here? What is happening?” As her voice rose, Gavin clamped his hand over her mouth, then soothed her. “It’s all right. Franz, you explain.”
“We can’t.” His tone was cold and emphatic.
“Why the hell not?”
“We can’t risk it.”
“Okay, we’ll think about that in a minute.” Gavin pointed impatiently to the baskets. “You’d better change too, Franz. They’ll be on the lookout for you. As soon as the new nurse comes on, she’ll wonder where we all went.”
Miles was already climbing into a uniform, and Franz joined him, searching quickly through the piles.
“What about her?” Miles asked Gavin, looking doubtfully at Annelise as he buttoned his shirt.
“She’ll have to come with us. If they find her, they’ll kill her,” he replied, peering through the slats and missing the look the other two exchanged. “Do you know the layout of this place, Franz?” he asked.
“Not really. But Annelise probably does.” He turned and questioned her quickly in German. “Good. She knows where the Officers’ Mess is. We must get hold of a car. You’re a Haupt Kommandant, Gavin, so you can requisition whatever you like,” he added with a touch of humor.
“If we head toward the British lines we’ll be shot at,” Miles mused as he straightened his jacket.
“The Swiss border’s probably the best bet,” Gavin agreed, dropping a quick kiss on Annelise’s forehead.
“No. Too risky,” Franz countered. “But perhaps we can reach a place my parents own in the Black Forest, not far from here.”
“We can think of that later. For now, let’s just get out of here. Franz, explain to Annelise while I see if the coast is clear.” Gavin turned her around and kissed her again. “It’s okay,” he reassured her, pointing to Franz. “He will tell you what to do.” She nodded fearfully and he smiled at her. Then, going to the door, he edged it open just a fraction. It was raining and would get worse, if the dark gray clouds forming overhead were any indication. He glanced back. “This is it. Good luck!”
Gavin strode firmly ahead, the others following. Together they marched purposefully across the muddied road toward the main section of the barracks, Franz and Gavin in the lead and Miles and Annelise following slightly behind. They headed directly to where she had told them the cars were kept.
“Okay, this is it. It’s up to Franz now,” Gavin said, letting out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding as they approached the building, a large whitewashed farmhouse with a stable attached. “You stay here with Annelise, Miles. Franz and I’ll go inside. Look as if you’re flirting. Give her a cigarette.”
Miles nodded silently and took the cigarette from Gavin, offering one to Annelise. As he held her trembling fingers to light it, Miles exchanged a quick look with Franz before the two men left.
“Show authority, but don’t speak, even if they address you,” Franz whispered to Gavin as they marched up the stairs to the building.
It was barely light as they entered the office. A subordinate stood up from behind a desk, sleepily saluting. Franz took command, ordered a car—the best possible vehicle. It was to be handed over to the Haupt Kommandant immediately.
“But the orders, sir?” The young man hesitated.
“What orders, you idiot,” Franz barked. “Can’t you hear me, Dumkopf? These are your orders.”
Excusing himself profusely, the young corporal blushingly preceded them out of the house and ran to crank up the car. Gavin stood by nervously. Franz opened the back door ceremoniously for Gavin, then got in next to him. Tension was rife as two soldiers passed, eyeing them curiously, but they continued on their way after a prompt salute.
“Where the hell are Miles and Annelise?” Gavin hissed anxiously as the seconds ticked. Finally, after what seemed like hours, Miles climbed behind the wheel.
“Where’s Annelise?” Gavin asked, frowning and twisting his neck to see where she might be. Miles didn’t answer. Instead, he started the car and began to drive, picking up speed as they moved toward the entrance.
“Don’t look at the sentries. Just look straight ahead,” Franz murmured. But the guards merely saluted smartly and the car passed unimpeded. The three men breathed a little easier.
“Where is Annelise? Why didn’t she come?” Gavin shouted once they were on the road. “We can’t just leave her there, for Christ’s sake. What happened, Miles?”
“I killed her. I’m sorry, Gavin, but I had to. She was too much of a liability. She could have blown the whole operation.”
“You what?” The blood drained from his face.
“I’m sorry.”
“You bastard. How could you?” Helpless anger seethed through Gavin. Franz held him back as he lunged at Miles across the car seat.
“Control yourself, damn it. It’s awful, but he did the right thing.”
“How could you? She was my responsibility. I got her into this. Oh God.”
He sat trembling, horror and rage battling as he tried to reason, to remain in control. No liabilities. He could hear the sergeant at the training center repeating the same thing over and over. No feelings, no pity, no risk. But this was Annelise, a woman he’d made love to only a few hours before, a woman he’d brought this upon. It was his fault she was dead.
All at once he was tempted to look back, to jump out of the car, as though by doing so he could make her materialize through the rain, the trees speeding past.
