A Timeless Romance Anthology: European Collection by Annette Lyon, G. G. Vandagriff, Michele Paige Holmes, Sarah M. Eden, Heather B. Moore, Nancy Campbell Allen Read Free Book Online Page B

Russians stopped attacking. Had they kept going, they could have completely broken the Finns’ defenses here, circled around south, and attacked the Mannerheim Line from the rear.”
    “And the Mannerheim Line is the most important front. They lose that line, and Stalin wins, right?” Clearly, she’d researched the war and geography.
    “Right.”
    “Which brings us back to my original question.” Anna put a hand on Pete’s arm and forced him to pause in his step. “What aren’t you telling me? I can tell there’s more; your voice always gives it away when you’re trying to hide something.”
    Curse the fact that she knew him so well. For a moment, he didn’t answer; he stared forward where, only moments ago, he’d seen another unexpected horror of war.
    Finnish staff members still buzzed about, rushing to and fro, collecting more objects they could use as weapons. He sent a silent prayer upward that the telephone lines hadn’t been cut, so the call for backup troops had been received. They were the only hope of the camp, and, likely, of the entire Finnish nation.
    Anna squeezed his arm. “Pete. Tell. Me. Why did they stop attacking?” Her tone brooked no argument. He might as well tell her now anyway; she’d learn for herself soon enough.
    Pete studied her and had a sudden realization that Anna could handle the information. She had more strength in her five-foot frame than he’d given her credit for, in character if not in body. As he tried to put the images into words, the horrors returned to the fore of his mind. If he’d doubted why the Russians had stopped their attack, the memory of their faces erased it.
    “The Russians are starving,” he said simply. “They stopped attacking to… eat soup.” The words were true, yet they didn’t convey— not remotely— what he’d seen in the haunted eyes of the Red army.
    “Let’s go,” Anna said, shifting directions, pulling Pete away from the path leading to the dugout and back toward the mess tent— the battle area.
    “No.” Pete planted his feet and pulled her toward him.
    Anna turned to face him, her eyes steely. “We’re here to do a job. To witness and report. I don’t know about you, but I intend to do my job.”
    She wrenched her arm from his and marched, stumbling a bit, into the darkness in the general direction of the mess tent. Pete stood there, debating what to do. Anna was a strong woman. He shouldn’t treat her like some fragile flower. Yet he didn’t want to see her put into a dangerous spot, especially if he could prevent it.
    Yet she was right; reporting on this war was why they were here. One thing he loved about Anna was how determined she was to do a professional, top-notch job. He’d never known a more passionate journalist, whether her assignment had been to cover a library event or a city government scandal. She always did the best job possible, and she’d worked her way up to better, harder jobs— she’d earned a level of prestige.
    Helplessly, he watched her slip into the darkness, knowing that he had to let her do this. He still debated: should he go after her? They were a team, after all. Or, he could probably make it back to his dugout for his equipment so he could snap a few photos— although he’d need to use a flash, which would certainly draw unwanted attention from the fighters. But maybe it would blend in with rifle flares when the fighting resumed.
    He looked to his left, in the direction of the dugout then back toward the path Anna had taken. The job could go hang; he wanted to be with her, at her side, if only to be sure she was safe. He debated for only a moment, but it was long enough for the fighting to pick back up and become ferocious. Lantern, flashlights, and rifle flashes lit up the night like some kind of sick fireworks display. He spotted bayonets used to skewer men and leave them to die on the ground, gored like an animal. Pete brought a hand to his mouth, sure he’d be sick.
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