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Chapter 11: "Accentuate the Positive, Eliminate the...Scientist?"
"There it is. The one on the corner." Major Pappas lowered his field glasses and handed them to Janice. Through the lenses she got her first good look at the plain looking two story brick building situated a mere hundred yards away. At first she saw nothing out of the ordinary about the structure but upon closer examination she noticed the bars on the windows.

"See any guards?" asked Chris.

Janice swept the roof of the building. "No. Not outside anyway."

"Maybe they've been sent to fight the Russians," offered Mel.

Janice lowered the glasses and looked at the belle. "Well if they have," she said, "Cernak is either gone or dead." Checking the building one more time, she added, "Either way it's bad news for us."

Janice handed the binoculars back to Robert. "This is your home court," she said. "Got any ideas?"

With a discreet glance toward his sister who was now straining through her glasses at the building, he said in a low voice, "Just let Chris and me handle it."

"All right," Janice replied, knowing full well his motive. "You check the building and Mel and I will keep a lookout."

"Works for me," said Robert. "Chris? "

"Yeah, mate?"

"Vacation's over. Time to go to work."

The big Aussie replied by nodding solemnly.

"How many pineapples do you have?" asked the major.

Chris patted his jacket pocket with his big hand. "Two."

"Make 'em count." Robert then raised up on his knees and fully extended his arm, making a kind of sight. "You take the left side of the street, I'll take the right."

"Do we crab it or haul ass?"

"We haul ass," replied Robert. He got himself up into a crouching position and as he was about to move out from their hiding place Mel's hand shot out and caught him by the arm.

"For God's sake," she pleaded, "be careful." He gave her an impish wink and, with Chris close at his heels, then clambered over the rubble pile that had hidden them. Without averting her gaze from them Mel wrinkled her nose and asked, "Jan, what did Robert mean by pineapples?"

"Well he wasn't talking about the kind you put on the Sunday ham, if that's what you mean," said Janice.

The two men eased their way to opposite sides of the deserted street. Since entering Fürstenfeld they had seen only a couple of its citizens scurrying about. Small wonder for it was clear that the Russian artillery was edging ever closer and would in all likelihood be falling on the city itself before long. All too soon the four of them would learn just how quickly this would in fact be the case. Most of the citizenry had either already fled the city or was hiding in cellars or under whatever cover they could find. And, yes, some were just sitting in their homes waiting for what they considered to be the inevitable end.

Robert and Chris were now in position. All through this Mel had not taken her eyes off her brother. Now she saw him take a deep breath, nod sharply to Chris, and off he went.

Beside her, Janice warned, "Get ready! As soon as they make the building we go."

Mel gulped and nodded that she understood.

Halfway down the street Robert neatly leaped over an abandoned bicycle and continued on. As far as he was concerned it was so far, so good. He took a quick glance across the street and was glad to see Chris' big frame nearly abreast of him.

But as they were nearing the end of the street Robert heard Chris' familiar sharp whistle. Looking his way, Robert saw Chris stop just for a moment and then dash off toward him. "What the hell are you doing?" Robert demanded to know.

"You can't see it yet but there's a bloody truck parked just around the corner," Chris explained.

Robert realized Chris did have the angle on him. "Facing us?" he asked, between heavy breaths.

Chris shook his head. "But there's a bloke in the front for sure."

Robert edged his way to the corner and peeked around the building. Sure enough, twenty yards away sat a truck with its engine running. Although his view of the cab was blocked he saw Chris' assessment of its occupancy was correct for dangling down over the running board was a leg. It was clear someone on the driver's side had the door open and was sitting sideways in the seat.

At this point Chris shot the major an expectant look. Robert's response to this was to nod once very slowly and trail his index finger across his neck. Without a word Chris handed his Sten gun over to Robert. Bending over, he then reached down and pulled the bayonet from the sheath strapped to his left boot.

"What on earth are they doin'?" Mel wondered aloud.

"There's trouble," came back Janice's terse reply. "Something's up."

"Don't yuh think we ought to do something?" her partner asked.

"Not yet," said Janice. "Just sit tight." She looked at Mel and with a faint smile added, "Don't worry, Robert can handle it." But to herself she thought, I hope.

Robert shifted position to allow Chris to ease past him. "Make bloody sure you keep watch on the front of the building," Chris reminded him.

Robert made an "okay" signal by circling his thumb and index finger. "Don't worry," he assured his friend. "I'll cover you." After carefully looking both ways to make certain the coast was clear, the Aussie was off. Crouching low, he veered slightly to his left to afford himself a better angle of approach.

While Chris stealthily worked his way toward the truck Robert did as promised and turned his attention to the building's front door. Armed with only his bayonet, Chris would be hung out to dry should any of the Germans choose this particular moment to exit the building. So far there had been no indication of activity at all but he was well aware that something was up here. Why else the waiting truck?

One quick glance back and he saw Chris was almost to the truck. Fighting the urge to watch, he turned back to the building. Chris Michelhill was a master at this sort of thing. Back in the partisans the Italians had called him the "fantasma" or "ghost."

At the truck now, Chris kneeled down and very carefully sidled up under the truck and he was gratified to see the leg still there; idly dangling over the side. A piece of piss, he thought as he silently inched his way ever so closer to his target. Almost...there...now.

What the hell is going on? Janice silently raged. Suddenly, from high overhead came that terrifying sound which so many have compared to the ripping of gigantic sheets.

Mouth agape in uneasy surprise, Mel looked upward. "Golly, Jan, what--"

Janice Covington had heard that sound before back in '36 when she had been caught up in the Spanish Civil War. Grabbing the belle by her jacket collar, Janice yanked her down hard. The next street over a heavy artillery round slammed into an unseen building.

The Russians had arrived.

Chris now understood the time for stealth was over. Quickly wriggling the remaining distance, he rolled out from under the truck and like a huge cat was on his startled prey in an instant. By the time he drew his bayonet out of the German's heart Robert was beside him handing over his Sten gun. Before replacing his bayonet he wiped off its bloody blade on his victim's tunic.

"Come on!" barked Robert. Again the great ripping sound tore overhead and a half a block away a Russian round obliterated what had until seconds before been a butcher shop.

One hundred yards behind them Janice was scrambling to her feet and yelling the very same "Come on!" at Melinda. But unlike the two who had gone before their dash down the street would not be made separately. Janice saw to that. Taking her belle's hand in her own, she gripped it as tightly as she could. "Follow me!" They were no more than half-way down the street when a Russian shell exploded in the exact spot they had so recently vacated.

With Chris at his back, Robert kicked open the door to the building at the exact moment two German soldiers happened to be descending the staircase situated close to the door. Before they could react Robert's Sten gun erupted in a short, efficient burst and two dead Germans came tumbling down the steps. Quickly scanning the lobby, he saw a short hallway running back with two rooms leading off on either side. "Check 'em out!" he yelled at Chris.

After Chris swept past him Robert began to ease his way up the staircase. He was ten steps up when suddenly he heard someone at the front door. Swinging his weapon around, he was within an eyelash of cutting loose when to his dismay he saw Janice and Melinda enter. "God damn it!" he roared at them. "Be more careful! You two damn near got your asses shot off."

It was at this point that a shell exploded directly in front of the building. Janice and Melinda were thrown to the floor and Robert was heaved up against the steps as part of the ceiling gave way on him. "Jesus!" he muttered, spitting the plaster from his mouth. This reminded him of that nightmare that had been the Fifth Army's fight for the Abruzzi Mountains back in Italy in late '43.

Now Chris' big frame appeared on the stairs below him. "Nothing down here!" he declared.

Without a word Robert got to his feet and resumed his ascension. No sooner had his head popped over above the edge of the second floor hallway when a burst of machine gun fire rang out. Fortunately for the American the jittery German had fired wildly at the first sight of him instead of allowing his target to fully reveal himself. Most of the burst passed to Robert's left and slammed into the wall. All except one round--the last one. It smashed into the floor sending dozens of little splinters into the back of the major's. Robert cried out in pain as the hot lead seared through his flesh. Slumping back down below the enemy's line of sight, he held his hand up to check the damage. Although ugly to look at, his wound was not life threatening. Nevertheless it was already starting to hurt him very badly.

In an instant his Aussie friend was beside him on the steps. "Christ, Major, you hit?"

"Yeah," Robert replied, grimacing.

The Aussie was almost too afraid to ask. "Bad?"

Robert pulled up his shirt and Chris bent over to get a closer look. "Damn it," Robert growled. "Don't worry about me. Keep an eye out for that bastard down the hall."

"Where is he?" Chris asked.

"Couldn't tell," said Robert. "He could be in any one of those rooms."

Meanwhile at the foot of the stairs the horrified Melinda had seen her brother reel back from the edge. "Robert!" she shrieked. "Robert!" She had already bounded over the first dead German before Janice could catch up with her.

"Mel!" she cried. "NO!"

"Jan, let go of me!" Melinda squalled.

At the top of the stairs Chris took off his jacket but not before he had removed his "pineapples" and laid them down on one of the steps. He then balled up his jacket and held it to his chest with his forearms leaving his hands free to pull the pin from one of the grenades.

"What the hell are you doing?" Robert asked.

"I'm going to try to draw old Fritzie boy out," replied his friend. Holding up his wadded jacket in his huge left hand, he then pinged the lever off the grenade he held in his right, activating it. Mentally he began his count, One...two....

Chris tossed the jacket high in the air while simultaneously pitching the grenade down the hallway. Sure enough, a burst of machine gun fire again ripped overhead but this time it was punctuated by the explosion from Chris' grenade. Even before the two men heard the screams of agony Chris was up on his knees emptying the magazine of his weapon down the hall. Silence followed and as the smoke and dust cleared Chris gave a little smile of satisfaction at the sight of not one, but two German soldiers lying dead on the floor. "Got 'em!" he announced, happily.

Outside one, two, three more artillery rounds fell uncomfortably close.

"Jan, I said let...GO!" Halfway up the steps Melinda broke free of Janice's desperate grip. Her long legs covered four steps before the tenacious Janice launched herself at her friend and tackled her on the steps, holding on for dear life.

"Mel, honey, don't go up there yet," she pleaded. "You'll be killed."

"Ja-yuuuuuun!! And it was here that the two struggling women became aware of the deathly silence.

At the top of the stairs Chris dropped back down to where Robert lay. "How are you doin', mate?" he anxiously asked.

"I'm feeling a bit crook right now, ol' china," Robert replied, borrowing a couple of his friend's idioms. "But I'll be all right."

"That's grouse," said the Aussie, breathing a grateful sigh.

Here the silence was broken by Mel's squall. "Robert!"

"I'm all right, Melly," he assured her, his voice suddenly gentle. "Calm down."

As soon as Janice let go of her she was up the steps in the blink of an eye. Once there, she took one look at his bloody hand and nearly fainted.

"Don't worry, Sis," Robert said to her. "Once I get the bleeding stopped it will be okay."

Another artillery round struck the building next door showering their own building with rubble. Like everyone else Chris reacted by bending over and covering his head. Raising up, he then said, "I suggest we go have a Captain Cook for that derro of yours and get the bloody 'ell out of 'ere before everything goes balls up!"

Having spent some time in Australia back in early '39 Janice well understood Michelhill's colorful expressions of "concern."

"Ya tellin' me," she shot back. Rising to her feet, she jammed her hand into her back pocket and produced the big red handkerchief she always carried when in the field. This she thrust into Mel's hands. "Here," she said, "wrap this around his hand. Chris and I will look for Cernak."

"Not without me you're not," protested Robert.

"Sorry, Yank," the big Aussie grinned, "but the lady's right. You and yer sis stay here and watch the door."

"They're right, Robert," Mel said, firmly. "You're stayin' here."

As Janice unholstered her .45 she gave Chris a wry look. "Lady huh? You had better can that kind of talk, pal, or else I might just end up liking you." This was a superfluous statement because she had in fact already taking quite a liking to the big fellow.

"Blame me mum," Chris shot back. "She was the one that raised her little nipper to be a proper gentleman." With that he stood up as well and popped a fresh magazine into his weapon."

"You guys watch your ass," advised Robert.

As she brushed past him Janice gave him an affectionate pat on the shoulder and together she and Chris began to carefully ease their way down the hall.

Back at the head of the stairs Melinda said, "Give me your hand."

Robert did as his sister bade and as she began to tenderly wrap the handkerchief around his throbbing hand, he said, "You know, Melly, you're still a poophead for coming here."

Poophead? God, she thought, he hasn't called me that since we were kids. Without taking her eyes off her work she replied, "Well big sisters are supposed to look out for their little brothers, doncha know that?"

"You always did," Robert admitted.  
 

Janice and Chris stood in front of the closed door leading to the last room. The other three rooms had proved to be empty and so it had all come down to this, this one last set of four walls. The success of their mission, the relevance of Anthony's death, their own possible fates--all of it hung on what they would or would not find behind that battered old door. Outside the shelling was becoming more intense and it was only a matter of time before this little heap of bricks was wiped out under the barrage. One way or another this was it and they both knew it.

Almost reluctantly, Chris positioned himself in front of the door, his Sten gun at the ready. Janice took a position beside the door to cover him and gave him a little nod. Chris nodded back, drew a deep breath, and kicked the door open.

Back at the head of the stairs Mel heard Janice's sharp cry. "Mel!"

"Go on," Robert said to her. "I'll watch the door."

Melinda got to her feet and bolted down the hall to where Janice and Chris still stood at the door. Both of them were staring into the room but were not as yet making any attempt to enter. For a moment Melinda was afraid of what she might find but she then saw Janice turn and look toward her with a sense of anxious anticipation. And as she joined her two friends at the door Janice very quietly said, "Okay, Kid, here's where you earn your pay. It's all yours now." Looking into the room, Mel counted eight men and a woman, thankfully all still alive, huddled together in the far corner. Quickly she darted her eyes from one apprehensive face to the next searching for the boy genius she remembered.

And, suddenly, there he was.

He was smaller than she remembered. His hair was thinner and to Mel he seemed to have aged at least twenty years. But those intense eyes had not changed. Putting a hand to her mouth, she uttered a soft, "Oh my."

"Well?" Janice asked, her excitement rising. "Do you see him? Is he here?"

"Yes," came the simple reply.

Janice knew she should be feeling relief and maybe even a little exultation at Mel's pronouncement but in truth she felt neither. For now that her lover's task was over her's was really only now just beginning.

Melinda hesitantly stepped into the room but took only a couple of steps before she again stopped. She was well aware that the eleven pairs of eyes present were all riveted on her but at the moment all of her attention was focused one particular pair of eyes that just happened to be staring back at her with a definite look of recognition.

"Well come on, Mel, which one is he?" Janice pressed her.

Mel did not really ignore her, she just did not answer. Taking another halting step forward, she flashed a very nervous little smile at those eyes. "Janik? Janik, it's me, Melinda. Melinda Pappas. Don't you know me?"

From the back of the huddle Cernak stepped forward. On his face was a look of utter disbelief but his voice was even when he said, "I could never forget you, Melinda. My God, what brings you into this hell?"

Janice moved assertively to Mel's side. "Mister Cernak, we represent the United States Government. We have come to take you out of here."

"Our little group seems to be quite popular today," remarked Cernak. "That is precisely what our German friends were here to do."

"Well not anymore," stated Janice. "Now, Mister Cernak, what do you say we get the hell out of here?"

"I'm afraid that will be out of the question," replied Cernak, calmly.

For Janice this answer was a nightmare come true. Sweeping an arm toward to window, she asked, "Are you crazy? Any minute now one of those Red Army calling cards is going to land right in our laps."

"Who is in charge here?" asked Cernak, his voice revealing a hint of irritation.

Janice detected his belligerent tone but hoped she would be able to avoid a confrontation. "I am," she declared, forcing herself to speak with a civil tongue.

"You?" Cernak asked, plainly incredulous.

Sensing trouble was brewing, Mel's soft voice cut through the tense atmosphere, "Janik," she entreated, "please."

"I am sorry. I cannot leave my colleagues here alone to fend for themselves," said Cernak. He flashed her an unexpectedly warm smile and added, "Not even for my American angel."

Janice knew the time had come. "All right, God damn it. That's it! No more fucking games." Striding over to him, she raised her .45.

"Janice," Melinda asked with rising alarm, "what are you doing?"

"We're running out of time here, Mel!" Turning back to Cernak, she growled, "You have exactly ten seconds to get your ass in gear." Off in the distance the group now began to hear the sound of small arms fire.

"We need to hurry, luv," Chris warned Janice. "Pretty soon it's going to busier around here than a one-armed Sydney cab driver with the crabs."

At this moment Robert appeared at the door. "What the hell's the hold up?" he demanded to know. "Didn't you guys hear that shooting? The fighting is only a couple of blocks away from us now!"

"You are bluffing," Cernak scoffed at Janice.

"Am I?" She then reached up and very deliberately pointed the end of the barrel right between Cernak's eyes. As Cernak stood there, helplessly staring into that bore which to him looked as immense as a howitzer, Janice, in a voice eerily cold, said, "You'd better get out your slide rule, Cernak, and give me the answer I'm looking for or so help me I'm gonna blow your head off right here."

"Jesus, Janice," Captain Pappas cautioned, "think about what you're doing."

Never taking her eyes off Cernak, Janice calmly told him, "Stay out of this, Robert. Cernak here is my department."

"Our department, Janice," Melinda reminded her, voice quivering.

"Mel, go outside," warned Janice. To herself she thought, Jesus Christ, I hope this works because if it doesn't....

"Oh my God!" gasped Mel.

"One...two...three..."

"Jan, pleeease!" Mel beseeched. "You can't do this."

"...four...five...I told ya, Mel. Get out of here!"

"Jan, it's murder!"

Now as his calm demeanor started to crack a little and his face started to reflect the fear inside him, Cernak stammered, "If you are Melinda's friend do you... actually have such little respect for her that you would...actually allow her to bear witness to a cold blooded murder? A murder you committed?"

"...six...My feelings for Mel are way beyond your area of expertise," snapped Janice. "But just to give you a clue I'm not about to see her exposed to any further danger just because some egotistical son of a bitch wanted to pass himself off to his pals as a hero."

"You could let me go," Cernak suggested. "I assure you I...we...can manage for ourselves."

"That's not an option. You might fall into Russian hands and that, Mister Cernak, is totally unacceptable...seven...eight..."

Jesus Christ! thought Robert, silently watching the grim drama that was unfolding before him. She's going to do it!

"...nine..."

"Janiiiiiice! For the love of God! I'm begging you!" cried Melinda, almost choking now.

"...ten."

"Waaaait!" a voice screamed. It was Cernak.

Her voice mockingly pleasant, Janice answered "Yes?"

"All right," said Cernak, shakily. "It will be as you wish."

For a moment Janice did nothing except continue to stare at him. Then she slowly eased the hammer back down with a well practiced thumb. "Somehow I knew you'd see it my way," she said. Thank God! she thought.

Melinda Pappas closed her eyes and ran a shaking hand across her brow. With a deep exhale she, too, silently thanked God. Only now did she become aware of just how dry her mouth had grown. For one terrifying moment she had been positive Janice was actually going to do it.

"Chris!" Janice barked out.

"'Ere," the big Aussie answered.

"Check around outside. See if that truck outside is still in one piece."

"Right, boss." And out the door he went, thinking to himself that this little Yank sheila had more guts in her than a great white after a feeding frenzy.

"Mel, you wanna show Mister Cernak out?" Janice asked, in a much softer voice.

Still a little shaky, Mel replied, "All right."

As she brushed past her friend she heard Janice ask "You okay?"

"Janice Covington," Mel softly scolded, "don't you ever do that again."

"Sorry, sweetheart," Janice murmured, just loud enough for her to hear, "I didn't mean to scare ya like that. But I had to do something to get the man's attention."

"Well yuh certainly got mine," the belle allowed, exhaling deeply.

Cernak's little group began to file out leaving Robert standing there marveling at how easily this formidable woman had handled the potentially troublesome scientist. And he had to admit that, even now, he was still not so sure that what she had said to Cernak about blowing his head off was not the God's honest truth. She was such an enigma.

Pappas found that the more he got to know Mel's great friend, the more fascinating she became to him. That she was a very complex individual was plain enough. The woman was very attractive but unlike his dear, finical sister she seemed totally unconcerned with how she presented herself to the world. She was undoubtedly very hard nosed but down deep beneath that rough exterior he was certain there was a sizeable soft spot lurking about. One just had to look for it, that was all. Another thing was that she did not seem to have much patience at all with anything or anybody except when it came to his sister. Here Janice seemed to play by a different set of rules altogether. In fact it was simply amazing to him that this tenacious, doggedly independent woman with the quick mind and the guts of a burglar could have fallen so hard for his gentle, soft-spoken sister. They were so...different.

As Janice passed him she asked, "You okay?"

"No sweat," Robert assured her. "I've done worse damage than this shaving myself after a rough night on the town."

"Good."

"Janice?"

"Yeah?"

"Just now...with Cernak. Were you really prepared to kill him if he refused to come?"

Janice shot him a faint little smile and as honestly as she had ever spoken in her life replied, "Damned if I know, Robert."

Experienced soldier that he was, Robert immediately picked up on the next development. Looking up at the ceiling, he declared, "The shelling's stopped."

"Thank God for that," said Janice exiting the room now.

Robert, however, knew better for it could only mean one thing.

At the bottom of the stairs Janice, Robert, Cernak, and his group rejoined the waiting Melinda. The diminutive Janice shouldered her way through the crowd in order to get a good look out the door. From her vantage point she could see that, amazingly, the truck had not been hit--yet. Suddenly from down the street the little band heard a muzzle blast. Almost immediately Chris was filling the door way.

Breathlessly he said to Janice, "I went over on the next block to take a take a look around. We've got company, luv."

"Tanks?" Robert asked, joining them.

The Aussie nodded and Janice whirled to face the group. "All right. Everybody into the truck. Move!"

At once they all began to run for the truck. Wisely Robert waited and brought up the rear just on the possibility that Cernak might somehow get cute and try to detach himself from the others. Janice stood at the back of the truck and watched as their charges one by one got into the back of the truck. Turning to Chris, she said, "Give Robert the map." While was digging in his shirt pocket for it she leaned close to him and loudly whispered, "You ride in the back with our friends here. Now I don't give a damn about any of the rest of them but if Cernak tries to jump ship I want you to break both his legs and sit on him, you understand?"

"You can count on me, luv," the big man assured her with a grin.

Once they were all loaded up Chris climbed in and sat down next to the tail gate. While all this was taking place Melinda and Cernak had been spending the time quietly conversing. Now Janice clapped her hands together and said, "C'mon, Mel. Up front. Time to blow this joint."

Melinda turned to her and with some apprehension asked "Is it okay if I ride in the back for a while, Jan? I'd like to speak with Janik some more if you don't mind."

"Oh. Sure," Janice replied, trying to hide her disappointment. For a moment she felt a deep sense of resentment toward Cernak. But then she reproached herself, Janice, you're just being stupid. Mel's a big girl. She can talk to whomever she wants.. You will not be jealous of that little twerp. Nevertheless she still wished Melinda had chosen to ride up front next to her.

In another millisecond all this was forgotten because from some distance behind her she heard a now familiar whine. Seeing Robert's eyes grow wide, she spun on her heels to get a look for herself. Two city blocks away she saw the first of two huge tanks pull out into the street, its left track locked to facilitate the turn toward them.

"Holy shit!" Janice exclaimed. "Are they Russian or German?"

"Does it matter?" Robert asked, incredulously. "They're not Shermans, I know that much. So let's not stick around to ask 'em."

But Janice was not around to hear his last words for she had already came to the same conclusion. Already she was in behind the steering wheel and was closing the truck door behind her. As Robert passed around the back of the truck he yelled, "Melinda, keep your head down!" As soon as his foot hit the running board Janice popped the clutch and gunned the accelerator.

The two tanks were in fact Russian T-34's; the scourge of the Eastern Front. Observing the activity around the German truck up the street the commander of the lead tank naturally assumed them to be the enemy. And just as naturally he ordered his gunner to open fire. The tank's 85 millimeter gun roared, hurting its deadly projectile toward the fleeing truck. From his perch in the back Chris saw the smoke belch from the cannon's muzzle and a split second later heard the muzzle blast. Considering the muzzle velocity of the T-34's upgraded cannon and the relatively short distance to its target, Chris was not afforded an opportunity to pray or even curse. All he could do was close his eyes and grimace. Fortunately the gunner allowed too much deflection for the fleeing truck and his aim was high. The round screeched overhead and hit in the middle of the street some seventy-five yards away.

"God damn!" Janice yelped as she saw the round explode up ahead. "That was close!"

"Get off this street! Now!" Robert bellowed. "Turn anywhere!"

Janice did not have to be told twice. Barely bothering to slow down, she turned right at the next corner and floored the accelerator. "Hang on!" she shouted, to no one in particular.

Fortunately there were no more encounters with either Germans or Russians and twenty minutes later they were safely out of Fürstenfeld and careening down a country road at forty-five miles an hour. Robert had Janice's map spread out on the seat intently and while he was intently studying it Janice checked her watch. It read 4:05 PM. "We're going to have to find a place to hole up until tonight," said Janice.

Robert looked up from the map and with a little grin, said, "Already got one."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yep. About five kilometers from here is an old bombed out power station. Chris and I have been using it to hide out in during the day time."

Janice nodded thoughtfully and then asked "So how far is it from the rendezvous point?"

"About three klicks," Robert replied.

"Is there a place we can hide the truck?"

"We can pull it up right up into the main building--no sweat," said Robert. "Don't worry, nobody can see us from the air."

"All right then," Janice said approvingly, "just point the way."

"Take us home, James," Robert grinned at her.  
 

Chapter 12: If You've Seen One Dictator...
"Stop here."

Janice pulled the truck up to the side of building and did as instructed. Robert got out and trotted past the front of the truck and positioned himself in the hole in the side of the building. Raising his hands, he slowly beckoned Janice to bring the truck forward. Janice eased out the clutch and carefully negotiated the truck through the hole. It proved to be a tight fit but she managed it without too much trouble. Once inside she turned the engine off and removed the key.

"All out for Picadilly Circus," chirped Chris, dropping down out of the truck. He dropped the tail gate and when Melinda approached the edge he gently lifted her up by the waist with his huge hands and carefully set her down on the ground. "There ya go, luv," he smiled.

"Why thank you, sir," she said, playfully polite. "You are such a gentleman."

"Hey, you big ocker," Robert grinned. "You wouldn't be trying to move in on my sister, now wouldja?"

"Who, me?" the Aussie replied, innocently. "Wouldn't dream of it, Major." He jerked a thumb toward himself. "You heard the lady, I'm a gentleman."

"Uh huh," his friend wryly shot back. "And I'm next in line for army chief of staff."

Chris never batted an eye. "But I thought we were tryin' to win the war."

Robert rolled his eyes in mock exasperation and said, "You see, Melly? See what I've had to put up with? Damn Diggers," he muttered. "Give me a good ol' Tommy any day."

You bludgers seem to conveniently forget that it wasn't the bloody Pommies and it certainly wasn't you swell-headed Yanks that were the first to whip the Axis' bums in both Europe and Asia," Chris defiantly declared. "It was us, pallie."

Chris was right. In the deserts of North Africa and the hell that was the Kokoda Trail in New Guinea it had been the proud Digger that had first administered the bitter taste of defeat to the enemy. But by 1945 the Australians had by and large been shunted aside by both the British and the Americans. And while the Americans garnered all the glory with their sweep through the Central Pacific and their drive up though the Philippines from the south the Australians found themselves relegated to mere sideshows. Although they were without fail brave, loyal, and true to the "Allied" cause, the Diggers were not appreciated by the imperial MacArthur who was loath to share the limelight with anybody and who in fact could not wait for the American buildup to reach the point where he would no longer be forced to rely on these superb fighters.

Their misuse was nothing new. In the First World War the Australians had suffered a higher casualties per population than any other participant in the war. This sacrifice was no more than apparent than at the madness that was Gallipoli where they bore the brunt of what was to become a slaughter. In two world wars these men in their jaunty "Slouch" hats did whatever that was asked of them, gave all they had in doing it, and never flinched in their duty.

One everyone was out of the truck Janice walked over to address them. "I don't know if how many of you speak English," she began, "but I'm sure Mister Cernak here will be able to get my meaning across. I know you are all wondering what's going to happen now. Well, that's up to you. My friends and I will be staying here until nightfall and that means you will be too. Now if you want we can make arrangements for one of you to come with us tonight in order to bring the truck back here." She then paused and took a deep breath for she was now about to deliberately overstep her boundaries and do something for which she had absolutely no authorization for. Looking at each one of them in turn, Janice said, "If any of you should decide you would like to come with us...I'm sure my government would be more than happy to welcome you."

For her part Janice did not know if that was true or not. But looking at those frightened faces she could not help but feel sorry for them. She was well aware there was risk involved with this. For all she knew some of them could be Nazi collaborators and that included the incandescent Cernak. And besides, she doubted if anyone would take her up on the offer anyway. After all, no matter what part of the continent they might come from, Europe, not America, was their home and with the war almost over they could at long last look forward to returning to their homes and picking up the pieces of their shattered lives. All except Cernak. One way or another he was not going to be around to see Europe climb out of its grave.

She watched their faces closely as Cernak translated her offer in no less than three languages. "Well?" she asked him, once he was finished. "Any takers?"

"No," he replied. "We all choose to stay."

"Well I had to ask," she said. Cernak's emphatic "we" was not lost on Janice however she decided not to force the issue. Not yet anyway. "Okay," she said to the group, "find yourselves a spot and get comfortable. Sorry we don't have anything for you to eat. Now remember, nobody goes outside, understand? If Nature calls you can do it on the other side of the building. I'm sure the landlord won't complain. Chris!"

Chris moved close and raised his eyes inquisitively.

"Keep your eye on 'em," she said, her voice low. "Especially that Cernak. I don't trust that bastard as far as I can throw him."

"Too right," the Aussie agreed. "He's a shifty-eyed bloke, that's for sure."

Following her own directive, Janice was the first to make use of the facilities at the other side of the building. Stepping behind a large holding tank, she loosened her belt and slid her loose fitting trousers down past her knees. Cernak still troubled her. He seemed determined not to co-operate. As she squatted down a thought came to her. Maybe, just maybe...the captivating Melinda could talk some sense into him. To show him the light as it were. Obviously even after all this time he still cared for her. Hell, she thought, why not use that to our advantage? So what if it was dirty pool? It wouldn't hurt Mel to lead him on a little bit. Her main objective was to get him back to America, not to kill him. Now if only Mel would play ball....

When Janice returned to the group Melinda and Cernak were still deeply absorbed in conversation. Her brother was sitting close by with his back to the wall and his eyes closed. "Mel" she asked, "can I speak with you for a minute?"

"Of course." Turning back to Cernak, she said, "I'll be right back." She stood up and strode over the truck where Janice was waiting for her. "What is it, Jan?"

"What do you think?"

"About what?" Mel asked, wrinkling her nose.

"About him, damn it. Cernak. Do you think he's going to give us any trouble?"

"I--I couldn't say," Mel replied, suddenly evasive.

Well what the hell have you two been yakkin' about all this time?" Janice demanded to know. "The Periodic Table of the Elements?"

"Now, Janice, don't be like that," said Mel. "We've just been talking about old times, that's all. Janik's been through a lot these last six years."

"Look, Mel," Janice angrily hissed. "In case you've forgotten we've got a job to do here and that is to convince that bozo to play ball with us."

"He's not a bozo," Mel huffed with a whisper. "Janice Covington, how dare you call him that! He's a brilliant man and I resent your calling him names like that."

Listening to Mel's soft rebuke, Janice took a deep breath in an effort to remain calm. Her voice even, she began, "Mel, we've nearly reached the end of our rope. Now think about it. Think of all we've been through the last few days. Think of all the time and effort so many other people have put into this to make it happen. Think of Anthony. If we go back empty handed that boy will have died for nothing! Is that what you want? For God's sake, Mel, your own brother laid his ass on the line for this operation. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

Mel ran a shaken hand through her long black hair. Poor Anthony, she thought. And Robert... And so like a slap in the face the realization came to her that her loyalty lay not with a man she had quite possibly loved once long ago but with this woman she now definitely loved with all her heart and just as importantly with the one who was her own flesh and blood. And with that dead American soldier back there in that run down old barn. "You're right," she said, softly. "My God, Jan, it's true. It's all true." Lowering her head, she said, "I'm sorry, Jan.

Her anger now spent as it always did so quickly when Melinda was concerned, Janice tenderly took Mel's hand in her own. She was aware they were being watched by Cernak and the others but she did not care. "It's all right, sweetheart," she gently whispered. "You just lost your focus a little, that's all."

"I reckon I did," the belle dolefully allowed. "But I promise you it won't happen again."

"I know."

"Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?"

Janice puckishly looked at her and replied, "Funny you should say that........  
 

"There's the light!" "Buzzy" Reese cried out. "It's Covington!"

"Well what do you know?" Blake muttered. "The broad did it."

As Blake's B-25 rolled to a stop in the failing light, Janice Covington turned to the Belgian standing quietly beside her and handed him the key to the truck. "Here you go, Emile," she smiled. "Good luck."

The man took the key with a nod and quickly made his way back to the truck and even before he started it up the group was clambering up into the plane. Naturally all insisted Melinda go first. She was followed by the irrepressible Chris, then Robert...Janik Cernak...and last of all Janice.

Mel had done it. To Janice's relief and everlasting gratitude, the belle had managed to convince Cernak that his future lay with the United States of America. After speaking with Janice, Mel had excused herself off behind the holding tank. Upon her return Robert had immediately noticed that his sister had taken off her glasses, fluffed up her hair, and--much to Robert's present and future amusement--had unloosened two more buttons on her shirt. She had then sidled up to Cernak and proceeded to lay it on at least three layers thick about how the free world was going to be needing men of his talent. She pointedly asked him did he really want to merely exchange one totalitarian master for another. She reminded him of how well respected he had been back in the US, of how no one could match the US in the development of technology. When the weakening Cernak made mention of his mother and brother back in Brno Janice had quickly chimed in with a solemn assurance that once the war was over every effort would be made to find them and bring them back to the United States. It was a promise she would personally make certain the State Department honored.

Melinda had then wheeled out the heavy artillery by telling him how America would undoubtedly be spending hundreds of millions, possibly even billions of dollars on rocket research and that there was no limit as to what might be achieved. "Who knows," she had said, "you might even help build one that goes to the moon some day." Lastly, she had dropped the hint that a grateful America would surely be inclined to amply reward those who should ultimately prove to be her friend. In the end Cernak had given way. He was as interested in a buck as the next guy and in truth at this point of his life he was no longer all that inclined to leap into the arms of the Russian bear anyway. More than anything he was simply tired. Tired of the Nazi's incessant threats and demands for design improvements, tired of working upwards of sixteen hours a day, tired of war and fearing for his life, tired of seeing death and suffering all around him.

But now these vivid pictures of incredible opportunity painted by his long lost friend appealed to him. He found himself wanting to work again. And maybe...just maybe he could do some good after all. Of course, Janik Cernak was no fool. He knew well enough why the US wanted rocket technology and it was not to thrill the kiddies on the Fourth of July. But he already had seen for himself how technology developed for war had a way of eventually becoming part of every day life.

In less than five minutes Blake had the B-25 lumbering across the field. As Janice felt the wheels lift off the ground it was as though her own worries were also being lifted from her shoulders. Just get us out of here, she thought, wishing she had a drink.

Chris too was very much relieved to be departing from this place. "Major, I don't know about you but I'm as bloody happy as Larry to be leavin' this mess behind," he said.

"Looks like the war is finally over for us, mate," Robert said, quietly. "At last."

"It's been six long years for me," Chris mused aloud. "Seems like a bloody lifetime." He sighed and said, "I wish ol' John were here to see it."

"Me too," Robert said.

And Anthony too, thought Mel as she listened to them.

So many, thought Janice. There are so many we could wish were here to see it. As for her the conclusion of the war was bringing no feelings of euphoria, no sense of triumph or exultation. All she felt was drained relief. It was finally over. No more OSS. No more of Donovan's cryptic calls at four in the morning, no risking her butt for Uncle Sam for pay that before the war she would have laughed at. Now Janice Covington was looking forward to making some real money again. And the ten G's now safely tucked in her jacket pocket that she had squeezed from the tight-fisted Donovan was a good start. That would keep her Melinda in perfume and nylons for a long time.

For some time they rode on silence as the plane droned on in the darkness. Finally Chris, entirely unintentionally, set in motion what would prove to be nearly twenty minutes of junior high school behavior by individuals who were in fact much more mature than their young ages. Figuring he no longer needed his weapon, Chris leaned forward to lay it on the floor of the plane in front of him. As he did he inadvertently what the Aussies call "dropped his guts."

"Shooo-weeee," Robert protested.

"Somebody's bakin' brownies," Janice dryly observed.

"It was that damn Chris," declared Robert. "The human gas bag strikes again."

"Ayy now!" Chris whined in protest.

"Hey, Mel, do you remember that guy in Alaska?" Janice gleefully asked.

"Oh Lord, Jan," Mel entreated, "don't bring him up."

Having already brought it up, naturally Janice ignored her plea and continued, "There was this Eskimo guy in Nome who could fart at will."

"You're kiddin'?" Chris asked.

"Must be a long lost relative of yours," said Robert.

"And that's not all," Janice went on. "Go on Mel, tell 'em what else he could do."

With a sigh of resignation Melinda muttered, "He could play 'Yankee Doodle' on his dentures."

"What's so bloomin' big about that?" Chris asked. "Now, if it had been "Waltzin' Matilda...that would have really been something."

"Awww Jeez," Robert groaned, "here we go again."

"What?" Chris innocently asked.

"Don't you sheepherders know any other song besides that damn "Waltzing Matilda?"

"Who is Waltzing Matilda?" asked Cernak. Although usually a very reserved individual he was finding himself amused by their silliness. For him as for the others this tomfoolery was in a very real sense a relief valve draining away the fear and uncertainty that had been so much a part of their lives for so long.

"It's not a who," Janice explained. "You see a matilda is what the Australians call a bed roll."

"And what's wrong with "Waltzin' Matilda?'" Chris demanded to know.

"Nothing I guess but after the first two God damn million times or so it kind of grows a little stale, ya know? I swear that must be the first damn thing they teach you in school."

At this point Melinda felt compelled to join in. "Speakin' of that, do you know what the first thing a French boy learns to write in school?"

"What's that?" asked Janice, glad to see Mel was loosening up.

Mel tittered and said, "I surrender."

Janice, Robert, and Chris all howled with laughter leaving the clueless Cernak still puzzling over just why anybody would write a song about dancing with a blanket.

"That was a good one, Melly," her brother allowed, once the laughter had died down.

"Hey, Mel, do you know what the German world for bra is?" Janice asked.

"Janice!" the belle gasped, appalled by her lover's brazenness. It was just as well that no one could see her face for at the moment it was a very nice shade of crimson.

"Tell us, luv," Chris eagerly prompted.

"Holzemfromfloppen!" squealed Janice.

Again the three of them roared with laughter.

From out of the darkness Cernak's quiet voice informed them, "But that is not the word for brassiere."

"No see, it's a joke," Janice tried to explain to him. "Get it? Holzem..holds them...see...aww skip it."

"A pirate walks into a tavern," Chris began, "and this 'ere other sailor spies 'im and asks 'So, how did ye end up with that thar peg-leg, matey?' The pirate says 'Arr, we wuz in a storm at sea, and I was swept overboard into a school of sharks. Just as me men were pulling me out a great white bit me bloomin' leg off.' 'Blimey! the sailor exclaims. 'What about your hook?'

'Well...', replies the pirate, 'While me men and I were plundering in the Middle East, I was caught and the punishment for stealin' in the Middle East is the loss of the 'and that does the filchin' doncha know.' 'Ye don't say?' remarks the sailor. 'Ow did you get that thar eyepatch?' 'Sea gull droppings fell into me eye,' the pirate says. 'Ye lost yer eye to a sea gull dropping?' the sailor asks, disbelievin' him doncha know. 'Well...", the pirate says kinda doleful,'...it was me first day with the hook.'"

Of course it fell to the irreverent Janice to put an exclamation point to the merriment. With a sly voice she began, "A guy is up on a ladder paintin' his house. Now this is on a Saturday and on the next Monday he is going to be married to the prettiest girl in town. So he's up there dreamin' about his wedding night when all of a sudden he falls off the ladder and breaks his...."

"Oh Lord," Mel groaned as Robert and Chris merrily grimaced at the poor man's terrible misfortune. Poor Cernak was wondering what was so funny about a man killing a rooster.

Suffice it to say this particularly bawdy tale ends with his new bride's sensual avowals of her virginity and her nervous groom's retort that a certain pertinent organ is "not even out of the crate yet," having been placed in a splint by a goofy doctor.

Chris was still grinning twenty minutes later when Blake touched the B-25 back down at Rimini.

Janice lay naked in the bed, lightly caressing herself. "Come ooon, Mel," she whined. "Hurry up!"

"I'm comin', I'm comin,'" Mel assured her. "Just oooone more minute." Though the impatient Janice was dying for her to join her in bed Melinda Pappas continued to stand in front of the bathroom mirror in their London hotel room. At the moment she was leisurely brushing out her hair after a wondrously luxurious bath and to her it felt sooo good to look like a lady again, to...feel like a lady again.

Two doors away Janik Cernak had been safely tucked away in his own room for the night, totally unaware that at the far end of the hall a British SOE agent was keeping a discreet watch. Soon it would all be over. Tomorrow afternoon they would be on a plane for Washington D.C. After that, well after that she and Janice could go back to the doing the kind of work they loved. Their life's work. As Donovan had promised Poole's offer was still good and to her delight her partner had already indicated a strong desire to pick it up again. Mel could not wait.

Back in Italy she had said a teary-eyes good-bye to her brother and had lovingly warned him not to be doing any more volunteering. Robert had laughed and told her not to worry, he had learned his lesson. And he had left her with the wonderful news that he had already been informed that he would soon be shipped home and not to the Pacific as so many others feared they would be.

Now Mel was finally satisfied with her hair and she laid down the brush and turned off the bathroom light. "You know, Jan, I don't see..." Entering the room, Melinda stopped and then slowly broke into a smile. The heretofore wanton Janice was lying flat on her back, her legs spread wide...and fast asleep. Oh you poor thing, thought Mel. You are just worn out, aren't you, sweetheart? Small wonder with all you've been through.

Melinda could only imagine the strain Janice had operated under during the last few days. After all, it was she--not Mel, not Robert, who had been placed in the position of being ultimately responsible for the success or failure of their mission. And as always she had come through.

"You poor thing," Melinda repeated, this time aloud. Quietly she walked around to the other side of the bed and began to dig into Janice's old pack. She pulled out her battered old copy of "The Grapes of Wrath." Ever so carefully she eased her way into a sitting position on the bed with her back pressing against the headboard. Reaching over to the night stand, she picked up her glasses, put them on, and then opened up her book. Before long Janice rolled over and began to snuggle her lithe body up against Mel's. The belle laid down her book and began to ever so gently finger her lover's long blonde tresses.

"Mmmm," Janice moaned, contentedly.

With a lewd smile, Mel huskily whispered, "I thought you wanted to fuck me."

"Mmmorrrow," Janice sleepily murmured. "Oona...sleep.

"Good night, Jan," Mel lovingly cooed.

"Nnnt," was all she got in return.

As Melinda took her book back up Janice laid her head on Mel's strong thigh. After a couple more minutes she began to snore ever so softly. Melinda smiled at this and as she lost herself in the harsh world of Tom Joad, she thought back to Janice's promise. Tomorrow. What a nice word that was. To her it portended hope and the wonderful promise of so many other tomorrows full of love and joy that were just waiting to be shared. Tomorrow. What a nice word. And as long as the exquisite human being now lying so peacefully next to her was at her side to share it Melinda Rose Pappas simply could not wait for it to come.  
 
 

Janice eased the Oldsmobile up into the driveway and turned off the engine. To her passenger she said, "Well, here you are, hero."

Major Robert L. Pappas ducked his head down to get a good look through the windshield at the house he had been born and raised in. "It hasn't changed a bit," he observed.

"Oh yes it has," Janice corrected him. She pointed to the blue star on the white banner trimmed in red hanging in the parlor window. "That star used to be gold," she said with a smile. A blue star indicated someone in the household was in the military, a gold star meant that person had been killed.

Robert smiled weakly and said, "Thank God for blue stars." He opened the door and got out of the car. Janice did the same and for a moment they they stood together just looking at the big old house. Finally Robert said, "Thank you."

Janice wrinkled her nose and squinted an inquisitive eye at him. "For what?" she asked.

"For what you've done for Melly. My God," he marveled, "she's a hell of a woman now."

"Can't argue with you there," said Janice. "But I didn't have a damn thing to do with it, Robert. It was all her doing."

"I used to worry about her, you know. I used to wonder if she was going to be strong enough, to be tough enough to make her way in the world." He turned to Janice and said, "Now I know I don't have to worry anymore. I'm proud to call you my friend, Janice Covington. And I'm sure as as hell glad you're Melinda's friend."

"That makes two of us," grinned Janice. "Now come on. Supper should be about ready."

The two of them made their way up the cobblestone walk past the pansies and the budding roses. They stepped up on the porch and when they got to the door they were startled when Melinda jerked it open and put a finger across her lips. The surprise was still on. Although Mrs. Pappas had by now been duly informed through the proper channels that her son was indeed alive after all he had not been expected home for at least another two weeks. However in light of the circumstances General Clark had seen no reason for either Major Pappas or the Australian corporal to have to wait any longer so he had ordered his staff to make arrangements to send the young men home at once.

And so now here he was.

Melinda threw her arms around her brother and tightly hugged him.

"Where is she?" Robert asked.

In conspiratorial tones Melinda whispered, "In the kitchen. I've been havin' a devil of a time keeping her away from the windows." Grinning broadly, she drew back from him and softly stepped to the parlor door. "Momma," she called out, "there's somebody here to see you."

From two rooms away they heard Mrs Pappas ask. "Who is it?"

Melinda suppressed a giggle and said, "It's a gentleman caller, Momma."

"God, Melly!" Robert whispered. "You're awful."

"A whaat?" they heard their mother ask.

"He wants to see you...Momma," Mel tittered.

"My Lord, Child," they heard her utter. "What are you talking about?" Then they began to hear her steps on the hardwood floor as she approached. "Honestly, Melinda, you can be so abstruse sometimes. Why can't you just........" The table spoon she was carrying suddenly did a free fall to the floor.

"Hello, Momma," Robert said, softly. "I'm home." And for a moment he was not the tall, handsome war hero with the chest full of ribbons but rather the little boy of long ago who used to have to be practically dragged home for supper because he would rather be out doing things.

Mrs Pappas put a hand to her mouth and uttered an unintelligible little cry. By the time Robert was able to wrap his arms around the woman her tears were already falling. "Don't cry, Momma," he said, soothingly. "I'm here. I'm really here. I missed you."

"Oh my boy," Mrs. Pappas sobbed. "My boy."

Melinda moved in beside Janice and put a hand on the smaller woman's shoulder. "This is one of the happiest days of my life, Jan," she said, wiping away a tear with the crook of her finger.

With a little nod Janice smiled at her and gave her the ever present handkerchief. The warm embrace of a loving mother for her child was not something she was familiar with. For as long as she could remember Janice Covington had more or less been forced to face the world alone.

Robert kissed his mother on the cheek and with the little grin she had seen a million times before asked, "So what's for supper. I'm starved."

For a moment she could not remember. "Ahh, chicken and rice," she said, finally.

"That's swell. I love chicken and rice," her boy said, gleefully rubbing his hands together.

As the overjoyed mother led her boy off toward the kitchen Janice stayed behind to quietly close the front door. "You know, it feels good to be on our own again," she remarked.

"It will feel even better when we actually have a real job," Melinda retorted.

"Hey enjoy this while you can," leered Janice. "Because I'm going to work your butt off when we do get one."

Melinda leaned close and whispered, "As long as you're there to rub it for me every night."

Janice put a hand to Melinda's butt and began to sensually move her the tips of her fingers across it in a little circle. "You mean...like this?"

"Ahh, yes," Melinda moaned. "That will...do...quite...nicely."

Janice punctuated her lustful massage of Melinda's butt with a gentle pat and said, "What do you say we work some more later on getting that lovely ass of yours in shape?"

"We can do that," replied Melinda. With a positively lascivious leer she added, "You won't even have to out for a box lunch."

Janice rolled her eyes and, taking her lover's arm, led her off to join her kin.  
 
 

The taxi moved slowly, barely creeping along past the many old maple, beech, and pin oak trees lining one of the narrow lanes cutting through Magnolia Cemetery. The driver, a retired machinist looking to ease the boredom by taking on a part time job with his son-in-law's cab company, liked coming here. Not only was it a beautiful place, so peaceful and serene, but his first born son, killed in Vietnam, was also buried here. In fact he had been here only yesterday, Memorial Day, with his wife laying flowers at the grave of the boy he would go to his grave remembering as that little fellow of ten who loved to go fishing with his dad. And yes, he had cried. His son had now been dead twenty-three years but still he cried. He knew guys from his generation weren't supposed to do that sort of thing but he had done it anyway. Now here he was taking someone else to remember a loved one.

Stealing yet another glance at the two elderly women quietly sitting in the back as he eased along the deserted lane, he thought, They're an odd pair. A regular Mutt and Jeff combination if there ever was one. Indeed one was tall, trim, wearing an expensive ensemble and heeled shoes, and carried herself with a quiet dignity that seemed to speak of one born to privilege. The other, shorter, one was content to wear sneakers, plain dark slacks, and a faded blue denim shirt. This one was obviously not as robust as her taller friend yet upon closer examination one could see the fire that still dwelt in those intense green eyes of hers. And he could not help but notice too that both of them, for all their years, were still quite handsome.

"It's just up ahead," said the taller one. "On the left."

"Gotcha," the driver replied, glancing back over his shoulder. "Just lemme know where you want me to stop."

A minute later the taller woman leaned forward and put her hand on the front seat. "Here it is," she said.

Pulling over, he eased two wheels of the car off the road to allow traffic to pass and then stopped the car. By the time he got out of the car, the well dressed taller woman was already helping the smaller one out of the car. Walking to the rear, he opened up the trunk and very carefully pulled out the large wreath. "Say, ya'll sure you don't need help with this?" he asked, handing the wreath the tall woman.

"Thank you but we can manage," she replied, as he closed the trunk.

The man nodded and jammed his hands into the pockets of his windbreaker. "Well, just yell out if you need me."

"You're very kind," said the woman.

He then strolled across the lane and looked up the slope at the large black monument flanked by well manicured shrubs on either side that had caught his eye. So plentiful were the flowers heaped beneath it that its huge base was completely obscured by them. At the foot of the grave was not one, but two flags. One was the Stars and Stripes, the other, the state flag of South Carolina. "Wonder who that is?" he said to the ladies now joining him. "Some big shot I reckon."

"It's my brother," said the tall one quietly.

"Ohh, umm, sorry," he stammered. "No offense." Straining to make out the design on one side of the double wide monument, he said, "Ya know, that somehow looks familiar, Ma'am. But I can't quite make it out."

The tall woman smiled faintly and said, "It's a combat infantryman's badge."

"Oh, so he was a vet then, huh," said the man.

"Yes. Yes, he was."

"The big one, Double U, Double U Two?"

"Yes."

The man nodded solemnly and said, "I was in Korea myself."

"So was he," she replied. "She then turned to her heretofore silent friend. "Way-ul, Jan, shall we?"

The smaller woman nodded and grunted something inaudible and off they went, arm in arm, up the very gentle slope leading to the grave--two silver-haired soulmates in the twilight of a life shared together which had been so rich and incredibly full. As they ascended, Melinda Pappas was very careful not to walk too quickly. Her beloved Janice had suffered a stroke some ten months before leaving her not only with impaired speech but somewhat limited use of her left leg as well. At first the doctors had told her she would at best be resigned to using a walker to get around and at worst, a wheelchair. But in a typical display of the grit and determination that had defined Janice Covington her entire life, she had scrawled out, "To hell with that," on a pad and within three months of her affliction had taken her first faltering but totally unaided steps. However, try as she might, her speech had not improved.

As the reached the top of the slope, Melinda paused, intending to let Janice catch her breath before covering the last ten yards or so to the grave. "You all right, Jan?" she asked.

Ffffiiine," Janice answered. As if to back this up she slipped her arm free and started making her way own to the head of grave.

Melinda did not immediately follow but first swept her eyes over the scenery. "This is a awfully lovely spot, don't you think?"

"Uhhh huhhh."

Mel then joined her at the headstone and with Janice's help ever so carefully positioned the wreath next to it. "There now," she said, brightly. "How does it look?"

"Umm...ppp...paah." Try as she might, Janice could not form the stubborn "pr" sound.

Sensing her frustration, Melinda took the liberty of finishing it for her. "It is pretty, isn't it? I think Emmie will be pleased. She always did like crocuses." Though she would have liked to have been there yesterday with the rest of the family Melinda had decided against it because she had not wanted to expose Janice to those Memorial Day crowds. Besides, her nieces and nephews were still in town and there would be ample time to visit with Emma and the rest later.

She knelt down and tenderly touched the stone. "Hello, Bubby," she said, softly. "It's me, Melly."

For such a large stone there was remarkably little in the way of engraving on the front of it. Whereas on the back were listed the names Mel, Lucy, Mary, and Aaron--he and his beloved wife Emma's four children--plus a poem written by his youngest daughter, Mary, the front merely displayed the combat infantryman's badge the taxi driver had noticed and the following:

That was it. That was all he had wanted. For all he had accomplished in his life, for all the good he had done through both high profile philanthropic causes and dozens more that no one never knew about, for all the difference he had made in those touched by him--this was how he had wanted to be remembered. "An old soldier."

But Emma simply could not let it go at that. Her dear husband deserved much more just than a simple name on a slab of granite. So, against what she knew had been her husband's wishes, she had ordered a foot stone to be placed there inscribed with this below a single star:

That had only been the beginning of a remarkable life. After the war Robert came home and started his own construction company. Making full use of the aggressive leadership skills he had learned the hard way during the war, he took advantage of the post war boom and within five years had made his first million. In 1948 he helped fund Chris' return to Italy to bring his dead friend home to Australia. All the while he had remained active in the Army Reserve and on August 15, 1950 had once more been called upon to serve his country, this time in Korea. There, on a freezing night in late November near Hagaru-ri, he had earned the ultimate...

Having seen more than his share of human suffering, he came home the war determined to do as much as humanly possible to help those Americans less fortunate than himself. It had all started with his creation of the Cobber Foundation in 1954--so named for the two Aussies who had saved his life.

However Robert had not attended his own presentation because on that night he was half a world away. Two days before Chris Michelhill, owner of a successful electrical supply store in Perth, suffered a massive heart attack while getting out of a taxi while in Sydney on a business trip. He was dead before he hit the sidewalk. At his funeral everyone noticed the distinguished looking stranger sitting all alone in the back of the church who on two separate occasions broke down and wept.

Yes, it had been a remarkable life--right up until the automobile accident that had so abruptly ended it.  
 

After a few moments Melinda stood up. Taking the hand of her partner of more than fifty years, she said, "Ya know, Jan, you made all this possible. He was a lot like you. It was no wonder ya'll got along so famously."

"Hee-ee wa...wuz a good...ggguuyyy," said Janice.

Melinda closed her eyes and for a moment it was 1940 once more. For perhaps the ten thousandth time she marveled at that first remarkable adventure in Macedonia that had cemented the lifelong bond between the timid expert on ancient languages and the hard-as-nails archaeologist with the perpetual chip on her shoulder. Had it been fate? Melinda did not care for that word as it applied to the two of them for it seemed to imply the foretoken of something less than desirable. Needless to say this their relationship had never been. No, clearly the operative word here was destiny. And after that first memorable encounter the next thirty years they had spent together on digs in practically every corner of the world had been nothing short of heaven.

Still, though, she sometimes wondered if the two of them would really have found each other were it not for the eternally unbreakable bond between a long dead warrior and her bard. Maybe, but she doubted it. But then again, who could say? Whatever the case, she had not felt that warrior spirit within her since she and Janice had been swept up in the 1967 Arab-Israeli war. But somehow...somehow, she believed that spirit was still there, somewhere deep within her, waiting...

Seven years later, in 1974, Janice had finally decided she had had enough. It was time to call it a career. She had been somewhat anxious about Melinda's reaction to this but the belle had not even batted an eye when Janice first brought the subject up to her. As far as she was concerned it had simply been a matter if that was what Janice wanted then, by golly, that was what she wanted too. After all, it had always been that way and Melinda saw no reason for it to be any different this time. To Melinda's surprise, and secret delight, Janice had given her blessing to her proposal that they move into her parent's old house in Columbia. The big old house which had made Janice so uneasy in the early days had been left to Melinda when her mother died in 1955.

And that was not all. Having already made his fortune, Robert had generously declined his share of the inheritance leaving Melinda with a cool quarter million in cash. With some very shrewd investments, that initial quarter million had grown so much that by now only Melinda's accountant knew for certain just how much her estate was worth. For her part she could have cared less. As long as there was enough to allow her beloved Janice to live comfortably was all that mattered. For all those years, in countless tight spots, Janice had been absolutely relentless in her desire to protect her Melinda--very often at the risk of her own life. Now the belle had vowed it was her turn.

Since '74 they had lived a life much like any other retired couple. They traveled when they felt like it, they worked part time as consultants when they felt like it, they did absolutely nothing at all when they felt like it. And through it all Mel was immensely gratified to see thather Janice had taken to it so well. But much more importantly for her, however, had been the wonderful discovery that, instead of their gracefully advancing years bringing on a love grown stale, they had in fact made them closer than ever.

Now she looked down at the woman she had loved more than life itself for half a century. Janice's eyes were partially closed and her head was tilted back slightly to allow Spring's warm breezes to gently wash across her face. My God! she thought with wonderment. She's as beautiful to me as the first day I met her. "Ja-yun?"

"Hmmm?"

"Didja ever, you know, have any...regrets?"

The smaller woman tilted her head back stiffly and intently stared into Mel's eyes. For a moment she was the fiery Janice Covington of forty years before. Her green eyes flashing, she gripped Melinda's hand with the all the strength her feeble hands allowed and said "You...craaazy? Dammit, Meehh, how cud...I? I got t-tewww shh-share a wunnerful liife wif...God's f-f-finest creation. Wwwat more cud...any..."

Her eyes glistening, Melinda blushed (Even now Janice could make her blush.) and said, "Ohhh, Jan. My sweet, wonderful, lovely Jan. There never was anybody like you. All those years--you were my hero." She blinked hard and a single tear rolled down her cheek. Turning to face the love of her life, the two of them exchanged a look that only those who have shared a lifetime of joy and pain, laughter and tears, triumph and tragedy can comprehend. "And ya know what?" she asked softly.

"Wwwat?" Janice answered, her own tears welling up now.

Her voice cracking ever so slightly, Mel replied, "You still are." She then smiled sheepishly and added, "I-I may be taller but I have always looked up to you." She wrapped her arms around the frail Janice and very tenderly squeezed her once rock hard body. It was then the words just popped into her consciousness--words she repeated aloud almost involuntarily. "I always wanted to be like you."

Janice pulled back and looked at her quizzically.

"Is something wrong?" Mel asked.

"I wwuz thinking...same thhhing."

"I love you, Janice Covington. Now and forever."

"I love you, Meeh Pap...pas." Janice need not have bothered. Her eyes said it all for her.

Melinda sobbed softly and took a handkerchief from her purse. "Would you just look at us?" she said, still sniffing. "Actin' like a couple of sentimental old goats." She then wiped first Janice's eyes and then her own.

While she did Janice grinned at her wryly and said, "Cuz we are."

"Well speak for yourself, Janice Covington," replied Melinda, haughtily sticking her nose in the air. "I for one am not old."

"Course not," said Janice, winking clumsily.

Mel grinned at her before turning once more to her brother's grave. "I'll be back soon, Bubby," she said, softly. Then, taking Janice by the arm again, she said in a much brighter voice, "So now, do you want to have a bite tuh eat before we go over to Emmie's?"

"Uhh huhh."

"What would you like?"

"Piiiiiiza," Janice offered, with a devilish grin.

"Oh Lord, Janice, "Mel sighed in mock exasperation, "do you want another stroke? You know very well pizza is bad for you. Why it's plumb full of fat, not to mention all those calories..." However as they slowly descended the hill to the waiting taxi she already knew they would indeed be having pizza.

For some reason her mind wandered back for a moment to Sergeant Anthony, that brave young man with the bitter past who had died so that they might live. Some time back, to her everlasting regret, Melinda had learned from his aging sister that her oh so ephemeral friend's body had never been found.

By the time they had descended the hill Janice was starting to become a little fatigued. Seeing her wobble, the old cab driver jogged stiffly across the road and offered her his hand.

"Thank you," said Melinda.

After helping Janice into the taxi the driver said, "Do you ever wish you go back and, you know, sort of do the whole thing over and get it right this time? Or maybe be somebody else who was the kind of person you always wished you had been?" He smiled sheepishly and said, "I do."

Melinda smiled back at the man and gently replied, "Sir, I would not have traded my life for all the gold in Fort Knox. You see I got it right the first time."

With that, the driver helped his gracious fare into the car and slowly drove them up the narrow lane and out of the cemetary.  
 

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