A Mortal Terror (24 page)
“You’re the boss.”
I scanned the group of men ahead, most of them busy with entrenching tools. I saw Stump and Flint first, and gave them a wave.
“Hey, kid!” Flint yelled, beckoning to a figure knee-deep in a trench. “You got a visitor.”
It was a face I’d recognize anywhere, even wearing a helmet that looked twice the size of his head, steel-rimmed army-issue spectacles, and holding a shovel instead of a book.
“Billy!” Danny ran up to me and looked like he was going to jump into my arms. Then he skidded to a halt, a confused look on his face. He started to raise his right hand in salute, but Flint grabbed him by the wrist.
“Remember what Rusty told you, kid? No salutes up here. Unless you want to point out an officer to a Kraut sniper.”
“Sorry, Sarge. I just got confused. It’s been so long since I saw my big brother, I forgot he was an officer.”
“Let’s keep him a live one, Danny boy. No salutes.”
“Got it, Sarge,” Danny said as Flint grinned and left us to our reunion. “Jeez, Billy, it’s good to see you.”
“Same here, Danny.” I gave him a quick hug, nothing that would embarrass him, followed by a manly clap on the shoulder. “You doing okay?”
“Sure. Don’t worry about me. I really lucked out, this platoon is a swell bunch of guys. They told me they’d met you back in Caserta, investigating some officers getting bumped off. What are you doing here?”
“General Lucas couldn’t get by without me, so he dragged me along. I heard you were out here, so I decided to pay a social call.” I introduced Kaz around, giving his full title and lineage to impress Danny.
“So you’re Kaz,” he said. “Billy wrote us all about you. I never thought I’d get a chance to meet you in person. What are the odds, huh?”
“Indeed,” Kaz said. “A long shot, yes?” Kaz gave me a look and drifted off, chatting with Flint and Stump.
“Danny,” I said, draping my arm over his shoulder. “I can’t believe you’re here. I just heard about the ASTP program being broken up a few days ago.”
“It all happened pretty fast,” he said. “Mom wasn’t too happy about it.”
“What about Dad and Uncle Dan?”
“They wanted to cook something up like they did for you, but Mom told them to leave it alone, since it didn’t keep you out of trouble. She said I should take my chances, that maybe I’d end up a clerk since I was a college kid. So here I am, in a rifle squad, which is what I wanted in the first place.”
“Listen, Danny. You’ve got to get your head out of the clouds before it gets shot off. This is for real. Keep your head down out here. It’s not just a saying. Stay low. And don’t panic.”
“I won’t,” he said, moving out from under my grip. “I haven’t yet, have I?”
“Okay, simmer down. Just some advice, don’t blow a gasket.”
“Sorry, big brother. I know you’re trying to look out for me, but I’m not ten years old. I’ve been to college and I’ve made it through basic training, all without your help.”
“This isn’t the time to play grown-up, Danny. When the Krauts hit you, it’s going to be with a ton of bricks, and they won’t care how smart you are. They’ll only care about killing you.”
“What Krauts?” Danny gestured to the empty fields all around us. It was smart-alecky, the way only a kid brother can be. Half right and totally wrong.
“If you’re so smart, tell me the last time in this war when the Germans retreated without a fight? It didn’t happen in North Africa, Sicily, or anywhere else in Italy. It won’t happen here. They’re going to come down out of those hills with heavy stuff, dollars to doughnuts.”
“Now you’re the one blowing a gasket, Billy,” Danny said, with a grin to show he didn’t want to argue anymore. Which he often did when he started to lose an argument, but I let that pass. He was only a kid, after all. “I’ll take any tips you can give me on digging foxholes. Take a look at this.” He’d been digging a trench, and about two feet down, it was filled with water. “Did you know this used to be the Pontine Marshes, Billy? The water table is only a couple of feet deep.”
“Yeah, Mussolini drained them after he made the trains run on time. Kaz told me all about it. Now I have two geniuses on my hands.”
“How’s them trenches coming along, kid?” Louie ambled over, cigar clenched in his mouth and Thompson at the ready.
“Louie Walla,” I said. “Now where is it you’re from? Can’t recall.”
“Funny, Lieutenant,” Louie said. “Having a family reunion?” Louie seemed more serious out here. Wary.
“Yeah, came by to check on Danny. He in your squad?”
“Yep, him, Sticks, Wally, and Charlie over there, and a couple of other replacements. I partnered the ASTP boys up with guys who’ve been around. A little while, at least.”
“I’m with Charlie,” Danny said. “He’s an Apache, can you believe that? And Wally is with Sticks. He’s got long legs, that’s why they call him that.”
“Listen, kid, this gabfest is swell, but get on that shovel. You’ll be glad of a hole in the ground soon enough.”
“Okay, Sarge,” Danny said, frowning and halfheartedly digging into the muddy soil. “You coming back soon, Billy?”
“If I can. And Louie knows what he’s talking about, so listen up. You’re exposed out here, you need to dig deep, and sit knee-deep in mud if you have to. Got it?”
“Yeah, I got it. Listen, come back soon, we’ll catch up, okay?”
“I will.” I wanted to hug him again. I wanted to take him with me and find a nice safe job for him in Nettuno. But I didn’t. I stuck out my hand, and we shook. I felt like my father, silent and full of knowledge that I wanted to share, but knowing that only experience could pass this lesson on. I turned away, leaving Danny to learn what he had to learn alone, or from strangers. I knew that the more I hung around, the more stubborn he’d get. And that the killer might start playing a new game, if he hadn’t already.
“Seems like a good kid,” Flint said as I passed his squad, all engaged in the same futile digging.
“That he is. Any sign of the Krauts yet?”
“Nothing. I thought I picked up some movement up in the hills, but it could have been anything.” Flint turned his clear blue eyes on me, as if registering my presence for the first time. “What are you doing out here anyway?”
“Just paying a visit to Danny. Nothing much else happening. We had a joyride to Rome yesterday, but since then it’s been quiet.”
“Rome? Why don’t we all go?”
“Good question. General Lucas wasn’t impressed.”
“You met the old man?”
“Yeah. We’re temporarily attached to his headquarters. He thinks it was a fluke that we got through. May have been, since we’d gotten totally lost.”
“Did I hear Rome?” Stump said as he joined us.
“Billy drove to Rome yesterday, nearly liberated it himself,” Flint said.
“Well, there were three of us, so I have to share the glory. Kaz and Phil Einsmann were with me.”
“Phil’s here? I thought he was on his way back to London,” Flint said.
“Yeah, looking for a story. I doubt the censors will let this one out though. If we get bogged down and it turns out that a reporter and two lieutenants made it to Rome on the first day of the invasion, heads will roll.”
“Next time you see Grandpa, tell him we could use some tanks up front,” Flint said. “Or at least some antitank guns.”
“Is that what you call him?”
“Some guys call him Foxy Grandpa,” Stump said.
“Wishful thinking,” Flint said. “Listen, Billy, you could do us and Danny a big favor. Talk to Lucas, let him know how exposed we are. We oughta get up in those hills ourselves, or pull back. This is Indian country, and we ain’t got a fort.”
“I don’t talk to him on a regular basis, but I will pass on the sentiment if I bump into him again.”
“He’s in Anzio?” Stump asked.
“Nettuno, in a nice waterfront villa. No mud.”
“Ain’t that the way of the world,” Flint said, and they all went back to their shovels.
Fifty yards back I found Lieutenant Evans and Father Dare walking in from the village. The padre had a first-aid kit slung over his shoulder and carried a canvas sack full of wool socks. I tried to see him as the killer, dispensing dry socks and then strangling officers. Could a priest forgive himself?
“Lieutenant Boyle,” Father Dare said. “I didn’t expect to see you again. Still chasing that Red Heart Killer?”
“I wish I was close enough to give chase,” I said. “I dropped by to see my kid brother. He’s in Louie’s squad.”
“Yes, I’ve met him. I try to get to know all the replacements. Sometimes the men ignore them at first.” What he was too kind to say was the experienced GIs waited to see if a new kid would live through the first few days. “He certainly looks up to you, doesn’t he?”
“I don’t know about that,” I said.
“You should,” Evans put in. “You’re all he’s talked about since he joined up.”
“How’d you make the connection? Boyle isn’t an uncommon name.”
“I don’t know,” Father Dare said. “The same name, same Boston accent, someone probably just mentioned you.”
“That was all Danny needed to hear,” Evans said. “I think we all know your family story by now. Good thing Louie partnered him up with Charlie. He doesn’t talk much, so they’re a perfect pair.”
“Is he really an Apache?” I asked.
“Yes,” said Father Dare. “Private Charlie Colorado is a genuine White Mountain Apache. Interesting fellow. I asked him if he wanted any spiritual guidance, and he told me his shaman had taken care of that before he left. Apparently he’s protected by Usen, which is what they call their God. The Giver of Life.”
“Well, I hope he digs in deep anyway. Usen might be busy elsewhere,” I said. “Are you the giver of socks?”
“I am,” Father Dare said. “Lieutenant Evans asked me to scrounge some up. There’s going to be a lot of wet feet soon, and we have to watch out for trench foot. Clean socks are worth their weight in gold out here.”
“Far as I can see, it’s our biggest threat so far,” Evans said, watching Father Dare as he distributed socks to the men. “After losing Sergeant Gates, we can use a break.”
“Yeah, I saw his body by the road yesterday. What happened?”
“Kraut officer got the drop on him. I guess he thought he was surrendering, but the bastard pulled a pistol and shot him in the heart.”
“I didn’t take Rusty for the careless type, did you?”
“No,” Evans said. “I depended on him, he was an old hand, know what I mean?”
“I do. Did you see it happen?”
“No. He had point, and all of a sudden there was a lot of shooting. The car crashed, and by the time I got there, Gates was dead.”
“The German was still alive when I got there,” I said. “Barely.”
“Yeah, well, everyone was upset about Rusty. The Kraut was bawling about something, and no one really gave a damn. I told them to go on, that I was going to put him out of his misery. But I couldn’t do it. I fired my pistol into the ground. I didn’t want the men to know. I’ve never killed anyone, and I didn’t want the first one to be some poor defenseless bastard. But now I wish I had. I can still hear him talking to me, crying and blubbering.”
“You understand German?”
“No. Did he talk to you?”
“No, just curious about what he had to say,” I said. No reason to let on that the Kraut was blaming someone else for killing Rusty. Maybe Evans had killed someone before, who knew?
“He did say
Amerikaner
over and over,” Evans said. “Maybe he was saying he was sorry. All I know is that I can’t get him out of my head.”
As Evans spoke, I heard the sound of distant thunder, or at least what always sounded like thunder. Father Dare and I hit the ground. The shrill whistling sound of falling shells came next, and even a rookie like Evans knew what that meant. He went flat as the shells burst, bombarding the village of Le Ferriere. The artillery fire kept up, striking the village over and over. A fireball blossomed up, probably a hit on a fuel truck. Then the shelling widened, explosions reaching the fields all around Le Ferriere, churning up the freshly plowed dirt, sending mud skyward. The barrage crept toward us, and I prayed that Danny would keep his wits about him, dive into a trench and stay put.
The ground shuddered with each hit. I looked across the field to where the squads had been digging in. Shells fell around them, leaving smoking craters as the firing slackened, then stopped.
“Wait,” I said as Evans began to get up. He looked at me quizzically until the whine of one last salvo announced itself, hitting Le Ferriere. It was an old trick, waiting to send the last shells over when everyone began sticking their heads out.
I was up, sprinting to the forward position, eyes peeled for Danny and Kaz. I spotted them, and thanked God, Usen, and all the saints I could remember. Next I saw Louie, then Flint and Stump checking on their men as they rose from the ground, wet and muddy.
Something was wrong. Kaz had Danny by the arm, helping him out of the trench. Danny’s eyes were wide with terror, and I searched his mud-splattered uniform for signs of blood.
“Danny?” I spoke his name but looked to Kaz.
“He is not hurt, Billy. It is Malcomb, the other ASTP boy. He ran.” Kaz pointed to a lifeless body twenty yards out, clothing, skin, blood, and bone shredded by the shrapnel-laced blast.
“I tried to stop him,” Danny said. “I tried.”
“You would have been killed too,” I said. “He panicked. You were smart to stay put.”
“I didn’t. Charlie grabbed me and held me down,” Danny said, his voice shaky as he glanced toward Charlie Colorado, sitting on the edge of the trench. A big guy, bronzed skinned, and quiet.
“Usen,” I said.
“I am not the Giver of Life,” Charlie said. I begged to differ.
“H
E WAS FROM
Princeton,” Danny said, as if the aura of the Ivy League should have protected Malcomb from shrapnel and fear. He looked away as Flint helped to roll the body onto a shelter half so it could be carried away. It was a messy, unnatural business. The nuns had taught us that the human form was a sacred vessel, but out here, where artillery fire descended from the heavens, it was a delicate, thin-skinned thing, ready to spill the secrets of life onto the ground. For a soldier on the front lines, nothing is sacred, nothing is hidden, nothing is guaranteed to be his alone. Blood, brains, heart, and muscle are ripped from him, put on display, like his possessions, and carefully searched for the illegal or embarrassing before being boxed up to be sent to loved ones. His gear is divvied up—ammo, socks, food, and cigarettes handed around to squad mates—until finally, with his pockets turned out, his shattered body is covered and carried away. He is useless now, unable to fight, devoid of possessions, weapons, and breath, wrapped in waterproof canvas. This kid was from Princeton. Now he was of Anzio.