Hope Takes Flight (28 page)

Eddy kept his head down, but yelled back, “He's dead, Sarge! Nothing we could do for him!”

Stone wiggled along the trench. He had almost reached the squad when a bullet raked him across the back, right above the beltline. When he discovered he could not move he cried out.

Eddy jumped up and dragged him to safety, calling to the others, “Keep firing! They're still comin'!” Then he leaned over and examined the wound in Stone's back. “Sarge, I don't think it's too bad.”

Stone gasped, “Well, it hurts bad!” Stone tried to move and found that his legs and arms would still work. “Get this shirt off me!”

Somebody said, “Hold still so we can bandage that wound.”

But Stone waved him off. “Never mind that now!” Looking up, he saw the Germans charging across the field. There were hundreds of them, it seemed, and he pulled his pistol from the holster. “We gotta hold 'em! If they break through here, they'll flank the whole battalion!”

Eddy's face was pale. “We ain't got much ammunition, Sarge.”

“Then don't miss!” Stone said. “Let 'em get thirty feet away before you shoot! We gotta keep 'em outta here!” He rolled over on his stomach, held the pistol with both hands, and waited.

Others along the line waited, too, a small group at the point of the salient. Every man there knew that the Germans would be throwing their full weight against this one point.

“Kayo, I don't know if we can do it!” Eddy whispered to Pulaski. “There ain't many of us, and we ain't got much ammunition! And those guys have got flamethrowers!”

Pulaski swallowed hard and stared at the advancing gray wave. “It looks pretty bad. Too late to send somebody to the rear for help.”

The men stood their ground. The Germans were massing for another attack. There were over two hundred of them, maybe more, at this particular point.

“That's more men than we got bullets!” Pulaski said.

An ominous silence seemed to fall across the field as the Germans massed. All of a sudden they rose up and began charging across, bayonets gleaming in the sunlight, and calling a wild battle cry as they advanced.

“Here they come, Kayo!” Eddy Castellano felt an uncharacteristic sense of despair. But at that moment a sudden movement caught his eye. He swiveled his head to see two men approaching from the rear with a machine gun. “Look! There's two of our guys and they've got a machine gun! They can hold them, if they can just get here!”

Every member of the squad turned to watch as the two soldiers, crouched low—one carrying the machine gun and the other several rounds of ammunition—stumbled and dodged as they headed for the salient where the squad was pinned down. A cheer went up from the squad.

But Pulaski flinched as bullets dusted the ground around the two struggling men. “They'll never make it,” he groaned.

At that same moment an artillery shell exploded fifty feet behind the two soldiers. A second one came a few seconds later, no more than fifty feet in front.

“They got 'em straddled!” Eddy growled. “Them guys ain't gonna make it! And if they don't, we're dead meat!”

Taking another look, he saw that the shell had hit very close to the runners and that both of them were down. Eddy groaned and said wearily, “Well, that's it. It's over. We'll take as many of them as we can!” He lifted his gun and took aim, knowing his rifle would be impotent against the oncoming masses of Germans.

At that moment he heard Stone holler, “Look at that!”

Turning, Eddy saw that the two men were up on their feet again. This time he recognized them. Gasping incredulously, he said, “That's Stuart! That's the preacher! And the kid! It's the preacher and the kid!” which were his usual names for Owen and Tyler Ashland.

“They got Owen!” Pulaski strained to see. “Look at that arm! It's all bloody! I don't see how he can hang on!”

But the two men staggered forward for another twenty-five yards, and they heard Owen say, “Here, Ash—” The two men fell, Ashland fumbled with the machine gun, setting it in place, while Owen set the belt into the machine.

By now the Germans were no more than a hundred yards away, firing as they advanced. Bullets struck all around the machine gun, and Eddy yelled, “Give 'em cover! Give 'em everything you've got!” All up and down the line, a blistering fire from the Eighteenth Battalion began to open up. There were not many of them, but enough to discourage the front line of German soldiers, who began to take cover. And yet the wave came on.

“Why don't he fire!” Eddy yelled. “Why don't he shoot?” His voice was panicky.

And then there was the welcome stutter of the machine gun. Ashland was firing, holding on with both hands, as Owen fed the belt into it.

“That's it! Give it to 'em!” Eddy shouted, and the men began cheering again and redoubled their fire. The German line that had been advancing at a half run halted as though it had run into a concrete wall. Men began to drop everywhere. “Give it to 'em!” Eddy fired the last bullet he had, then picked up Donaldson's rifle and began firing again. “We got 'em!” he exulted. “We got 'em! Look, they're runnin'!”

It was true! The German advance had been halted in their tracks, and now those soldiers who were not down had turned and were desperately seeking shelter.

“C'mon!” Eddy called. “We gotta see about those two guys!” He threw down his empty rifle, pulled his pistol, and ran toward the machine gun. It was silent now, and the Germans were firing in a random, desultory fashion as they pulled back.

Eddy and Pulaski reached the two men at the same time. “Hey, you guys pulled our bacon outta the fire!” Eddy said.

“Yeah, it's great! A knockout!” Pulaski added.

But then they stopped, seeing Owen's face, as pale as paper. Looking down, they gasped in horror. Owen's right hand was missing. A crude tourniquet was tied around the stump, but blood still oozed from the wound.

“Hey!” Eddy cried. “Hey, Owen…”

Tyler Ashland reached over and grabbed Owen as he sagged. “We gotta get him to a doctor, or he's gonna bleed to death!”

Eddy at once said, “Tighten that tourniquet! Here, Kayo, help me carry him! Kid, you help too!” He stopped abruptly, eyeing Tyler with new respect. “Hey, Kid!”

Ashland looked at him, his pale face quivering, and Eddy grinned. “I take back everything I ever said about you. And I ain't never gonna call you ‘Kid' again. You're a true man!”

“Yeah,” he said. “Now let's get Owen to a medic.”

They carried Owen back and found a stretcher. There was no lack of willing hands to take him to the field hospital. When they got there, the doctors were ready for a private who had had a finger shot off. But they were shocked when a tough-looking soldier elbowed the man aside and said, “You'll hafta wait. We got a real case for the docs.”

The doctor was incensed. “Get out of here and wait your turn!” he said. “Out!”

And then he halted, for the tall, black-haired soldier with a pair of steely black eyes had lifted his pistol and was aiming at his heart. “Shut your mouth, Doc. Or I'll make it so
you
need a doctor. Now, fix up my buddy here.”

The surgeon glanced down at the pale-faced form on the stretcher and glared at Eddy. “We'll talk about this later, after I take care of your friend.”

“You can do anything you want to…
afterwards,
” Eddy Castellano said. “And I'm tellin' you this: If he dies, I'll put a bullet through you.”

The doctor, a heavyset gray-haired man, directed the men to lift Owen onto the operating table. Then he put his mask on, glanced at Eddy, pulled out his own pistol, and laid it on the operating table. “You stand right there, soldier. 'Cause I'll tell you something else: If this man dies, I'll know it five seconds before you do!”

Castellano appreciated the doctor's grim humor. He holstered his pistol. “You're okay, Doc. Don't let me stand in your way.”

The doctor grunted, then turned to see what he could do for Owen. “Doesn't look good,” he muttered. “He's lost too much blood. It'll take an act of God to save him!”

Castellano nodded. “That's okay. God's his partner. You just do your part and let God take care of his.”

W
here's Lylah Stuart's room?”

Nurse Alice Bendell, who had been reading one of the charts, looked up with a startled expression at the three men who had appeared out of nowhere. “I'm sorry. Visiting hours are over,” she said primly.

A slight woman, Alice Bendell was conscious of her lack of stature and drew herself up to her full height. But that didn't help much. The three men standing before her were all tall. One of them was in civilian clothes, the second wore the uniform of the French Air Force, and the third was an American soldier, and she saw with a start that the sleeve of his right arm was pinned up.

The civilian spoke first. “Yes, we know that. But we really need to see her. We're worried about her. I don't think your supervisor would mind if we saw her.”

“Has the baby come yet?” the flyer asked.

“Why, yes, but the mother's had a very difficult time. I'm sure the doctor wouldn't want her to be disturbed.”

“My fiancée, Lady Heather Spencer, is with her,” said the flyer. He used the title purposely, hoping it would impress the nurse as it had impressed him. “I think Lady Spencer might like for us to be admitted.”

Nurse Bendell was taken aback. She had not realized that the woman who had come into the hospital the previous day with the American actress was a titled Englishwoman. Nevertheless, despite her size, the nurse was used to having her own way. “I'm afraid it's impossible!” she snapped.

The largest of the three men—the American soldier with the missing right arm—said rather gently, “I really wish you would ask the doctor, Nurse. We're very concerned about our sister.”

“Your sister?”

“Yes. I'm Amos Stuart. This is Gavin Stuart, and this is Owen Stuart.”

“Well…” the nurse relented, impressed by their rugged good looks and their courtesy. “I'll ask, but I can't make any promises.”

“That's fine,” Amos said quickly. “We'll wait right here.” She left and he winked at Owen. “You should have shown her your Medal of Honor.”

Owen grinned with embarrassment. “I don't think that would cut any ice with that one,” he said. “Anyway, I'm a little bit shaky right now.”

Almost at once the nurse was back with a short, rumpled-looking doctor with a shock of wild gray hair. “I'm Dr. Stevens,” he said. He peered at the three men and inquired, “You're Miss Stuart's brothers?”

“That's right, doctor,” Amos answered. “How is she?”

“Oh, very well.” He shrugged slightly. “The first child is always difficult, and she's older than most first-time mothers, but she's fine.”

“And the baby?” Gavin asked eagerly.

“A perfect specimen.”

“Well, is it a boy or a girl?” Owen burst out.

Doctor Stevens grinned at him, suddenly amused. “It would have to be, wouldn't it?”

The three men stared at him, then all three burst into laughter. “I didn't know you English had a sense of humor,” Amos said. “Well, which
one
is it?”

“A fine boy.” The doctor nodded. “Nurse, go along and take these men to see their sister.”

The diminutive nurse led the way down the hall, came to a door and opened it, standing back to allow them to precede her.

“Thank you, nurse,” Amos said and led the way into the room. His quick eye found Heather, who rose at once and came to stand beside Gavin.
He picked a winner this time, that brother of mine,
Amos thought.

Then he went to the bed and stared down at Lylah, who was holding the baby to her breast. “Well, Sis,” he said, “we missed the main event.” He grinned and lightly put his hand on her head. “But it looks as if you did all right without us.”

Surrounded by her three strong brothers, Lylah felt very small. “You're quite a committee. Did you come to conduct an inspection?”

“Right,” Gavin said. “Let's see the little varmint.”

Lylah pulled the blanket back. Gavin leaned over and looked at the child. “Why, he's all red and wrinkled!”

“You idiot!” Heather gasped and struck him a light blow on the shoulder. “He's a beautiful child! I hope you have a little more sense later on!”

Owen shouldered his way closer and looked down. “Can I hold him?” Lylah nodded and held up the little one. Owen reached out with his left hand, gathered the baby close, and held him awkwardly, gazing down into the tiny face. For a long time, he didn't say anything. Lylah watched his eyes carefully. Finally he smiled and said, “You know what? He looks like Pa!”

Amos came and stood behind Owen to stare down at the baby. “You know, I think you might be right? He does look like Pa!”

“Do you really think so?” Lylah whispered.

Gavin squinted and looked closer. “That he does!” Then he held out his hand and Lylah took it. “You did fine, Sis. Real fine.”

Amos looked around at the family gathered here. “There sure are a lot of us Stuarts in this room.” Then he glanced at Heather. “And some honorary Stuarts, almost. When are you two getting married?”

“As soon as Father can take his shotgun to Gavin.” Heather smiled and linked her hand with his, leaning against him. “Then the fight will begin—whether we'll live in England or in America.”

Gavin grinned. “Got to win
this
war first.” He looked at her adoringly. “But any place will suit me as long as you're there.”

Lylah lay quietly, listening to the conversation swirling around her. She was very tired, but the pain and the difficulty of the birth now seemed magically gone.

Amos leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. “What are you going to name him?”

Lylah took the baby from Owen and nestled him close. She ran her finger across his forehead, and the tiny face wrinkled up at her touch. “He looks like a little old man when he does that, doesn't he?” Then she looked up at Amos and said, “His name is Adam.”

“Adam Stuart…Adam Stuart…” Amos murmured. “Has a nice ring to it.”

“Sounds good to me,” Gavin said. “How about Adam Gavin Stuart, just to give him a little class?”

“It'd probably be confusing. We're going to name our first one Gavin. That'd be too many Gavins around for even me,” Heather said, smiling slightly.

Owen stood looking down at Lylah and her son. Then he glanced over at his brothers. “Seems like a long time ago, doesn't it, when we were all kids back in Arkansas? We've come a long way together.” His face grew cloudy. “We've still got a long way to go.”

“The war will be over soon,” Amos said quickly. “Our troops are pouring in by the hundreds of thousands. Germany's already making peace offers. It'll be over before the year's out.”

Gavin reached out and touched the ribbon on Owen's chest. “There'll be a big to-do over you when we get back home, Brother. Not many men win the Medal of Honor and live to tell about it.”

Owen was again embarrassed. “It's just a bit of ribbon, that's all.”

“It's more than that,” Amos said quietly, “and everybody knows it. But I can see you'd rather not talk about it.” He leaned down and whispered to Lylah, “We don't want to tire you. But we'll be back.”

“Stay a while, Amos,” Lylah pleaded. Knowing that these two were especially close, the others prepared to leave the room.

“We'll see you later, Sis,” Owen said, “and I'll hold that little scudder some more.”

Gavin grinned at Heather. “Come on, woman. You can cook us something to eat.”

When they were gone, Amos pulled up a chair and sat down beside Lylah's bed. Reaching over, he took the baby from Lylah and held him. Pulling back the blanket, he stared at the infant and murmured, “Adam Stuart. He's a fine boy, Lylah. I know you're very proud of him.”

“But he'll never have a father, Amos. Never.”

Amos looked across at his sister, his fine eyes quiet and watchful. Then a smile came to his lips and he shook his head in denial. “Yes, he will, Lylah. Didn't you know that God is the father of the fatherless?” He held the child up and looked at him, and many thoughts ran through his mind. Then he simply reached over, giving the child back to Lylah, and kissed her on the cheek and sat back saying, “God will be the father of your child, Lylah.”

The two sat there in silence, and Amos watched as his words soothed the worried wrinkles from Lylah's brow. Her lips grew soft, and she leaned over and kissed the baby's cheek. Her thoughts were far away, he knew, in a world that none of them could ever enter—the world she had known with the German. Then he looked at the baby again. “He has a goodly heritage, Lylah. A goodly heritage.”

Again silence flowed over the room and they sat in the quietness, watching as the baby beat the air with his fists and wondering what sort of world Adam Stuart would know.