Free The Secret Rescue by Cate Lineberry

of the nurses had water-resistant field coats with them, and most of the medics had stashed their raincoats in their musette bags, which they pulled out and put on. Before they could leave, however, they had to figure out a way to transport Shumway, who was unable to put any weight on his hurt leg. Hayes helped other medics unbolt three attached bucket seats in the aircraft to make a stretcher for him. It was clumsy, but it would work. They placed him on it, and several men hoisted it onto their shoulders. One of the medics found a blanket in the plane’s survival gear, which he used to cover Shumway from the cold rain, but they couldn’t do much for his feet, which dangled off the edges.
    With Shumway ready to go, the nurses and medics joined the flight crew and the band of partisans. Baggs carried the machine gun in a sling on his shoulder as the thirty apprehensive Americans, now bonded in their struggle for survival, followed their new guides into the wooded hills beyond the lake. With them, they carried desperate hopes that they were in trustworthy hands and that the Germans weren’t searching for them.
    They walked through the dark woods as the medics took turns carrying Shumway on the makeshift stretcher. The slippery terrain led them uphill, and their pants and shoes were wet from the rain and covered in dirt. With each step, their unknown futures loomed ahead of them.
    After about an hour, the partisans stopped at a small stone hut built into the hillside, which housed a lone ox. To the surprise of the Americans, the partisans hitched the ox to a nearby cart with oversized wooden wheels and slatted sides made of tree saplings and motioned for the medics carrying Shumway to put him in the cart. It was an unnecessary but kind gesture, and it offered some reassurance to the Americans that they could trust these men.
    Just as the weather was clearing, they arrived at a simple, two-story house with a roof covered in overlapping stone. This single building with about two dozen residents made up the Muslim village, thought to be Gjolen, which Gina had mentioned earlier. It was certainly much smaller than the Americans had pictured when he’d spoken of a village, but they welcomed the chance to rest and get out of the rain.
    Male partisans already at the house escorted the Americans to the second floor using an outside staircase, while some of the medics carried Shumway up the steps. The Muslim women of this particular village, who kept their distance from the Americans, wore long black dresses, headscarves, and face veils, though the party would learn that not all Muslim women in Albania followed the custom.
    When the partisans told the Americans to leave their musette and medical bags on the porch at the top of the steps, the weary Americans did so without much thought. They walked past a primitive bathroom that consisted of a hole in the wooden floor before entering a barren room furnished only with a fireplace and a dirty, handmade woolen rug that looked as if it had once been white. It was difficult to breathe in the room, which was still smoky from previous fires and barely big enough to hold them all. They squeezed in the best they could, discarded their wet jackets, and collapsed onto the cold wooden floor. They sat wherever they could find room as a partisan brought in a simple lamp made from a flat dish filled with oil and a wick and placed it on the mantel.
    It was the first time the Americans had been alone since the crash landing, and there was much to discuss. A few of the nurses tended to Shumway and examined Watson’s cuts, while conversations about what had happened and what to do were intermingled with people learning each other’s names. They knew there were no American troops in Albania, and it would likely be some time before anyone in their squadron realized they were missing. Most of the communication between the evacuation stations was hand delivered by medics or nurses traveling between them.