The Undaunted

Easter Sunday

Private Owens was waiting for Jenny when she stepped off the ship, his face obviously hastily scrubbed clean for the assignment, faint dirt streaks showing where his fingers had swiped over his brow and chin.

"Lieutenant Snow," he stuttered with a blush.

"To whom do I owe the pleasure of being provided with an escort?" Jenny asked with a smile.

"Leah told Major Delaney you were coming again and he said since he had to provide escorts for all the male correspondents who come over he didn't see why you should have to hitch through Italy. Last month, I even had to carry one fellow's camera lenses around for a week."

Jenny snorted. How could the Army honestly think a woman who didn't get ground transport or ask for assistance was more trouble than a man? A curious rustle of noise made her realize there was quite a line of GIs assembled at port, and that the London PRO who had congratulated Officer Moore all those weeks ago was smiling at her in a way that was certainly not friendly.

"Well, well look what I have," he said, stepping forward to show her a crumpled picture he had taken from his pocket. It was of Jenny, shot for Harper's Bazaar in 1940 in the early days of her modeling career. In it, she was sitting on the floor reading a book, back to the camera, naked except for her knickers, but all you could see of her in the photograph was her bare back and the very top of her hipbones. She had been waiting for her next outfit when the photographer decided Jenny didn't need an outfit; the shoot was meant to show off the diamond clip in Jenny's hair, rather than a dress. For the first time, Jenny wondered how many people actually noticed the hair clip.

"I've got one too," another man joined in the fun, pulling a different picture out of his pocket, this time of Jenny in a two-piece bathing suit.

"One of the public relations guys in London was real helpful in finding these for us," the PRO said. "Now, here you are in the flesh."

It was not lost on Jenny how he lingered over the word flesh, and she just stopped herself from shuddering. Warren Moore, Jenny knew, was the one who had made sure the men had so many pictures of her. But that, apparently, wasn't the worst of it.

"Here. I have a telegram for you," the PRO said handing her a piece of paper.

Jenny's face fell as she read it. Her orders had been countermanded. She was to return immediately to London. It'll be more fun to watch you leave in disgrace later, just when you think you've settled in, Warren had said to her. And she wondered if Warren had let her go, had wanted to make sure that, before he ordered her to come back and sit in a bar and watch the war from a distance, she would see that every man in the US Army had a picture of Jenny to paw over.

"When's the next ship back?" she asked, as if she didn't care about any of it.

"Tomorrow. Take her to one of the hotels for the night," the PRO said to Owens.

At that, Owens hitched Jenny's bag onto his shoulder and walked away to the jeep. Jenny followed. What else could she do? Stand at the port and watch the GIs compare pictures of her? She hadn't won when her story and her photos of Natalia were published. Warren Moore had just wanted her to think she had because he knew that would make the loss hurt all the more.

Owens pulled the jeep out onto the road. "My orders from my CO are to take you to the hospital at Cassino," he said shyly. "I could bring you back early enough tomorrow to catch the ship."

Jenny leaned over and kissed his cheek, which were, as always, suffused with the endearing blush that proclaimed his innocence.

"Thank you," she said sincerely. And thank you, Jack, she silently thanked the CO.