7. 1942

CHAPTER SEVEN

1942

CYRIL

M y arms and legs pump as I run to the rock, waiting for the sting of a bullet and wishing I ran as fast as Teddy. I make it to the safety of the rock and crouch before readying my rifle. Teddy sprints toward me weighed down with gear. He's almost to me when he jerks and stumbles and falls.

My heart lurches.

I turn, and there's a fucking Italian soldier kneeling near the rocks not ten meters from me. Rage bubbles through me. How dare he. We were so close to safety. I yell as I open fire, not caring about conserving bullets. I empty my clip, but he's dead before I'm done.

"Fuck!" The wind snatches my voice away. I toss my useless rifle aside and run over to Teddy, hoping that he's alive. That he's not bleeding out. That whatever injury he has isn't fatal. "How bad is it?"

He lifts his hand from his side. There's not much blood on his palm. He stares at his hand and then at me. "It's just a nick. Bloody Italians can't shoot straight."

He laughs, and I join in as I haul him up .

His mirth turns into a pained groan. "That pinches."

"It's okay. I'll have a proper look in the cave. Not far now." I can barely see the body of the Italian, and the wind is pushing me around as I try to support Teddy. I'm not losing everyone.

I can't lose him.

"Walk in the park," Teddy says.

"Exactly." Heads down, we press on while the wind tries to drag us back into the storm's embrace. The first crevice is far too narrow. Another is only two feet high.

Third time lucky, we step into the narrow shelter, and I sigh with relief. I want to sink to the ground and rest, but I can't. Not yet. Being out of the direct wind and the abrasive sand scouring my skin makes it easier to think.

"We need to go deeper." Teddy points to the much narrower back of the cave.

He's right. We're too exposed, and if the wind changes direction, we'll be trapped. "I hope we fit?"

Or does it lead nowhere?

"Only one way to find out. Flip a coin?"

"No. I'll go first in case there're animals or soldiers." I imagine the cave full of Italians, all armed to the teeth. Will they kill us or let us wait out the storm as captives?

I shimmy into the gap and ignore the press of rock that makes me feel like I'm being buried alive. Don't dwell on it.

Teddy's hand brushes mine as he slides in next to me, and I want to grab it and hold on. I don't. I keep shuffling, ears straining for voices. The wind quietens the deeper I go, and the light dims. The rock gives me one final squeeze, then spits me out into what appears to be an empty cavern. I sigh, releasing the last bit of tension. I tug down the cloth protecting my face, and I draw in a breath.

"This is nice. Roomy," Teddy says, leaning against me .

I put my arm around him to support him.

"Grab your flashlight." My hands are full of him and supplies.

He does, flicking it on and doing a slow sweep of the cavern, confirming that we are alone. I sigh. Even though we aren't safe, we are out of the storm, and for the moment, that's enough.

"Let's move away from the opening." I indicate to the nine o'clock position, and we make our way over. I help Teddy sit. He tries to hide his wince but doesn't do a good job of it.

I shed the gear I'm carrying and open the medical kit. "Let's look at that graze and cover it up so it doesn't get full of sand."

My voice is rough, and my throat feels as though it's made of sand. I take a drink from one of the half-empty bottles and hand it to Teddy. He takes a couple of gulps and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then pulls a face as he realizes the sand is now stuck to his lips.

I put my hand out. "Pass me the flashlight and. Lie on your side."

Concern fills his eyes. "You'll tell me if it's bad?"

"I'll tell you," I lie. If it's bad, I'll tell him he's fine. If it's fine, I'll tell him the same thing. I undo his belt and pull up his shirt. There's a bit of blood, but not too much. "I'm going to peel your undershirt away. It's going to sting. Why don't you tell me about your sweetheart? A young guy like you must have someone back home?"

He's silent for several seconds. "I don't have a girl back home. I have one here."

I force a laugh and peel up the once-white undershirt. It's sticky with blood, and the wound is a bit more than a graze. The bullet bit his side and took a chunk. I can't tell if it's in him or just scraped his side, but at least it didn't seem to have hit anything major, or he'd be bleeding much more. Gut wounds left untreated are a terrible way to die, and we could be trapped here for hours or days. "The only women in Cairo are married, spies, or getting paid by the hour."

"I don't think she's married. She doesn't wear a ring. And I'm pretty sure she's not a spy."

"Well, that only leaves one option."

He hisses as I wash the wound and apply the bandage. "You forgot about nurses."

That's true. "I did."

"I'm pretty sure she isn't aware that I like her."

"Well, when you go to Cairo, so the doctors can patch you up, perhaps you should tell her. After you confirm if she's married or not. You don't want to be stepping on a doctor's toes."

"What about you, sir? Are you married?"

I pause with my hands on the bandage. "I was."

"What happened?"

"She and the baby died in childbirth. Six months later, war broke out, and I enlisted." I needed to run away. I wanted to hide from what I'd done.

"To escape the memory?"

"To try to be a better man. I wasn't faithful. Maybe if I had been, God wouldn't have punished me." I no longer have a relationship with Him. Not after seeing so many good men die.

My wife didn't deserve to die just because I was a terrible husband.

"I'm sorry."

I haven't told anyone the full story. I'm not sure I want to tell Teddy either, but I also don't want to die carrying the secret. "Do you want some of that vodka? "

"I would love some."

I help him sit up, and we sit side by side in the dark so as not to waste the battery. I'll light the fire in a bit, but we don't have much to burn. I hope the storm blows over soon. Not that Teddy will be able to make the walk back to base, but at least we'll be able to radio for assistance. I take a drink and pass him the bottle. His fingers brush mine, and I try not to enjoy the touch.

He's not in a rush to pull his hand away, and his leg rests against mine. I swallow, trying not to imagine the reasons why. "Why did you join up?"

"All my mates were, and it seemed like the right thing to do." He takes a drink and passes the bottle back to me.

I want to take the edge off, but I don't want to drink enough to lower my guard. I take a second swig and figure that'll do me.

"Do you still believe that?" I stare into the darkness, knowing that the war hasn't made me a better man. All I have done is prove that I can bury my feelings beneath violence.

"Yes. Someone needs to stop the Nazis." His hand touches my leg, and I pass him the bottle, thinking that's what he wants. If he wants to drink the rest, I won't stop him. "You don't believe that?"

"I do, but now I can add murder to my list of sins." I want to spill the truth so I can stop carrying it around. Sitting in the dark, alone with Teddy, the weight becomes unbearable.

"Plenty of men cheat on their wives. That's not the reason she died."

"You're too young to be this wise."

Teddy laughs, and it ends in sharp inhalation as he tries to hide the pain .

"Tell me if you want the morphine shot." Because I'm selfish, I want him to stay awake with me.

"I'm good." His hand settles on my thigh, and this time, it doesn't move. It's not the vodka he wants. I swallow, remembering all the times he's looked at me without hiding his thoughts…

I'm wrong.

I'm making it up and imagining things that aren't there.

His fingers move in the smallest of caresses, like he's testing how I'll respond. I should move away or remove his hand. Instead, I sit there in disbelief.

Teddy rests his head on my shoulder, making himself comfortable, and I don't have enough callouses on my heart to make him move. "Did you love your wife?"

"I wanted to. I thought I was doing the right thing." I should have left her alone; then she'd have found someone who truly loved her, and she'd still be alive. "I met her through her cousin."

"You loved her cousin?"

"Yes." He'd encouraged the relationship because it provided cover for our own.

"Did the cousin love you?"

"Very much." After the funeral, I couldn't look at him without seeing her eyes accusing me of her death. I buried her and lost him that day.

"What's that like?"

"To be loved?" I smile even though the memories hurt. He tried; I didn't. I couldn't. I wasn't ready to set aside the guilt. "There's nothing better. You'll see."

"I'm not sure that I will." His hand inches up my thigh, and I'm powerless to remove it the way I should. Did he see me looking at him?

I place my hand over his because I don't know what else to do. His slow, cautious touch is undoing me, awakening a heat I buried three years ago. My prick is swelling, aching with need. "It's a scratch," I grit out. "You're not going to die."

"Why did you marry your wife and not the cousin?"

I close my eyes, and my breathing is loud in my ears as I debate how much truth I tell. Why does the secret matter now when his hand wants to explore more than my inner thigh? "I couldn't. I couldn't marry James."