Suzanne Cousineau had some near misses but
survived the Anzio beachhead where she showed special aptitude in treating
battle fatigue and shell-shock. Recognizing this talent, she was promoted to 1st
Lt. along with her closest friend Beverly Deacon, another proficient nurse. Suzanne
and Beverly were assigned to work their way east along the Nazi defensive line
training combat nurses and medics in the treatment of battle-related mental
disorders. After several weeks of hazardous duty their next assignment was to
go south to where some of the worst cases had been sent.
Suzanne
gathered half the Foggia nurses in one room. Beverly led the other half in a
room down the hall for the initial orientation on new remedial techniques. As
she was wrapping up the training session, Suanne asked, “Where did this latest
group of patients come from?“Up north in the Apennines, it must have been nasty. Some of them are pretty bad off.”
“Who brought them here? I want to talk to them.”
“A
Lieutenant Millen.”
A thrill of hope
mixed with fear shot through Suzanne’s body. She tried to keep her voice
steady.
“What
is his first name?”
“Steven.”
Suzanne felt like she had to sit down.
“What
does he look like?”
“A
Viking.”
“What
a hunk.”
“He
can park his boots under my bunk anytime.”
“He
comes here every day to see them. They love him.” Looking and pointing out the
window, “Here he comes now.”
Suzanne
looked, dropped her clipboard and ran out the door crying, “Steve! Steve!”
They
collided, tipped over and rolled on the grass frantically hugging, kissing each
other’s faces, laughing and crying.
The
nurses watched wide-eyed and slack-jawed. One commented dryly, “I think they
met before.”
“They’re
definitely a couple.”
“Think
they’ll do it right there?”
“I
hope so.”
A
major walked by the recumbent clinch. “There is a hotel in town, you know.”
The nurses, and
now a few of the patients, looked on as Suzanne and Steve walked around holding
hands and impulsively clasping each other and kissing. It was conduct
unbecoming to officers, and they couldn’t have cared less.
Spotting
Suzanne’s silver bars, Steve said, “First looey. I knew it, outranked again
with these butter bars. Can we still get married?”
“Rank’s
no longer an issue. Where and when?”
“Let’s
find a chaplain or a local padre and set it up.”
“Who’ll
stand up for us?”
“My
friend Rick will.”
“I’ll
get my friend Beverly.”
Later,
when Rick Heydon and Beverly Deacon, who was tall and raven-haired, met they
burst out laughing and walked away holding hands.
Suzanne
turned to Steve. “What’s that all about? Do they know each other from before?”
“Beats
me.”
(This vignette was excerpted from the novel WW11 Soldier Flier Prisoner Partisan: Missing in Action and Presumed Dead.
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