Silver Stars (Front Lines #2)(119)

Staff rush to bring a microphone forward and a nervous captain begins the proceedings by announcing the names of those in attendance. The next to last name mentioned is that of General Patton.

The final name is “Second Subaltern Elizabeth Windsor.”

“Oh my God,” Rainy breathes. “The princess!”

“The what?” Rio and Frangie echo, too surprised to be discreet.

“Elizabeth Windsor. Princess Elizabeth, the king’s daughter!” Rainy is not easily impressed. The general has not cowed her. She’s dealt with colonels and generals, but this finally cuts through her cynicism and a smile slowly appears.

They are called to attention—they’re already at attention, proximity to a lieutenant general will do that, but they take this order as a sign that it’s time to stop whispering.

Their names are read out one by one, followed by the official summaries of their actions. And then, all at once, Rio is face-to-face with Patton, who gives her a sideways, thoughtful look before taking the medal from one of his aides and pinning it onto the lapel of her uniform. The lapel being more discreet under the circumstances than pinning it on her chest.

“Congratulations, Sergeant Richlin,” Patton says with bare civility.

“Corporal, sir,” Rio blurts as the general is moving away.

He stops, comes back a step, leans toward her, and says, “Young lady, if I say you’re a sergeant, then you’re a god . . .” He glances guiltily toward the princess, clears his throat, and starts over. “If I say you’re a sergeant, then that’s what you are.”

Princess Elizabeth steps to her and extends her hand, smiling radiantly, just a teenager herself, Rio realizes.

Completely confused, Rio attempts a curtsy but has no idea how to manage it, so ends up looking like she’s got an itch.

“Now, now, none of that,” the princess says with a high, musical laugh. “You’re Americans, and we settled all that some time ago.”

Rio swallows, says nothing, bobs her head, and the moment blessedly ends as Patton and Elizabeth move on to Rainy.

“Congratulations, Sergeant Schulterman. Fine work,” Patton says, and pins her medal on.

On reaching Frangie, the general seems to take a breath and hold it, as if unwilling to breathe her air. His eyes are cold and dismissive, but he says the right words of congratulation.

“Congratulations, Sergeant Marr. Good work.”

The princess is more gracious, and she holds Frangie’s hand in hers for a long time as she speaks about helping to keep our brave boys—and girls too—alive and healthy so they can return to their loving families.

And then they are done, marched off the field as the band plays “Garryowen.”

Squeezed into the backseat of the closed car that will carry them to a reception at the enlisted men’s club, Rio says, “I do not want to be a sergeant. No, I sure as anything do not.”

“Pay’s better,” Rainy observes.

But for Rio it feels like a punishment. She had not wanted to be a corporal, and this is infinitely worse. She wonders now if she shouldn’t accept the offer of stateside duty. If she goes back up to the front in Italy, or sits here waiting for the invasion, either way she’ll be given men and women to train and teach and coddle. She will be Sergeant Cole. She will be Dain Sticklin.

I’ll be Mackie! she thinks, recalling her first sergeant, all the way back at the beginning. In her memory Sergeant Mackie has become an almost mythic figure. “I have no business being sergeant,” Rio says.

“Neither do I,” Frangie says, but grins as she adds, “but if it comes to it I’ll take the extra pay.”

“Nah, I can’t . . . ,” Rio says. “I don’t want that . . . that responsibility. You two don’t get it. The sergeant is the . . . the . . .” She shrugs helplessly.

“The one who leads his people into the valley of the shadow of death,” Frangie says, earning a snort from Rio.

The car runs along the base of the cliffs, white chalk rising abruptly to their left, the English Channel on their right.

“Driver?” Rainy says suddenly. “Can you pull over? I want to look.”

They climb out, breath steaming in the cold. They stand side by side, looking out across the water, three young soldiers in their best uniforms, newly adorned with the Silver Star.

“France is over there about twenty miles or so,” Rainy says. “In a few weeks or months a very large number of GIs are going to land on some beach over there.”

They stare some more, and Rio lights a cigarette. She’s landed on beaches in North Africa, in Sicily, and on the mainland of Italy. This time will be worse. This time the Germans will know the Allies are coming in earnest. This time it will be to the death.

Rainy says, “Some of those GIs will get hurt, and they’ll need a medic.”

Frangie nods. “Too few medics, too many hurt boys.”

“Well, they’ll have one with a Silver Star,” Rainy says, and claps a hand on Frangie’s shoulder.

“I guess they will,” Frangie says with a sigh.

“But will they have sergeants?” Rainy moves to stand right in front of Rio. “When they found me, when I finally figured out that I was safe, you know what kept going through my head, Richlin?”

Rio shakes her head.