War Girls Complete Collection Chapter 302

Chapter 21: Tom

T

om entered the bar that teemed with mostly British and American soldiers, with a few civilians sprinkled here and there. He scanned the room but didn’t see Peter, Ursula’s brother-in-law, anywhere. A slight inquietude upset his stomach. He’d surprised Peter with the invitation to go out for a beer. The other man had accepted, but Tom had seen the glint of reluctance.

Surely, Peter must think it wasn’t appropriate for him to hang out with Tom in a bar, while his wife waited for him at home. Tom also had mixed feelings about going out with his pals. While he enjoyed the relaxation of an after-hour beer, the conversation inevitably turned to the topic of conquests and German Fräuleins. A topic he wished not to discuss.

Some of his comrades secretly whispered about him and suspiciously eyed his every move, because he didn’t have a girl back home – and wasn’t interested in a sexual affair over here. But how could he even pretend to be looking for someone else if Ursula owned his heart and soul? Now that he’d seen her and reignited the flames of passion, she captivated him more than ever.

Mitch – helpful but insensitive in affairs of the heart – had advised him to go out with one or two Fräuleins for cover and to ward off any unwanted scrutiny. A healthy man simply didn’t go without a woman for too long. Tom shrugged off the unpleasant thought.

“Tom?”

He turned around and stared into Peter’s ice-blue eyes. Relieved to be drawn out of his sorry thoughts, he got up and half-hugged Peter, slapping his shoulder. A bit too friendly, judging by the confused expression on the other man’s face.

“I really don’t think I should be here,” Peter said, scanning the bar with the meticulous inspection of a longtime combatant.

“One beer. My treat.” Tom gestured to the bartender. “Get my friend here whatever he wants.”

Peter relaxed a little and took the barstool beside Tom “I’ll have a beer.”

The bartender, a skinny but curvy blonde, nodded and put a bottle of beer in front of Peter. Tom couldn’t help but notice the way she checked out both of them. “Cheers.” Tom clinked bottles with Peter and glanced around before he spoke. “I saw Ursula.”

Peter pitched forward, spilling his bear. “Should I even ask how you pulled this off?”

Tom chuckled. “Yank pilot gave me a ride on his craft.”

“How is she?”

“Well and alive. They’re doing much better down there in the country than you blokes up here.”

Peter nodded. It wasn’t a secret that Berliners had drawn the shortest straw. “What about… the family?”

“You mean my daughter?”

“So she told you?” Peter took a big gulp from his beer bottle.

“She did. It was quite a shock to meet Evie, in more ways than one.” Tom paused, unsure how much he should tell the other man. But the secrecy lay heavy on his chest. Peter was almost family, and after what Ursula had revealed about Peter’s clandestine relationship with Anna, Tom was sure he’d understand his inner turmoil. He might even be able to offer advice – or at least consolation. “Did you know?”

Peter shook his head. “Not until after you visited us.”

“It’s killing me. We decided to keep it secret, because you know… she’s a…” Tom couldn’t bring himself to say the word

bastard

. But that was exactly what his daughter was in the eyes of everyone. She’d be shamed, mocked and derided should anyone get wind of her descent. “I can’t acknowledge her, or even visit her regularly.”

Peter’s face took on a tortured look and he put his hand on Tom’s arm, as if comforting a child. “Man, I’m sorry. I didn’t see my own son for five years, had been told he was dead.”

“The war is over and yet nothing has changed. I still can’t be with Ursula.” Tom stared at Peter’s hand on his arm, compassion emanating from the other man. He already felt lighter. The old proverb really was true; a trouble shared was a trouble halved.

“You have to maintain hope and believe that in time things will change.”

Tom sighed. “You know we all kept that same hope alive during the war. I guess I was expecting we could just get back to living our lives once it was all over.”

Peter chuckled. “Good luck with that. The entire world blames Germany for Hitler and his war and the Allies are determined to make everyone with German blood moving through their veins pay for it.”

Tom didn’t respond to that. In general, he was onboard with making the Nazis pay for the destruction they had caused, but he also recognized that good people like Ursula existed. People like her had risked their own lives to help those persecuted. It was a very confusing time. Tom finished his beer and shook himself out of his miserable thoughts. “Actually I came here to give you some good news, but thanks for commiserating.”

“Good news? I’m dying to hear some of that.” Peter grinned.

“Tell Anna that her brother Richard is alive.”

Peter’s jaw dropped to the floor. “What?”

“He arrived at the Meier farm several weeks ago.”

“Did… has… is… there a woman with him?”

“Yes, he’s married to a beautiful brunette called Katrina.” Tom suddenly felt himself in a tight embrace and lifted up from his stool.

“Katrina? She’s alive and well? God, I love you!”

Tom found the sudden emotional outburst of the other man awkward. He wriggled to get out of Peter’s grip until another hand slapped him on his back and a familiar voice said, “You’re disgusting, Westlake. Having it off with a Jerry!”

Tom turned and saw his nemesis, Ed Bronson. He inwardly groaned. Leave it to that hotheaded jerk to stir up trouble. “I beg your pardon?”

“The Jerry, there. You’re pansying around with this bastard. Shame on you!” Bronson raised his voice and spit on the floor, garnering the attention of the entire bar. “You’re both disgusting.”

“Bronson, mind your own business.” Tom awkwardly stepped away from Peter, who looked as stricken as Tom felt.

Bronson’s face grew red. “This is my business. That damn Jerry there is stinking up my bar and I want him gone. In fact, I want you both gone. Maybe a little time in jail would remind you where your loyalties lie.”

Tom noticed Peter’s tightening jaw and he was afraid the man would do something rash. Friendly nation or not, it wouldn’t do him any good if he lost his patience and slapped a British airman in uniform. Tom stepped between the two men, forcing his voice to remain calm. “Bronson, this is all a misunderstanding. This man here is not German…”

Tom didn’t get to finish his explanation because Bronson’s fist flew into his face. The impact sent him rocking backwards, hitting the back of his head on the bar before he toppled to the ground. He’d experienced worse. Fighting against the red dots blurring his vision he jumped up, fists high and ready to engage.

Peter stepped between the two men and Bronson’s next hook landed on Peter’s jaw, making him wince. But to give Peter credit, he didn’t punch back, very aware of his fragile standing amongst the mostly British soldiers frequenting the bar.

Tom, though, didn’t have the same scruples and unleashed the rage and misery he’d been feeling for much too long into his punch against Bronson’s stomach. It was only thanks to some man’s quick action in holding him back that he didn’t rip that bastard to pieces.

“You two. Break it up,” came the cold-as-steel voice of an MP. Tom’s body slumped and he didn’t put up any resistance as the MP pulled his arms behind his back. Moments later the MP slapped cuffs on his wrists while his partner did the same to a swearing, kicking and punching Bronson.

“I’m so sorry, man,” Peter said with a guilty face.

Tom shook his head. “This isn’t your fault. It’s his. Bronson’s a loose cannon and he needs to learn to mind his own business.”

“You having a drink with a Jerry is my business,” Bronson tossed back angrily.

The MPs stood them a short distance from one another and then one approached Peter. “Papers, please.”

“Of course.” Peter nodded and withdrew his identification paperwork and his worker card for the British administration. The MP looked it over and handed it back saying, “Thank you.”

He turned to Bronson and gave him a scathing look. “You’re an arsehole. The guy is Polish and works in the administration building.”

Tom smirked but knew better than to gloat in revenge.

“He’s lying. He’s a Jerry. Just look at him.” Bronson was like a dog with a bone.

“His papers are in order and you are going to have to explain to the commander why you started a fight with a fellow officer. I would hate to be you,” the MP told him as both men were escorted outside.

After presenting the case to the commander and spending a night in a cell, Tom was let go with a stern warning. Bronson, though, got a blot to his personnel record.

Tom almost felt sorry for his comrade, but an inner voice warned him that this incident would only intensify the grudge Bronson held against him. He was sure this wouldn’t be the last trouble the man caused him.