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Peeta Mellark stared at the putrid brown liquid in the tin cup and wrinkled his nose in disgust. Obviously, it had been brewing since the previous day, and now amounted to foul smelling liquid that only marginally passed for coffee. He swirled it slightly and watched as the oily film on top separated but quickly reformed.
Tentatively, he brought the edge of the cup to his mouth and sipped. Lukewarm. Disgusting. But he would drink it simply to stay awake.
He ran his hand over his stubble which was more like a full beard and realized that a shower and shave would be in order before he found an open cot somewhere to lay his tired body. At 25, he was already bone-weary and his body ached as if he were in his seventies.
His eyes flitted to his field notebook and then to the canisters of film in front of him — 24 canisters that represented the blood, sweat and tears of the past 21 days. They also likely contained more than one cover or front page shot, and that’s what he counted on more than anything. As the war steadily ground to a close, he relied on the notoriety he had gained as a photographer to propel him into a peacetime career.
Peeta quickly checked off the labels on the canisters and compared them with his notes, accounting for all 24. Then he began the task of transcribing his notes using his sturdy Remington typewriter that had managed to stay with him for the past three years.
His ultimate goal was to write a book someday, and in his few moments of solitude, he thought of possible names. His current favorite was, “Been There and Back,” but he considered it only a working title.
Peeta was a quick typist and the steady rat-a-tat-tatting of the typewriter filled the otherwise quiet of the pre-dawn mess tent. As he steadily plowed through the pages, he would periodically stretch and refill his cup.
“Hey, Major,” a too young voice greeted. “Shoulda waited for a fresh cup of joe.”
Peeta smiled in return. “How are you doing Thom?”
“Fine sir,” the boy grinned, pleased that someone of the major’s fame knew his name. Thom quickly dumped the old brew and proceeded to make a fresh pot. “We got some cured meat in yesterday. Sergeant Cray says to save it, but how would you like a thick piece of Virginia ham to go with your eggs?”
“Thanks, Thom. Sounds good.”
The boy hustled off and ten minutes later returned with a plate bearing two fresh eggs, ham and toast. He also brought a cup of still steaming coffee.
“Fresh eggs?” Peeta raised his eyebrows in disbelief.
“Traded a farmer for them the other day.”
“They’re your eggs, Thom,” Peeta said, as he pushed the plate back in the boy’s direction.
“Yes sir. My eggs to give away as I see fit. If I keep them too long, Cray will find them and eat them himself.”
He grinned again, and Peeta took a moment to study the young man. He had arrived just before Christmas and was assigned to the mess hall. It was evident by his small stature that someone had decided he was unfit for combat but few people who actually got to know him doubted his strength.
“Thank you, Thom. Very much appreciated.” The boy smiled again and left to prepare breakfast for the rest of the company.
A few hours later, and the tables began to fill. “How are you doing, boy?”
Peeta looked up into the weathered face of Colonel Abernathy. “Exhausted. How much longer you think?”
Abernathy exhaled. “A month. No more than two. Germans are on their heels and they have to face the cold hard facts that the Russians want to bleed them white. Every day they delay, brings the Russians closer to Berlin.”
Peeta rubbed his eyes. “I could use leave but if we’re that close.”
“I think we could arrange a few days in Paris.” Peeta considered his last trip to the City of Light. He had spent the days wandering and taking in all the sites like a damn tourist. He had even managed to get in some sketching before the young brunette joined him. The city was eerily quiet and all of the favorite tourist spots were virtually devoid of any people. But there was a war going on, so what could anyone expect? It was a good visit overall, and one he would like to repeat in peacetime.
“Thanks, no. I think I will just stay on until Berlin.” It seemed like a pre-ordained conclusion.
“Suit yourself. Damn Germans need to learn that they can’t win,” the Colonel said as he looked out the tent flap as the camp came alive in the early morning light. Peeta merely nodded, and continued to read over his photo log, making small corrections here and there. The clattering of a tray being dropped directly in front of him caused him to look up sharply. The cackling face of Captain John Cato met him and he narrowed his eyes.
“Mellark’s as jumpy as an old woman,” Cato choked out. “Should have seen him on this last patrol.”
Abernathy looked between the two of them. Technically, they were both careers, but they couldn’t have been more different from each other. Cato was Army coming from a long line of officers that apparently included Custer, a fact he proudly touted. Mellark was a first generation Marine, having been appointed to the Naval Academy at Annapolis. Cato had suffered a host of disruptions along his career path having been stalled and even demoted because of his conduct. Mellark, on the other hand, was universally known as a straight arrow. He steadily advanced as he held the respect of the men under him.
Mellark’s appointment as a military archivist was a total fluke having been in the right place at the right time. His story was now legend or as close to legend as it could be. Upon graduation from Annapolis in 1941, the then 21-year-old was assigned to the Naval Air Station at Kaneohe Bay, Hawaii. His original duties focused on intercepting and translating Japanese code, for which he showed a definite knack.
But Mellark also found time to indulge his hobbies. An amateur photographer, he spent hours hiking the island paradise compiling thousands of photographs. He was also an accomplished painter and his sketches were now considered collectibles.
Mellark had another passion as well, and while he guarded her name carefully, he frequently told the fateful story as it was integral to his rise as a photographer. Madge Undersee was a nurse, but he never referred to her by name, instead preferring to call her a “blonde goddess.” She was pretty and smart, but in reality, not a goddess. Still that small reference added to his legend.
In truth, Peeta injured his ankle on one of his early hikes, and Madge was the nurse who assisted the doctor. They were both from Kentucky, and they struck up an immediate friendship which led to dates. On their second date, things went further then they had ever gone before for Peeta and his virginity was lost. Surprisingly, he felt a bit guilty, even though Madge was clearly not a virgin. Peeta’s father had instilled in him a strict moral code that sex belonged in the marriage bed and no where else.
As the months moved on though, he and Madge often times found themselves in bed at the end of the evening. She was an enthusiastic teacher and he relished the experience. One day in late November, Madge casually mentioned marriage and that’s when Peeta knew he had to end the relationship because aside from friendship, he felt nothing.
Nearly a week later, Peeta and Madge sat at a small restaurant. Madge prattled on about this patient and that doctor, and Peeta sat quietly gathering his thoughts. Peeta was normally the gregarious one, the talker, the charmer. But that night, he was nearly mute. He paid the check, and took her hand. His camera slapping against his hip, as they headed to the nearby beach.
The sunset was beautiful and he wished he had packed some of his prized color film but it was temperamental at best and would have required a tripod to really capture the moment. So, instead of capturing the setting sun, Peeta turned to Madge and grasped both hands. He later regretted the hope that sprang to her eyes. Instead of proposing, he quietly told her the relationship was not headed toward marriage and he preferred to end it and remain friends.
The sun plunged into the sea. There were tears and angry accusations, but in the end she walked back to her car and left him alone on the beach. Later, he would tell people that she broke up with him and cast himself in the role of a cad but those close to him knew the truth. He sat on the beach staring at the waves. A nearly full moon bathed the shoreline.
Peeta was lonesome, he missed home. He missed Kentucky, and the smell of his father’s bakery. He missed the hustle and bustle of the Christmas season and the white snow that usually blanketed the area this time of year. But his family was gone, killed in a fire that swept through their home when he was seventeen. Eventually, he fell asleep — his pillow, the soft sand.
He awoke to the sound of explosions. He jerked himself upright and looked around in confusion. Peeta could clearly see the harbor from where he sat and the smoke roiling upward caused immediate alarm. He stood up trying to make sense out of the horrible reality and in that moment he made out the whine of an airplane, and turned to see the silver-bodied aircraft adorned with a bright orange sun, zooming overhead.
“Shit,” he muttered as he gathered his camera and instinctively began taking photos, one after another. Peeta always carried several rolls of film with him, and that morning he was thankful he had wasted none of the precious frames on the setting sun.
Focus. Click. Advance. Focus. Click. Advance. He moved forward and changed angles. He checked the aperture and speed. His goal was document.
The bombs and torpedoes rained down and Peeta had moved close enough to make out the men scurrying across the decks. Thundering explosions rocked his world and he wasn’t sure where to focus his camera. He shifted the lens and adjusted the camera, steadying his hands. He could clearly make out “Arizona” on the hull. One snap, two … and suddenly Peeta saw the ship violently shudder, listing perilously. More explosions, and she began sinking.
“God, no!” Peeta muttered. He quickly snapped more photos, as the ship disappeared into the depths of the harbor.
Within the space of a half hour, Peeta had run through his cache of film. He deposited the last roll into its canister and promptly threw up on the beach. He crawled into the surf and brought water to his mouth to rinse the bile, but the water was tainted with the morning’s attack.
He pushed himself up, grabbed his camera bag and headed in the direction of the harbor. He stashed his bag and spent the rest of the day shuttling wounded sailors and Marines to makeshift triage areas. No one commented on his gaudy shirt or his dirty, drenched pants.
The attack ended and it was clear the battleship fleet was utterly destroyed. The sun eventually set again — a reminder that even in the worst of times, life marches on.
Peeta collected his bag and three days later found himself in the office of the commander. Until that moment, Peeta was anticipating an appointment to Pensacola to begin training as a Marine pilot. Instead, he found himself being transferred to the archiving division. Some of his photos made it to front pages across the nation, others were selected as cover photos for one publication or another. Most were assigned to the military archive.
His official status as photographer brought him first to the decks of the aircraft carriers for the Battle of Midway, and eventually to the island hopping campaign of the Pacific. He waded ashore right alongside the young soldiers. His main weapon was his camera but he also carried a small sidearm. His best friend, Captain Finnick O’Dair was right beside him.
The Solomon Islands nearly proved his undoing, though. On July 4th, a brutal hand-to-hand battle during the New Georgia Campaign saw Peeta resorting to his knife in self-defense. When the fighting ended, he turned to find Finn on the ground, blood trickling from his mouth. He rushed to his side, and heard his dying words.
A day later, he requested leave and transfer since journalist Ernie Pyle had the Pacific Front well covered. On his way back through America, he stopped in California and delivered Finn’s dying words to his wife, Annie, and tiny son, Sam. When he first arrived, Sam toddled out to him and called him “Papa,” confused by the uniform. There was a small part of Peeta that considered eventually coming back to the woman and caring for her and Finn’s son, but he knew that was not the answer for either of them.
Peeta managed to cross the Atlantic just in time for the Invasion of Italy. As a member of the Marines, his presence in Europe was an anomaly, as Marines were almost entirely deployed to the Pacific Theater. But, his assignment as photographer was unique as well.
His pictures took on a nuance that few expected. Humanity was the focus. There was no question the cost of war, as his photos featured everyone from soldiers to small children. There were, of course, the obligatory photos of the machinery of war but it was his photo of a small child crying in front of a destroyed farm house that earned him household name status.
Along the way he was promoted with regularity, and awarded medals of merit and valor. In December of 1943, he was ordered home but he politely refused stating that he would rather stay where the action was. So, he found it odd when he received orders to London in February of 1944, until he was taken to an area where thousands of troops were amassing, and then it became clear.
From February through the first of June, Peeta had opportunities to shoot from a variety of locations. He boarded a heavy bomber bound for Berlin and shot from its belly. He joined paratroopers in a practice jump. He took dozens of rolls of young soldiers during practice drills. But it was his time in London that proved most precious as he walked the city recording the devastation, and even managed to spend time huddled in a tube station waiting for an attack to pass.
On the 6th of June, he waded ashore on Omaha Beach alongside thousands of soldiers. Notably absent were his fellow Marines who specialized in amphibious landings. The massive assault was jarring to Peeta, and everywhere he looked was a potential photo opportunity. By nightfall, he had shot more than a thousand photos.
Over the next several weeks, he made his way inland alongside the soldiers through hedgerows and villages. His first run-in with Major Cato was in a small village that had been virtually gutted as a result of the fighting. Buildings that had stood for centuries leaned precariously or were totally destroyed. Cato was working his way through the village methodically from house to house. Battle hardened and cynical, he believed strongly in terrorizing the villagers in an attempt to gain information.
Peeta confronted him but lacked the authority to make him stop. Instead, he pulled out the movie camera he had been given and documented Cato’s tirades which resulted in a field demotion. Since that day, the two had been at odds with one another.
A tank commander invited him to photograph the war from inside his tank. Once again, Peeta featured the human side as the crew crowded together playing cards, eating from their mess kits, and eventually engaging the enemy. There were times he was convinced he would die but in the end, he finally pulled himself from the tank and extended his hand to the young commander.
A few weeks later, Peeta found himself in a steeple alongside a sniper. While they crouched together, the long gun peeping through a crevice, the boy never took his eyes off the scenery. He was a talker though and regaled Peeta with stories of his previous summer picking potatoes in North Dakota. He talked of his brothers, and his girlfriend who he hoped to marry one day.
Seven hours later, a brief but furious fire fight ensued. At its end, the boy lay dead, and Peeta reached over and gently closed his eyes. The two had held off nine German soldiers who had made their way into the church. Peeta bound his wounded leg, and pulled the rifle from the boy’s rigid hands, and made his way down the stairs navigating around the fallen Germans.
His legend grew. Six weeks in recovery and he returned to the front line. He had earned the respect of the soldiers around him. “Mellark’s with us,” was whispered among the men like a prayer as he fell into step beside them.
So, as Abernathy sized the two men up, he had no doubts that whatever the beef between the two men, he would side with Mellark.
“Problem, Cato?” Abernathy queried, his eyes the color of cold steel.
Cato’s laughter ceased, and he swallowed hard. “No.”
“No what?” Abernathy questioned.
“No sir.”
“That’s the ‘B’ answer, Cato. The correct answer is, ‘No, Colonel Abernathy, sir!’ I expect you to respect your superiors whether it’s a single rank or several ranks.” It was a rarity when a superior actually called attention to the fact in the field
“Yes, Colonel Abernathy, sir!” Cato looked appropriately chastised.
Peeta gathered his typewriter and film canisters, and headed to the smallish tent near the center of the encampment. “Beetee?” The young clerk stirred in his bunk. “Beetee? Colonel will have your ass if you don’t get up.”
“Leave me … Oh sir, I’m sorry. Sorry sir.” He bolted from his bed clad only in his olive drab boxers, his hand shooting to his forehead in salute.
“Relax, Beetee,” I’ve got some film to go out with the next courier. Very important stuff. Will you make sure it’s logged for transport.”
“Yessir! Right away, Major Mellark. When did y’all get back?” Corporal Beetee asked conversationally as he searched for his glasses.
“Last night at about 2330,” Peeta answered as the boy made his way to his desk and recorded the outgoing package. “Do you have a piece of paper?” Beetee nodded and handed him a sheet of rough lined paper. He quickly scrawled a note to make sure that the general’s aid was given the contact sheet from roll seven, and placed it in the pouch.
“Here you go, sir,” Beetee handed over a packet of mail, and Peeta rifled through them quickly, an easy smile on his face.
“Thanks, Beetee,” he said as he exited the makeshift office.
Peeta walked to the end of the row of tents, and entered the one marked “Supply Depot.” Inside was a man named Chaff who had spent too many years in the Army. “Sir,” he raised his hand in a casual salute. “Your footlocker?” Peeta nodded and the man disappeared into the rows of shelving.
A minute or so later, Chaff emerged lugging his crate. “What the hell you got in here? No offense, Major.”
Peeta smiled. “None taken, Sarge. Just the sum total of my life these past four years.” Chaff nodded brusquely and passed Peeta the log for his signature.
Once outside, Peeta took a moment to survey the camp. Everything was bustling now, and he wondered if his best bet was the visiting officer’s quarters. He walked the hundred or so yards, dodging jeeps and tanks as they made their way down the main thoroughfare. He pulled open the door and was met with silence which he took as an invitation.
Peeta chucked his footlocker in the general direction of one of the cots, and unrolled the mattress. He lit the kerosene lantern and made a quick inspection for bed bugs before deciding it was safe. He opened the footlocker and ignored most of the top layer, looking only for his fresh khakis and underwear.
Two minutes later, he stood under the steam of the shower, his first in three weeks. He cleared the mirror and assessed his beard covered face, “Who the hell are you, Mellark?” More and more often he asked that question, and it wasn’t always to a mirror. He sighed and picked up the shaving brush and whisked the lather over his face, before pulling out the straight edge. Shaving took longer than usual, but he was happy to see his jawline once more.
He showered and let his mind drift but not too far. It was dangerous during war time to let your mind wander of its own accord. Peeta did allow himself to stray to Paris, and he wished that he could justify leave but it was too close to the end, and he couldn’t miss that.
Peeta toweled off and ran his hand gingerly over the scar on his thigh that was jagged and still pink. The bullet remained lodged inside his leg, too close to the artery to remove according to the doctor. It bothered him some, but nothing he couldn’t handle. He dressed in his clean khakis, and headed back to the tent.
One more cursory examination of the cot, and he flopped face down and was asleep in seconds. Exhaustion during war time was a welcome respite.
A few hours later, he jolted awake as Beetee shook him slightly. “What?” Peeta questioned, more harshly then he intended and the boy shied away.
“Sorry, sir. Colonel wants you on the double.”
Peeta exhaled, “What the hell time is it?”
“Its about 1330, sir.”
He had been asleep about six hours, and his body screamed for at least six more but he swung his legs over the edge and searched the floor for his pants. Two minutes later, he ran a hand roughly through his hair, absently thinking that he really needed a haircut, and placed his helmet on his head.
He emerged from his tent and squinted into the midday sunlight. By any account, it was a beautiful spring day, the kind he remembered as a kid, and if it were not for the tents, tanks, jeeps and uniforms … . He smiled sadly and looked for the Colonel.
“Mellark!” The Colonel stood by a jeep with a group of soldiers. Peeta moved toward them. “We got something you are going to want to see. You got film?” Peeta nodded. He always refreshed his bag the moment he got back to camp.
As he approached the group, Peeta recognized Lieutenant Marvel standing next to the Colonel, and two soldiers with their backs to him, one appreciably smaller than the rest.
“Major Peeta Mellark, this is Katniss Everdeen, a journalist working for the New York Times. She’ll be joining us today.” The Colonel continued to speak, but Peeta was past listening as he stared at the raven haired beauty with the gray eyes. A slight smile twitched at the corner of his mouth as he extended his hand.
“Miss Everdeen requires no introduction Colonel,” Peeta teased lightly. “Her reputation precedes her.” He shook her hand firmly.
“Major,” Katniss greeted softly, squeezing his hand slightly, their eyes locked on one another.
It was true that Katniss Everdeen had made a name for herself as a top photojournalist following in the wake of the charging Army. Her photos were were world renowned as they brought the war to home front in way that even Peeta couldn’t match. She already had several photo spreads in Life and Time magazines. She and Margaret Bourke-White, were two of the very few female journalists covering the war in Europe.
The Colonel cleared his throat loudly, breaking the staring contest between the two. “As things wind down, Everdeen here, has managed to get approval to move closer to the front. She’ll be staying on with us for the foreseeable future.” Abernathy looked between the two of them. “Meanwhile she will be joining us as we just received word of something that we need to document and get on the wires quickly.”
Everdeen reached up with her left hand and swiped at some wayward hairs. The glint of her diamond ring caught Peeta’s eyes and he quickly averted them, swallowing the lump in his throat. Her biography clearly stated that she was single, so he was surprised that her hand indicated she was married. He chanced another glance at her ring finger, and then to her face. She arched her eyebrow slightly in challenge and winked at him, causing him to snort softly and shake his head.
They climbed in the Jeep. Peeta, Katniss and some guy whose name he failed to catch, crowded in the back seat. Marvel was behind the wheel and Abernathy took the remaining jump seat in the front. As they drove, Abernathy filled them in without quite giving away their destination, but Peeta heard little — far too aware of the young woman pressed closely to his side.
They traveled down the pitted gravel road, and veered sharply to the right into a densely forested area. Marvel squinted as the sun peaked in and out of the trees. As they rounded a bend in the road, a large fenced in area came into view. A press of bodies at the gate.
“God!” Katniss muttered.
“What the fuck?” Peeta said, his mouth gaping. He was out of the jeep before it rolled to a stop, and rushed forward. His camera already trained on the unfortunate men in front of him. Focus. Click. Advance. A concentration camp, already documented in the east, but this was the first one that the Americans liberated.
In a moment, Katniss was alongside of him, snapping away. A female voice to his left caught him off guard, “Makes me glad to have a camera between me and them.” Peeta looked over quickly and took in the form of Margaret Bourke-White, who methodically snapped photos. “It kind of provides a barrier to the horror. Katniss,” she greeted quietly.
Katniss nodded and went back to her photography. Once upon a time, she would have regretted the presence of other cameras at such a time, but the magnitude of what lay before her made her realize a single camera was likely not enough.
Eventually, they moved inside the camp. The men were mostly too emaciated to move and sat quietly as they were photographed. The photographers moved silently as well, and the only thing that could be heard was the soft clicking of their cameras followed by the low grind of the advancing film. Hours later they emerged. The sun was setting and Peeta was reminded once again that in spite of everything, time continued to move forward.
They returned to camp, obviously moved by the discovery. The mess tent was still a hive of activity, but they managed to find a quiet table off to the side. There wasn’t much conversation, and even less eating as they pushed the food around their tray.
“How could they?” Katniss blurted. “I mean where was common decency in all this? Does every person have an evil side waiting for an opportunity to come out?”
Peeta bit his lip and considered her questions. There was no explanation. How could the guards and camp commanders be so ruthless? How could an entire nation blindly follow a man like Hitler? Still, Peeta knew there were good people left in the war torn country. Good men who were fighting only because it was their country at stake. Good men and women who opposed Hitler and his regime. There was no easy answer to her questions.
Instead, Abernathy spoke up. “There’s an old adage: All’s fair in love and war. I used to say it myself. Said it more than a few times when we waded ashore at Normandy and dropped grenades into pillboxes, but that was different. Everyone was armed. Everyone in that scenario was tasked with killing the enemy if necessary to advance. But what we saw today was different. Innocent men falsely imprisoned. War or no war, it’s not fair.
“When that Morse Code came through the other day, it was hard to believe. It could have been a trap, but … ,” Abernathy’s voice trailed off. “We’re sending in part of the 80th tomorrow to take control of the camp.”
Conversation diminished between the three as each attempted to deal with the enormous revelation of the day.
“Hey,” Lt. Colonel Gale Hawthorne exclaimed as he set his tray down near Peeta’s. “Heard you guys visited the camp today. What a mess! That’s going to take time to clean up. Most of those guys are so sick … . What?”
“Gale … we’re just not in the mood right now,” Peeta said quietly.
“Hey,” Gale held his hands up in mock surrender. “I know what you are saying. I don’t mean disrespect, and really, it’s better we found them than anyone else, if you know what I mean. I went to see the mayor in Langenstein today with a request for food and water. How the hell can they live within the shadow of that camp and not know what’s happening there? But, hell, who knows, right? In other news … .” Gale reached into his pocket and pulled out a snapshot and tossed it in Peeta’s direction.
Peeta picked up the photograph of the dark haired woman holding two bundles, a small dark haired boy stood alongside. “Twins? That’s fantastic buddy!” He slapped Gale soundly on the back. They had grown up in the same small town, but had never been friends until Peeta arrived in Italy and the two caught up.
Gale had become an officer the hard way. After joining the army right out of school, he went to basic training and worked his way from private to corporal but he wanted more. So after two years of service, he left to attend college, studying law. Upon graduation in 1940, he applied to Officer Candidate School, and graduated as a Second Lieutenant twelve weeks later.
Somewhere along the way, he met and married Johanna Mason, a former stripper with a traveling show. According to Gale, they loved one another fiercely and passionately, which accounted for Sam, their first born son, who arrived just five months after their wedding. A fortunate leave the previous summer had resulted in Jo’s second pregnancy.
“Walter and William,” Gale said, retrieving the photo from Peeta and looking at it with such adoration that Peeta smiled to himself.
“Identical?” Peeta queried.
“Yep. Jo says that one of them … I forget which one … has a birthmark on his ass. She joked that we’ll have to pull their drawers down every time we want to call them by name.” He chuckled softly and handed the photo to Haymitch, who smiled one of his rare smiles. “You need to find a wife, Peet, and soon. You’re how old? Twenty-five?”
“I’m doing fine,” Peeta said, ducking his head and avoiding Katniss’s stare.
As if noticing her for the first time, Gale said, “Oh, excuse me ma’am, I’m Gale Hawthorne.”
“Katniss Everdeen. Congratulations. Nice to meet you.”
“Thanks,” Gale said, looking just slightly embarrassed.
“I can smell a beautiful woman a mile away,” Cato boasted as he arrived at their table. “Captain John Cato at your service, ma’am.” He extended his hand and continued, “Anything, and I do mean anything, you need or want, I’m your man.”
Katniss ignored his hand and merely said, “Katniss Everdeen, and I doubt you have anything to offer that I’ll be needing.”
“Whoa! Aren’t you just the girl on fire,” Cato exclaimed and Peeta inwardly shuddered. “Tell you what, give me two minutes and I’ll prove it to you.”
“Again, Captain, I don’t think so, and two minutes hardly seems worth my time.”
Cato laughed without joy and looked at the three men gathered there. “Isn’t she a spitfire? Looks like she could use some taming. Right guys?”
“One word for you, Cato. Clove,” Gale said, a slight threat evident.
Cato narrowed his eyes. “Shut the fuck up, Hawthorne.”
“Really Cato? Do we need to have the same discussion we had this morning?” Abernathy questioned, and Cato clamped his mouth shut and stood quickly, gathering his tray.
“Everyone needs to shut the fuck up about my personal life, you got that?” He stalked off in the direction of a raucous table.
“Is Clove his wife?” Katniss asked.
Peeta nodded. “His high school sweetheart. They married after Cato graduated West Point. Had two daughters right away, but Cato couldn’t keep his dick … sorry … Cato had a few flings. He caught the clap and brought it home to Clove. When he realized he was sick, he got treatment, but didn’t bother to tell Clove. She was pregnant and a few months later, their only son was born blind and Clove had a complete hysterectomy due to the infection. Clove wanted to leave him but there was a war by that point, and instead extracted the promise that he would never cheat on her again. But it’s Cato, and he has cheated — multiple times. He gets sore though, when we mention Clove because it reminds him of what a jerk he is.”
Katniss shook her head and grimaced. “A little bit of evil inside that one.”
“How about a whole lot of evil inside that one,” Abernathy interjected. Peeta nodded but would not meet Abernathy’s eyes. “I think the boys have got up some kind of show for this evening.” He looked expectantly between Katniss and Peeta.
“Thanks, but no. I’m just going to go to bed,” Katniss said tiredly.
“Me too. I’m exhausted.”
“Well, okay then. What say we escort Miss Everdeen to her tent,” Abernathy said, as the three rose from the table to dispose of their uneaten food.
As they walked toward the far end of the camp, each was lost in their own thoughts. “Here we are,” Katniss said, as they stopped at the last tent. “Nice to meet you, Peeta.”
“Likewise. I’m sure I’ll be seeing more of you.” He smiled and extended his hand, squeezing her hand lightly as he shook it.
“Mellark, do you have a few minutes?” Abernathy interrupted.
“Yes, of course,” Peeta answered quickly, knowing the Colonel’s penchant to end the evening with a bottle of whiskey.
The Colonel’s office was a tent that was somewhat central to the camp. Peeta followed Abernathy in, and waited as he lit the lantern. Abernathy pulled a bottle and two glasses from a drawer, and poured each a drink. “Bottoms up,” he said, as he upended the glass. Peeta took a sip and grimaced as the sour liquid hit the back of his throat.
Peeta expected him to launch into his own analysis of the day’s events, instead Abernathy said, “What the fuck’s going on between you and Cato?”
Peeta cleared his throat and took a moment to gather his thoughts. “Cato is a shit show. You know that young kid, Darius Montgomery? He made his life hell. The first night out, Cato told him to jerk off in front of all of us. I told Montgomery he didn’t have to, and that put a bigger target on his back. Cato got angrier and angrier as time went on. On the fifth day, we stumbled upon a farm, and … uh … I’m not entirely sure what happened but … .”
“What do you think happened?”
“Uh. We sheltered in the barn. The woman … uh … the mother brought us supper. Meager, but hot, and we fell asleep. At some point, Cato got up to piss, but I don’t think he came back. In the morning, the teenage daughter was found hanging from a beam in her bedroom.”
“You think he hung her?” Abernathy’s voice was incredulous.
“No. I think he did something to her which made her kill herself.”
Abernathy frowned. “Proof?”
Peeta shook his head. “A few days later we visited a village and there was a church. There were some gold religious objects. Some artwork. I photographed it, and then went across the street. A few minutes later, the priest was out in the street calling out that the church was robbed. The communion goblet, a small statue and some bottles of wine were missing. I confronted Cato, but he just blew up.
“He’s completely unstable … he’s just … he started really riding Montgomery. He asked him if he was a virgin and told him he could find him some tail. I told Montgomery to ignore him but it was no good, and pretty soon the entire squad was going after Montgomery. Cato was relentless and at some point he started calling him fag … .
“I stopped trying to intervene because Cato made it clear that I’m a Marine and not directly in charge of his men. Then, the other day … dammit, Abernathy, it makes me sick to think about. I nearly pulled my sidearm and shot him the other day. It’s on film. Cato knows it is. He stole the roll he thought it was on, but I had moved it to a different canister. I … .” Peeta was shaking now. “I can write up a report, but please don’t send him out on patrol again.”
Abernathy studied the young man for a moment, sighed and nodded. “As soon as I get the report, I’ll have the MPs take him into custody.” Peeta nodded, a wave of relief washing over him. “Where’s the film?”
“In the courier bag. Left this morning for Patton’s camp.”
It was Abernathy’s turn to nod. “Peeta, you’re good man. You’re a good Marine.”
“Thanks,” Peeta said, and downed the last of his drink. “You need some better hooch.” Abernathy laughed. “I’m going to press the sheets now, if you don’t mind. Probably shower first though.”
“Goodnight, Peeta.”
Peeta looked up sharply. Abernathy had never used his first name before. “Goodnight, sir.”
He left the tent feeling somewhat better. He picked up clean clothes and headed toward the showers. As he neared the showers, he caught sight of Captain Cato making a beeline toward Miss Everdeen’s tent. Peeta ducked into the shadows, as Cato raised his fist to knock. The door swung open.
“Captain Cato?” Katniss’s voice hinted at surprise. “What are you doing here?”
“I have a bottle of wine I’d like to share with you.” He leaned his arm on the door frame and extended the bottle. Katniss hesitated a moment before taking it.
“Pouilly-Fuissé 1920, good year.” Katniss examined the bottle closely.
“Uh-huh!” Cato’s voice held a touch of arrogance.
“Thank you,” Katniss said, and began to close the door.
“Wait! Aren’t you going to invite me in? I mean, I gave you the wine.”
“Captain Cato, I don’t know what kind of woman you think I am, but I’m married and certainly don’t indulge in that kind of behavior. If your wine came with strings, you may have it back.”
Cato hesitated only a moment before turning his back, and muttered, “Fucking bitch,” as he marched into the night. Peeta couldn’t help but smile as he made his way to the shower.
Twenty minutes later, Peeta stepped into the evening air. Even though it was early April, the night was pleasantly warm. He made his way back to his tent and dropped off his laundry. He walked back outside and glanced in the direction of the mess were the show was obviously in full swing. His journey took him in the opposite direction.
A minute later, he stood in front of Everdeen’s tent. Peeta raised his hand, but before he could knock, the door swung open. “Damn,” he said and stepped back slightly. Katniss stood in the doorway, a silky kimono covering her body. She arched her eyebrow seductively. “I … I … .”
But he didn’t get a chance to finish as she pulled him inside quickly. In the semi-darkness, their hands groped for one another. His mouth found hers, and they easily fell into a rhythm. She opened her mouth and allowed his tongue to explore.
“Mmmm,” she sighed, as she stepped back toward the cot. Her hands found his belt and pulled at it insistingly. Frustrated, she muttered “Off.” Peeta shed his clothes in record time, and then pulled at the belt of her robe, revealing a very naked Katniss.
She quickly moved to the cot and lay on her back, one hand reaching toward him and pulling him down. The cot complained under their combined weight as Peeta eased himself into position. His hand reached for her center and he discovered her wet and ready. A moment later, he slowly pushed himself into her.
“Oh god,” she whispered, as he stopped his forward movement. He kissed her again, slow and sensual. A few seconds later, she moved her hips slightly urging him to set a pace. He wanted to take his time, but he hadn’t had sex since Paris, and that was months before. So, instead, his hand found her center again, and he moved his fingers quickly to assure that she too climaxed.
Her soft sighs and gasps assured him that she was well on her way. His other hand gripped the edge of the cot as he hit a steady pace.
“Oh … right there … oh God,” and with that, she tumbled over the edge, Peeta following a second later. His breath heaving, he took a moment to steady himself, before slipping to the side. Katniss rolled to her side, allowing him more room. For a few seconds, they stared at one another.
“I’ve missed you,” Peeta whispered.
“Me too,” she said as she brought her hand to his cheek, rubbing her thumb under his eye.
He reached up and caught her hand, drawing it back to inspect it. He ran his fingers over her ring, and frowned slightly. “When did this happen?”
“After Paris, it seemed like the right thing to do,” she whispered.
He nodded. “Just surprised, I guess.”
“Good surprise though, right? Peeta I just realized that really, there was no point in hiding it. I love you, and I don’t care about my career. I should have been honest from the start. You’re my husband, and I love you. My new editor, Effie Trinket, was really supportive.”
Peeta smiled and kissed her lightly. “Does that mean I can be ‘official’ too?”
“Yes.” Katniss leaned over him to the small table and pulled it open, extracting a gold band. “Will you be my husband?”
He pulled it from her and quickly placed it on his finger.
They met the year before when he arrived in London, literally bumping into each other on the stairway at King’s Cross Station. It was electric to say the least, and Peeta forgot about his duties for the day. They strolled the city barely noticing the devastation, and within a few hours knew each other’s stories.
She told him how she had lost her father at 11, and her sister at 17. How her mother never really recovered and she had to make her own way in life. She told him of her love of writing, and how that was her goal early on. She even confided how his Pearl Harbor photos had changed her life, and made her pick up a camera for the first time.
He told her about his early life, working in the family bakery. How his father used to dress him in a little white apron. They laughed together when he discussed losing to his brother during the state wrestling tournament, and cried together when he mentioned the fire that took his family while he was away visiting his grandparents.
They dined in a small cafe eating cabbage soup, but neither minded. He walked her home, and hesitantly asked her on another date. They saw each other every day and after their fourth date, she invited him in. She told him that life had taught her to live in the moment, and not take anything for granted.
They slept together that night, and Peeta knew he was effectively a goner when it came to Katniss. He was falling hard and fast, the kind of love he really only thought existed in movies. Unlike Madge, though, Katniss was not interested in marriage.
One evening, they dined with her editor — a tough, blunt man with cold eyes. He chewed on an unlit cigar while they waited for their meal to arrive.
“See, this is why I don’t like having women on my staff. They’re always so damn flighty,” Max Thread commented in a thick, Bronx accent. “They can’t keep their hands off the boys in uniform.” His eyes raked over Peeta’s dress blues.
“You know, Max, that I haven’t been flighty,” Katniss said, her eyes challenging him.
Thread sighed and shook his head. “I won’t have no married girls working for me. Zero. You hear that Everdeen. Play around if you like but if he puts a bun in that oven … .”
Peeta had heard enough, and opened his mouth to speak, but Katniss squeezed his hand.
“Look, there’s Delly,” she quickly motioned the woman to the table. The rest of the evening passed quickly with Delly chattering about life in London, the recent bombing and how she was so ready to have a pair of shoes that fit.
When they exited the restaurant that evening, Peeta leaned in and asked, “What the hell is his beef?”
Katniss exhaled and glanced at Peeta, “Thread’s not married. Some people think he hates women, and maybe he does. He’s angry that so many women fill his office but male correspondents are mostly in battle, so female correspondents take up the slack. Look, I’m sorry Peeta, he invited himself along tonight, so I made sure Delly showed up. Thread always says her chatter drives every thought from his head.” She giggled at this, and he threw an arm around her shoulder and laughed with her.
Two nights later, he found himself in the belly of a bomber slicing his way through the inky darkness. His thoughts were on Katniss, as he crouched on the cold floor. Eventually, they reached their target, and Peeta’s camera clicked away as they dropped their payload. Suddenly, the night was alight in tracers and anti-aircraft.
Peeta heard the screeching of metal, and watched as shrapnel tore through the belly of the plane, piercing the floor just feet from where he stood. The plane shuddered and took more flack. A man started to scream, and Peeta made his way to the young man in the turret. He discovered the young gunner was dying quickly from multiple wounds. He pulled him out, and another crew member dropped into the turret.
Peeta held the young man who whispered quietly, “Tell Ma and Pa, I love them. My little brother Jack can have my car. I hope my sis … .” That was a far as he got before the blood bubbled from his mouth. Peeta laid him gently on the floor.
The plane took more hits, but somehow managed to limp home. When Peeta showed up at Katniss’s door, he still wore the bloody clothes from the plane. One look at him, and Katniss fell into his arms, crying and clutching at his neck. “I can’t lose you too, Peeta. I can’t.”
They had talked of marriage, but Katniss always said she would rather wait, and Peeta knew that Thread was partially behind her reluctance. But that morning, things changed. They made love desperately. She made him breakfast, then called into work that she would not be in. They made love once more, and then she dressed for the day — a light blue suit with white blouse.
“I thought we were going to stay in,” Peeta commented from the bed where he still lay.
“I changed my mind. Get dressed in your good uniform.”
An hour later, they stood in front of the American Embassy. Peeta didn’t question why they were there. Eventually, they met with a clerk who issued them a marriage license, and wished them luck. They found a small church, and a priest who agreed to marry them. Officially, Peeta never asked her, but he was thrilled that he had found this head-strong woman who did things her way.
Peeta insisted they stop at a jewelers. He found a beautiful gold and diamond ring for her, and a simple gold band for himself. She wore it out of the store, but later explained that wearing it daily would have to wait until some future date because her career was important to her.
He was disappointed but only a little less happy. They traveled to Scotland for a few days. Since he was technically without orders, his time was mainly his own. They found a little inn that had seen few visitors since the war started. The meals were good as the owners maintained a little farm. The mattress in their room was made of feathers, and Peeta discovered quickly that their rambunctious lovemaking forced the tiny feathers out of the mattress which resulted in a great deal of laughter as they watched them settle.
Those four days were important to the couple as they learned more about one another. Peeta wanted children, but Katniss wasn’t sure — at least not right away. While they both loved to travel, they wanted a home base. They discussed their childhood homes, and Katniss decided Kentucky seemed like the perfect place to find a home.
Still, they did not venture too far in the future because it was war time after all.
They enjoyed two months of marital bliss when Peeta received orders to join the forces amassing to the north. Both he and Katniss knew their time together was drawing to a close. The last weekend in May, he managed a three day pass, and returned to her. They spent the entire time in her tiny apartment.
She refused to allow him to speak of anything beyond the moment. But as he was leaving, she held him desperately and whispered, “I love you, Peeta Mellark. You better never die on me. You hear me? Don’t die. You come back to me. I love you.”
Their kiss was passionate and as he drew away, he whispered, “I love you, Katniss Everdeen Mellark. I will come back to you. I promise.”
There were occasions over the next several months when Peeta wondered if he would be able to keep that promise. As he squatted in the church steeple alongside the sniper, his mind traveled to that promise, and he worried that he had been foolish to accept this offer, so derelict of his own safety. When the stairs creaked, and a few German words made it to his ears, he was certain he was going to die, and quietly whispered an apology to Katniss.
But as the volley of gun fire started from both sides, Peeta felt as if the world slowed. He fired methodically in the direction of what he hoped were some German soldiers, and eventually picked up the weapon of the fallen sniper. After a minute or so, he realized that he was the only one firing. He waited in the darkening steeple for some sort of noise from below, but none came.
He smoothed his hands down the front of his pants, and that’s when he realized he was injured. He reached into his bag and pulled out a cloth and whipped it quickly into a bandage and fastened it around his leg. He reloaded his pistol and moved to the shattered door, bumping it open and ducking to the side, waiting for another volley of shots, but again, all was silent.
He made his way down the stairs, and limped into the village. It was dark by the time he reached the other troops, and fortunately he remembered the password. He collapsed to the ground, and a medic rushed to his side. Two days later, he was evacuated back to England, and Katniss visited daily until he was released.
They spent two weeks together. It was nearly fall, and Peeta and Katniss lay in bed together, successfully putting thoughts of the war at bay. Suddenly, an air raid siren sounded. For almost a year, the sirens had been mostly silent. They hurried to the cellar.
It wasn’t much protection but they reasoned that it was something. Peeta placed his arms around her and eased to a corner near the stairwell in case the building collapsed and they had to dig their way out. A thundering roar the likes they had never heard before sounded overhead followed by an explosion that shook the timbers and rained dust from above. They were certain that a bomb had taken out the adjacent building.
Another explosion, and another, and it seemed that it would never end. But finally, save for the sounds of the sirens, the night fell silent. Peeta and Katniss made their way upstairs to find not only one building gone, but an entire block crumbled into a smoldering ruin.
Peeta moved quickly to assist, while Katniss retrieved her camera. The rest of the night Peeta dug with his bare hands to free people trapped in the rubble. Katniss’s photos later made front page news across the country. Her photos were captivating but no one identified the young, soot covered man, with the close cropped hair who knelt in the rocks or hefted the stretcher.
The day arrived when Peeta once again dressed in his fatigues and prepared to ship out. It was even harder this time as both had misgivings about leaving the other. Peeta now worried about the new V-2 Rockets that were slipping from the sky with little warning. Katniss worried about Peeta returning to the front.
They went to the docks together, and held each other tight before he stepped aboard the small boat that would shuttle them across the channel. They waved goodbye until the fog swallowed him up. Katniss went home and buried her face in the pillow and cried.
The Allies made strides through the fall, but the winter months started out rough with the Battle of the Bulge. Peeta and Katniss wrote long letters daily, and envelopes would arrive in bunches.
An unusual stroke of luck in January reunited Katniss and Peeta when he was granted ten days leave in Paris. The city was still reeling from four years of Nazi occupation, but Peeta managed to get a room at the Ritz. Katniss joined him two days later as she had recently been assigned to trail the Army across France.
Their reunion was pure bliss, and they discovered their love even deeper than before. The end of the war was coming into view, and both were beginning to think about the future. They spent hours debating what they would do first when Peeta was decommissioned.
This time, when it came to part, they laughed and kissed one another. They joked that they would spend the summer in the States, and Peeta had a hope that he had not felt in a long while.
Now, as they lay in bed together, Peeta kissed her lightly. “Is this real?”
Katniss smiled, “Real,” and punctuated it with a lingering kiss. She inhaled slightly, “Tell me your dreams, Mellark.”
Without hesitation, “You and me, a nice house in the country. Maybe some horses, a dog, a cat,” he chuckled when she wrinkled her nose, “Maybe … just maybe ... a kid or two.” It was the first time he dared to voice this dream, and in truth, they had never really discussed children.
“A baby, huh?” Peeta nodded. “I had a dream a few months ago. A little girl with your eyes, leading a little boy with your hair.” He tilted his head slightly. “I think that’s one dream that might be closer than you think.” She kissed him once more.
He drew back in surprise. “Are you … ?”
“Not yet. Well, not as of an hour ago at least, but … ,” she kissed him again. “Peeta, I’m ready to go home. Not just home to the States, but home to whatever awaits us. I know we talked about staying on here to see how things shake out in the aftermath, but I’m just really ready for a little peace and quiet, you know?”
Peeta nodded, “My thoughts have been going in the same direction. It’s kind of screwed up, me being here. I’ll likely have to request my discharge from Navy personnel. In the meantime, I’m kind of lost in the shuffle. Abernathy thinks maybe a month left.”
“Hitler is sounding more and more desperate. Ever since the last attempt on his life, his rants have been extreme, even for him,” Katniss added. “We’re hearing of major advances on the Eastern Front as well.”
“The noose is tightening. I’m just surprised the German people haven’t stormed the Chancellory yet. I do want to photograph some of the aftermath though possibly as a civilian.”
Katniss nodded in agreement. “My hope is to be able to stay here until the end. Advance with you, if I can. Margaret is advancing with Patton’s group.”
“You are one determined woman, Katniss.” He kissed her lightly and drew her closer.
“That’s what we do, Peeta. We take care of each other.”
They made love once more, and fell asleep.
On one of the more than 2,000 nights that comprised World War II, Mr. and Mrs. Mellark enjoyed a peaceful slumber when so much of the world found no peace at all.