Chapter 38

ITALY, AUGUST 1944

WITH THE KEROSENE LAMP HARDLY putting out enough light to read, Paul struggled to complete notes to his family and make what might be a final entry into his diary at a writing desk fashioned from milk crates and a wing flap from a junked B-17. He didn’t want to waste a moment of privacy. Shep Peterson was snoring on the other side of the tent. The two other cots were without occupants since the devastating mission to Moravska Ostrawa, Czechoslovakia. Peterson wanted to send the empty cots to the scrapheap, claiming they were jinxed. No pilot managed to call them home for more than three months.

His letters home were a mixture of emotions. To Jake, he wanted to assuage any guilt that his brother might feel. The decision to complete this mission was his alone having entered into the plan with open eyes.

Paul explained to Sarah, that by her receiving his letter, he was either dead or a prisoner of war. He needed to make amends for the deception perpetrated for the past five years. There were occasions when he thought Sarah was being coy, seeing things but not letting on. While the events of the world had placed their lives on hold, they were the reason for their relationship. Cousin Minnah had brought the evil of Germany and its terror to Brooklyn.

“Briefing at 04:30!” Sergeant Barney Buckley sang his regular tune. Shep Peterson didn’t move. “Lieutenant Rothstein, can you do me a favor and roust Lieutenant Peterson. When he’s snoring like a grizzly I hate to mess with him.”

Paul turned up the kerosene lamp to its maximum, casting the tent in a strange yellow light. He picked up a pair of socks from the clapboard floor, firing them at the unconscious Texan. Buckley tipped his cap and moved on.

Peterson opened his eyes, momentarily not knowing where he was. He checked his watch and pushed the mosquito netting away from his cot. “What the hell are you doing?” Peterson asked. “Getting a head start with Santa Claus?”

“I’m catching up on letters, and I’m wondering if you could do me a favor?”

Peterson sat on the edge of his cot. “What do you want me to do?”

“In case I don’t come back, I want you to mail these letters. One other thing, I want you to keep my diaries. When you get home, send them to my brother.”

Peterson shook his head. “What’s this shit about you not coming back?” He eased into his boots. “You talk like that and bad things happen.”

Paul addressed a large envelope to Jake’s office address at the pier. “The letters should make it through the censors, but my diaries won’t pass. Make sure nobody gets their hands on them.”