Letters Across the Sea by Genevieve Graham (spicy books to read .txt) 📕

moving on to Richie’s leg. The bleeding there had stopped for now, and Max saw it was a superficial gunshot wound, not too different from his own. He taped it up then moved to the deep shrapnel cut on Richie’s cheek. As he did that, Richie’s eyes opened, tired beyond words.

“Is it done?”

“I did the best I could.”

Richie blinked up at him. “I know, Max. You always have.” His voice was low, slurred by the morphine and the pain. “I’m sorry. For everything.”

“It’s okay. It’s okay,” Max managed, his voice cracking as he pressed his forehead to Richie’s, praying to God they would both survive. “We’re okay now, you and me. And we’ll be home soon. You’ll see Barbara and your girls, and we’ll have lots of stories to tell them.”

Richie hesitated, then he blinked, sending tears down both sides of his face. “Reach into my jacket pocket,” he said hoarsely, tilting his head toward it. “Take out the envelope.”

Max dug inside, trying not to jar Richie too much, then he pulled out an envelope that had obviously been folded and unfolded many times.

“It’s for my family.” Richie swallowed. “I need you to send it for me.”

His heart twisted, and he had to force words through his throat. “You can send it yourself.”

“I know I can count on you, Max. Please.”

Max tucked it into his own pocket, by his heart, praying Richie was right.

A couple of soldiers squatted beside them then carefully lifted Richie onto a stretcher.

Max held his friend’s tortured gaze. “You’ll be okay, Richie. I’ll see you at St. Stephen’s, all right?”

“We got him,” one of the men said. “Get back out there and do what you have to do, soldier. We’ll get him and the others out if we can.”

Max watched them carry Richie away, his chest constricting with loss. He didn’t want to leave, but he had to get moving. He peered through the hanging smoke, listening for threats and searching for an opening. The enemy seemed to have cleared out, in pursuit of Max’s friends, giving him an opportunity. When he was sure it was safe, he darted out then stopped short, disoriented. It all looked the same: the jungle, the darkness, the smoke, and the bodies scattered everywhere, their blood smeared black in the early, dappled sunlight. He didn’t know which way to go. Then he heard a burst of bullets, and he turned toward the sound, running as fast as he could. Along the way, he recognized landmarks and picked up his pace, closing in on the rendezvous location. Finally, he stumbled into the clearing, and Arnie and David rushed to him, their faces smeared with dirt and sweat.

“What took you so long?” Arnie asked.

He told them about Richie, and their faces fell. They might not have been close, but they’d grown up with Richie. He was one of them, and now he was on the way to the hospital in grave condition. He might not survive. Suddenly everything was too real.

“We’re going into the Wong Nai Chung Gap,” David told Max as they prepared to start moving again. “Up in the hills. The plan is to stay as high as we can and fire down on the Japs.”

Arnie frowned at his leg. “You okay on that?”

“Just a scratch,” Max replied. “Let’s go.”

The Japanese offensive was relentless, the shelling worse every hour. For days, they forced the Royal Rifles inexorably south, climbing the tangled, scrub-covered mountains after them, plunging into the rocky ravines, always in pursuit. Laden with weapons, ammunition, and what wounded they could carry, Max and the others fought back. He adjusted to the constant agony ripping through his leg, reminding himself he had no choice; he must run or be killed. And every day, every night, and every mile, he thought of Richie, remembering the trust in his old friend’s eyes. Had he made it to the hospital? Was he still alive?

Max’s confidence fell every time they lost another man. In brief intervals between the noise of battle, he heard the agonized screams of wounded soldiers cut suddenly short.

Bayonets, he thought, horror vibrating through him.

He saw the fear and hopelessness building in his friends every time they were forced to leave their dead and wounded behind, including Gander. Their ferociously loyal dog had rushed in and retrieved a grenade that rolled into a group of injured soldiers. He’d run off, putting as much space between them and him, sacrificing himself to save those seven men. Loyal to the end.

One night, Arnie, David, and he crowded into a shallow trench high on a hill, savouring a few minutes’ rest while Max was the lookout.

“God, I’m hungry,” David said.

They’d run out of food on the second day of their retreat and had to forage. Worse, the Japanese had taken control of the water supply. David reached to the side and yanked a leaf out of a bush, grimacing as he chewed.

While the others rested, Max swept his binoculars slowly across the hill below. From the corner of his eye, he thought he saw movement, but he was so tired he wasn’t sure if his mind was playing tricks. He swung the binoculars back, squinting hard, then spotted men slithering out from the trees, seventy yards below them on the slope.

“We’ve got company,” he whispered.

David and Arnie immediately dropped into position, lying on their fronts, and Max joined them, still scouting between the shrubs.

“I count five. They haven’t seen us.”

Moving slowly to stay invisible, the three friends trained their rifles on their quarry. Max quietly slid a shell into the chamber and took his safety off.

“This has to be quick,” he murmured. “Make sure you have them lined up before you fire. We don’t want to attract attention. Ready?”

On his signal, the three of them fired as one. Max heard Arnie swear as he missed his first shot, but they had the jump on the Japanese; two of them fell right away. The other three had dropped and were firing back. The