The jump was flawless up until the last second when an unexpected gust of air blew him sideways and he twisted his ankle as he landed. Fortunately, the army provided the Airborne with boots reinforced for this very reason. In any other situation, he might have needed help getting off the field, but after detaching himself from his parachute and gathering it into his arms, he was able to limp off.

He walked into the medic’s tent and asked for some ice. He unlaced his boot, long since immune to the smell that permeated the leather. He smiled—he was wearing one of the pairs of socks that Margaret had knit. He’d worn through nearly all of them and had taken to wearing the army-issued wool ones just to make hers last. But his decision today to write the letter in his own name seemed a cause for a rare celebration and he couldn’t think of a better way to mark the occasion than to put on the last pair he had.

If she’d sent any more boxes, he didn’t know, as mail and packages were having a difficult time following the men from front to front.

But these, he had. All red. She’d included a note saying that she’d gotten down to the last yarn from her grandmother’s sweater and had decided to make one pair entirely from that. They had arrived just before they’d left for Normandy, and William had tossed them to Tom.

“Red. Cupid’s color. You should have them.”

He’d brushed it off at the time, thinking it to be one of the ribbing remarks that they all made to each other, but as he thought back to all of William’s nudging, he realized that it was intentional.

William the matchmaker.

If God was just, he would accept the sacrifice of William’s life and grant success to this thing he had wanted for his friends.

“Powell,” Tom heard. He looked up to see Captain Winters closing the flap of the medic tent behind him. Tom swung his legs around off the cot, but Captain Winters waved his hands down, indicating that he should sit.

“At ease. No need to put more strain on your ankle than you already have.”

It’s one of the many things he liked about Winters. He seemed to know everything that was going on with his men, even a minor injury like this.

“It’s nothing, sir. Just a little tape to wrap it and it will be good as new.”

Captain Winters sat across from him and pulled an envelope from the pocket inside his jacket. He handed it to Tom. “This just came through.”

Tom took it and began to open it. “What is it?”

“Read it. You’re getting promoted to corporal. Two stripes for you, Powell.”