Chapter Eight

November 11, 1918

M olly kept one eye on the switchboard and the other on the clock hanging on the wall above it. She'd been connecting calls as fast as her fingers could fly the past several days and was privy to information everyone would shortly know.

Although she was sure all the Signal Corps girls knew what was about to happen, they feigned ignorance and maintained their professional demeanor as calls spilled into their office.

"Number, please? Oh, J'écoute . Oui, oui ," she said, connecting the call for a French general.

The hands on the clock were almost to straight-up eleven when one of the Signal Corps captains rushed into their office, grabbed Molly's headset from her, and placed an urgent call.

"Cease fire! Cease fire!" he yelled before he disconnected the call and repeated the action two more times. When he handed the headset back to Molly, he looked at the girls. "It's over."

Elizabeth grabbed a pail they'd filled with cut-up little pieces of paper and threw it into the air. Confetti rained down on all of them as they laughed, cried, and cheered. After all these months, after all the lives lost and all the blood that had been shed and battles fought, the Allies had won the war.

The war was over.

"I promise a real celebration later, but you girls are going to have a busy day," the captain said as calls flooded in.

Molly could hardly wait for her shift to end to write letters to her loved ones. The first one who popped into her mind was Friday Fitzpatrick.

It made no sense to her why the men had been ordered to keep on fighting when most of the commanding officers knew on the eleventh day of the eleventh month at the eleventh hour, Germany would surrender, and the Armistice would go into effect. The documents had been signed early that morning, but it made her blood boil to think of those who'd needlessly died that morning. It was senseless and sad, but at least the war was over.

At this very moment, Molly had no idea what that meant. It seemed the end had come rather suddenly after so many brutal days of fighting. Now that it was here, she assumed it would take time to get everything sorted out.

There were barely enough ships running to get troops and supplies there as it was. She wondered how the transporting of thousands of men back to the States was going to work.

As more calls poured in, Molly focused on connecting them and left her questions to ponder later. But as she worked, she prayed Friday hadn't been one of the day's casualties.

"Hold your fire! Cease fire! It's over, boys! The war is over!" Sergeant Grover bellowed as his voice joined others in command.

Friday had heard rumors the war was about to end, but it seemed too good to be true. One minute the battle had raged around them, and in the next, everything suddenly fell quiet. Truthfully, there hadn't been that many shots fired all morning, as if everyone knew what was coming.

As though the realization the war was finally at an end hit them all at once, a loud cheer erupted in the air. A few of the boys with energy to burn broke into a jig. Everyone was laughing and slapping each other on the back.

Friday thought he could live to be a hundred and never forget the feeling of relief that washed over him in that moment. The war was over, and he was still alive.

Blake ran over to him, and they shared pats on the backs, then exchanged them with Aaron and Toby.

"Well, Fitz. You gonna tell us about that girl who's been writing to you now?" Toby asked.

"Nope." Friday smirked at him and pulled Toby's helmet down over his face.

The others laughed, and they joined the rest of the men in their regiment in standing around, waiting for orders. They hadn't had a thing to eat since yesterday, and Friday couldn't recall the last time he'd had a real bath, but he figured it would be a while before they were all cootie-free.

That evening, they went back into the town they had so recently liberated and spent the night in a convent. The following day, they moved into what had once been a penitentiary for Belgian and French soldiers, established by the Germans. There was plenty of room for them, although Friday mused it was a step down from sleeping in the convent.

He would have slept on the ground in the pouring rain if that's what they needed to do. Their sleeping quarters seemed rather irrelevant to the incredible news of the Armistice. All the men in his regiment were full of excitement, their spirits and morale soaring as high as the clouds above them in the November sky.