June 5, 1944
Plymouth, England
The rain made rivers down the window as thunder rumbled across the shore. From his vantage point, he could see the boats bobbing in the violent harbor waters. The muscles in his back were tight as he stared across the English Channel, imagining the Germans in their bunkers facing him as they hunkered down through the storm. As he took a long draw from his cigarette, he wondered if they had done everything right. Most of the Americans sleeping in tents on the plains had never seen a day of combat. Eisenhower had sent Patton to the southeast to convince the Germans that the attack would come at Calais, but he didn't know if the German commander in charge of the coastal defenses, Erwin Rommel, had taken the bait. After all, they had chased Rommel across Africa till he had been dubbed the Desert Fox.
"Ben?" a lilting voice called from the darkness behind him. He turned his head and could vaguely make out the dark outline of someone sitting up behind him. He took another drag from the cigarette and contemplated the glowing tip for a moment. He heard her moving and in a moment, felt her thin arms circle his waist. Her palms rested flat against his stomach and her cheek lay against his back between his shoulder blades. He covered her hand with his. "You should come back to bed," she said. "Worrying will not end the war or this weather. You should rest while you can."
He smiled at her sweet voice and wondered how many American soldiers were having similar conversations with their English sweethearts tonight. "I can't close my eyes, Gennie," he replied. "I'm sorry I woke you."
Her hand slipped lower, into the waistband of his government issued boxers. "Then come back to bed and let me distract your mind." Her lips touched his back, kissing along his spine as they made their way to his neck.
He sighed softly, his body responding to her wandering hand. He turned to face her, wrapping his strong arms around her. He lowered his head and pressed his lips to hers, kissing her firmly. She stretched up to return the kiss, her hands moving to his broad shoulders. Her mouth opened to him and he tasted her, his tongue slipping behind her teeth. Their tongues tangled together, hungry for one another. They clung desperately to each other as he explored her lips and cheeks. She met his hunger with her own.
This had been their custom for weeks now. As his imminent departure grew closer, their time together more dear, their coming together became more desperate. When he came into town, she would be so relieved to see him again that they could barely eat before they fell into the bed in her room. Later, they would slow down, but before he left, the desperation would return. They didn't speak of it, but they both knew any visit could be his last.