With Every Letter by Sarah Sundin

patted his lips with two fingers as if smoking a cigarette.
    “You want a cigarette? Cig-a-rette?” Tom said, as if slow speech would cross the language barrier. Keeping his eyes on the native Algerian, he fumbled open the pocket where he’d stuffed his ration and pulled out the pack of four smokes that came with each meal.
    The man grabbed the pack, grinned broadly, and hurried back to the house. “ Vive l’Amérique! Vive l’Amérique! ”
    A nervous laugh escaped Tom’s lips, and his men joined him. “Hey, fellows, why didn’t General Eisenhower think of that? We should have dropped cigs instead of paratroopers.”
    To his left, Rinaldi elbowed him. “Say, Gill, that was a real Lucky Strike.”
    Tom chuckled. “They do like Camels around here.”
    “Come on,” the truck driver called out. “Let’s load ’er up.”

    Still laughing, Tom got up and climbed back in the truck. But his hands shook.
    Within an hour, they reached the airfield at Tafaroui, on a flat expanse of dirt with rocky hills in the distance.
    Tom hopped out of the truck. “Okay, boys, camp under that palm tree over there while I find out what’s going on.”
    He waved at Sergeant Fong in the truck behind and motioned for him to follow. First he had to find someone in charge.
    A captain approached, wearing the golden tank insignia of the armored forces on his lapels. Tom’s lapels bore the Engineers’ two-turreted castle.
    He saluted. “Lieutenant MacGilliver with the 908th Engineers.”
    The captain returned the salute. “Your captain’s looking for you. Your battalion got split up.”
    “Like everyone else today. Airfield’s secure?”
    “Yep. No thanks to the Army Air Forces. Most of the C-47s got lost on the way from England. They got the signal mixed up, decided to land at the field instead of dropping the troops. The French fired at the planes. They’re scattered all over. A lot of them landed on the Sebkra d’Oran, that dry lake west of here.”
    “Too bad.” Only about a dozen cargo planes parked on the field.
    “Of course, they tipped off the Frenchies that we were invading, so they gave our tanks a good stiff fight. We blasted them out, took three hundred prisoners.” He pointed across the airfield. “There’s your captain.”
    “Thanks.” Tom headed over to Captain Newman. Footsteps thumped behind him, and he turned around. “Hey there, Larry. Having a fun day?”
    “More fun than a day at Playland.” Larry fell in step beside Tom. “Any snipers fire at you?”

    “One. The boys took care of him. You guys?”
    “A fellow in an orange grove. I don’t understand. I’d think the French would welcome our help throwing the Nazis off their backs.”
    “Guess not.” He stepped onto pavement. From what he could see, Tafaroui had a paved runway and taxiway but no paved hardstands for the planes to park on. One good rainstorm and they’d be yanking planes out of the mud.
    A whistle overhead, and Tom and Larry flung themselves to the pavement. An artillery shell whammed into the ground a couple hundred feet to their left, throwing up a fountain of dirt.
    Tom got up, brushed gravel from his cheek, and straightened his helmet. “Looks like we’ve got friends on that hill over there.”
    “Swell. Let’s send them a present.”
    “Too bad I’m out of cigarettes.”
    Captain Newman stood by a C-47 cargo plane with Lt. Martin Quincy. While Tom was built like a baseball player, Quincy had a linebacker’s physique, complete with a face that looked like it had taken too many tackles.
    Newman smiled at Tom. “Glad you decided to join us. How’s your platoon? Any news from Lieutenant Reed’s platoon?”
    “Platoon intact. No word on Reed. Our equipment here?”
    “Unloading at Arzeu. Quincy has his platoon and squad tool sets.”
    Tom avoided Quincy’s gaze. “Lehman’s squad lost their set on the beach, but we’ve got the rest.” More like they decided it was too heavy to carry and they ditched it.
    Quincy