“Corporal Powell,” said a private, surprising Tom that the news had spread quickly. “The helicopter came for the mail and said that it would be at least a week before they are able to come back. I know you’d wanted to get your letter out, so I put it in the envelope and ran it out to them before they took off.”

Tom thanked him, and then put his hand over his mouth once the boy had walked away.

No. This was all wrong. He’d planned to tear the letter up as soon as he was back from the jump.

Because the one that had been sent had been the one he’d signed as William.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Two

November 1944

Margaret lifted her protective eye shield and wiped the sweat from her face. No matter the weather outside, her welding station was always hot. Fire on metal. She was careful to wash her face religiously at night because if she missed the routine, her forehead would break out in a red rash that took weeks to clear up.

The welding room, enormous because of the large pieces being built, was nearly empty. She’d asked for some overtime hours, wanting to buy and fill an even larger Mason jar, and the foreman reluctantly accepted. There were some areas of the Coral Sea to smooth out and Margaret had proven herself adept with detailed work.

She lowered the shield, stretched her arms, then ignited her blowtorch, its burst of flame instantly satisfying. Every single time.

A whiff of smoke caused her nose to wrinkle.

Something was burning.

Margaret laid the torch down and pulled the ear protection off.

A woman was screaming.

It was coming from the back.

The dark corner was unusually lit and as Margaret approached, the screams intensified.

Fire!

Panic rose in her throat, tasting of blood and metal, and she swallowed it down. She had to keep her head about her. She looked around for anything that could help, but there was nothing—how the hell did they not have a fire extinguisher on every wall?

“I’m here!” she shouted over the screams.

She saw a coat draped over a chair at another station and grabbed it, nearly tripping over a table leg. She steadied herself and ran back to the woman, who was now bent over on the floor.

Smoke was rising from the woman’s hair and she was trying to cover it with her hands. Margaret threw the coat over her and started hitting all around it, trying to smother the flames.

The woman collapsed and her body stilled. Margaret checked her pulse on her wrists but found nothing. Then, her neck—ah! There it was. A faint thump, thump, thump. Slow but present.