“How long since you talked with him?”
Nancy glanced at her watch. “Nearly three hours.”
“Want to try again?”
“Oh, yes, if you don’t think it would be too much strain on him.”
They went to the ward and made their way down through the long rows of cots. They were a pitiful lot, those wounded men with bandages of every sort. But they wanted no pity, for they called themselves the lucky guys for having so much comfort and attention. Some were able to be propped up for the noon meal, while others must be patiently fed a liquid diet.
Shorty Warner was feeding Vernon a thin broth through a tube when Major Reed and Nancy paused by his bed. The ghost of a smile flickered to the gunner’s face when he recognized Nancy.
“He asked for you as soon as he woke,” Shorty explained.
“Feel like talking a bit, old chap?” asked the major, touching the prematurely white head and giving it a friendly pat.
“Think so, Major. I know Miss Nancy is anxious to hear all about Tom.”
“So he was alive when you left him?”