Phantoms in the Snow

by Kathleen Benner Duble

  “And why should you be the one to lead?” the general asked. “Why not one of the other boys who will be going with you?”

  “Are any of the others here volunteering?” Noah asked.

  The general laughed. “No. No one seems to be beating down my door.”

  “Well then …,” Noah said.

  The general hesitated, but finally he nodded. “All right, son. You’re right, I guess, about Skeeter not being able to perform at his best. And you have been out there with him. You know the drill.”

  “You won’t tell my uncle?” Noah asked, knowing that his uncle would convince the general to change his mind.

  The general grimaced. “No. I won’t tell him. But what about Skeeter?”

  “Order the doctor to put him out,” Noah said.

  The general sighed. “All right. But I’ll say one thing, Noah: If we do this, and we make it through, you’d better think about protecting me as much as you’re protecting Skeeter.”

  “Protect you?” Noah asked.

  “From your uncle,” the general said. “ ’Cause he’s going to be madder at me than a whole hive of hornets.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  The evening of February 18 was dark and moonless. Quiet lay heavy on the town. Noah packed his rucksack with two days of cold rations, a canteen, a shovel for foxhole digging, ammunition, and first aid supplies.

  He checked the nylon rope he would use for the climb, making sure it was free of flaws. He cleaned his rifle. His hands shook as he did this, and he prayed he would not have to use it.

  Beside him Bill and Roger were packing their things, too. When he had finished, Noah slung his rucksack over his shoulder and picked up his gun. “I’m going to go on over and say good-bye to my uncle before he heads out for his final briefing.”

  Bill and Roger stood. Roger’s enthusiasm for the climb had faded as the hour approached. He bounced from foot to foot, looking nervous. Outwardly, Bill still seemed calm, although Noah had seen him writing his girlfriend for two hours earlier that day.

  “Good luck, Noah,” Bill said. “I’ll see you at the top.”

  Noah nodded and held out his hand. The boys shook their good-byes, saying nothing more. Noah opened the door of the cottage and slipped out into the night.

  Above him, he could see Riva. The searchlights the Tenth Mountain Division had set up weeks earlier, which had been shining up at its peak every night since, were sweeping back and forth. They were intended to blind the enemy and give just enough light for the 86th to make their assault. The mountain had never looked as formidable as it did tonight.

  The cottage where his uncle and the general were housed was dark. Noah found his uncle alone, sitting and staring at the wide, wooden floor. Noah slipped his rucksack off and squatted down in front of his uncle. “I just came to tell you good luck, Uncle Shelley.”

  James Shelley looked at Noah, and then reached out and pulled him into a hug, whispering, “You know how I feel about sentimentality and all that crap, so I’ll just say this: Keep your head low, boy, and your wits sharp, and I’ll see you in a few hours.”

  Noah laughed as he leaned back. “Don’t go overboard, Shelley.”

  His uncle smiled for a minute and then stood. “Look, Noah, if anything should happen to me, Olaf and Skeeter promised to watch over you. I’ve got me a life insurance policy with your name on it. You take that money and go to college, do something for others with your life. It’s what you were made for.”

  Noah stared up at his uncle in surprise.

  “Aw” — James Shelley grinned, waving his hand in front of his face — “don’t get too excited about the money. I ain’t going to go that easily, you know.”

  He turned to leave.

  “Be careful, Shelley,” Noah choked out.

  “You, too, boy,” his uncle said.

  His uncle swung up his rucksack and rifle and headed out the door. “You’ve grown into a fine man, Noah Garrett, a real fine man. I’m proud you’re my nephew, you hear?”

  Then he was gone.

  Noah waited a minute or two, then slipped out and made his way to the hospital. He crept into Skeeter’s room and found him sleeping soundly. He slipped on Skeeter’s parka with Skeeter’s insignia on it. He transferred his own equipment into Skeeter’s rucksack with Skeeter’s patches on it. He was just stepping out of Skeeter’s room when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Noah jumped.

  Sofia stood behind him.

  “What are you doing here?” Noah asked in surprise.

  “I came by truck this evening. I wanted to say arrivederci to all of you,” she said. “I thought I’d see Skeeter first, and then I was coming to find you and your uncle. But what are you doing here? And why do you have on Skeeter’s things?”

  “Skeeter isn’t strong enough to do this,” Noah said. “Please don’t tell my uncle.”

  Sofia gazed at him for a moment, and then slowly nodded. “I will pray for you, Noah.”

  Noah turned away, too choked up to respond. He bent and picked up his rifle from the floor. He swung it onto his shoulder and turned once more to look at Sofia. She smiled slightly.

  Noah smiled back and then stepped out into the night. It was close to seven P.M., cold but not bitterly so. This is it, he thought. We are attacking. His heart beat hard against his chest. Noah took a deep breath. But Skeeter, Noah thought, Skeeter will live.

  Once outside, he headed toward the hut that served as headquarters at the base of Riva Ridge. He went inside the darkened room, all the lights having been turned off to avoid any suspicion on the Germans’ part. Noah stayed to one side, pulling Skeeter’s hood close about his face. The other leaders of the various companies of the 86th were crowded into the room with them.

  Daniel called out softly, “Skeeter’s here now, General.”

  “Good,” the general whispered. “Let’s go over this one more time.”

  On the general’s other side was Noah’s uncle. He prayed his uncle would be too busy and the room too crowded for him to notice he wasn’t Skeeter. Noah could feel sweat breaking out on his forehead.

  The general’s voice was soft and low in the darkness as he talked about the dangers and pitfalls and the strategies they would use on each path up the various sides of Riva Ridge. The constant warmth and refreezing had turned the mountainsides into walls of ice. The going would be difficult. Noah forced himself to concentrate on what the latest scouting party had reported back to the general.

  James Shelley asked questions. Noah didn’t dare ask any, but he grunted his understanding several times. It wasn’t complicated. They had done the patrols often enough. He knew the mission. Climb and attack.

  When the general finished, Noah moved away before his uncle had time to walk over and say any fond personal farewells. Instead, he nodded quickly, and James Shelley nodded back. For once, Noah was glad of his uncle’s inability to talk about his feelings.

  Noah stepped outside and gathered his group together by signaling with his hands and not speaking. Then he stood with them to one side, his eyes on the ground, while the general stood before them.

  His eyes blurred over. I’m going, Noah thought. I’m going to face the enemy tonight! He felt himself begin to shake. Would he be alive at the end of the assault? Or would he lie on the ground halfway up Riva, snow covering his lifeless body? Images of Wiley filled his head. Noah snapped himself together sharply. He couldn’t afford those thoughts now. If he was to have a chance at all, he had to concentrate.

  “Men,” the general spoke softly, “you go into battle tonight. It will not be easy. We can offer you no cover with planes, as that would give away the element of surprise, nor from tanks or jeeps, which can’t maneuver the steep slopes. Some of you may die tonight. But I want you to know you die for a good cause, for God and for country.”

  Can you die for God? Noah wondered. He thought of all the battles in the Bible. Yes, he thought, maybe you can.

  “I am proud,” said the general, pacing
back and forth, “proud of you all.”

  Then he turned and walked away, signaling the beginning of the climb up the mountain and the attack on Riva Ridge.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Noah watched his uncle take his company off to climb up one side of the mountain. Other companies of the 86th moved off to their assigned spots circling the base of the ridge. Noah waved his hand, moving his own boys forward to the nearer side. The general came up to them, stopping them all for a minute. “Boys, I want you to know that tonight it’s not Skeeter who will lead you. He was too sick to make it.”

  Noah pushed back his hood. The boys all stared.

  “Jesus. Does Shelley know about this?” one boy whispered.

  “No,” the general replied curtly. “This is my decision. Noah is in charge. You will follow him.”

  One of the other boys swore under his breath.

  Daniel stepped forward. “No more of that. I agreed with the general’s decision. Skeeter was too sick to take on this climb. His weakness may have hindered our success. Noah may not be as experienced, but I, for one, believe he can do it. And I’m willing to put my life into his hands and trust his decisions. I expect the same from you, boys.”

  “You’ll be covering from the rear?” someone asked.

  “Yes,” Daniel assured them.

  Noah gave Daniel a grateful look. Daniel simply nodded and moved toward the back. Quietly, the boys fell into line, dividing into groups.

  “Good luck, then, boys,” the general said. He gave Noah one long last look, then turned and walked away.

  Noah signaled to his company, and they began to walk single file up the trail that marked the beginning of their side of the mountain, each boy tapping the boy behind him when they were ready to move forward. Noah’s heart beat hard against his chest.

  It was easy going at first, but Noah knew the trail would soon give way to steep, sheer cliff sides. He and the boys walked slowly up the path, being careful not to dislodge stones that would warn the Germans they were coming. They spaced themselves far enough apart to prevent whipping tree branches from hitting one another in the face.

  At the Dardagna River, the water raced icily by them. Noah stepped slowly across, planting each foot carefully on the logs that had been laid there for them. They were almost all across when one boy slipped and went in up to his waist in the freezing waters. The sound of the splash was loud in the quiet of the night. Everybody halted.

  Noah scampered back over the logs to help the boy out, knowing as he did so that his movement would attract attention if there were Germans nearby.

  “Do you need to go back?” Noah whispered, conscious of his voice, too. He shivered, imagining a German patrol popping up in front of them and the feel of a bullet in his chest.

  The boy shook his head. “No, sir. I’ve got extra clothes.”

  “We’ll wait while he changes, then,” Daniel said, joining them. “No point in him getting frostbite.”

  Noah nodded, and they all stood to one side to let the boy change. Noah felt like screaming. He wanted to go, to get this thing over with before they were discovered.

  At last, they were ready to move out again along the path. When they reached the end of the trail, Noah quickly unpacked his rucksack and began to set the spikes out ahead on the wall of the mountain. Softly, he tapped them in, passing the rope through that would keep his boys together on the climb.

  When at last he was finished, Noah signaled to the boys behind him that they would start. He reached out and stepped up on the first toehold, then onto the second. Suddenly, the first hold gave way. Noah went tumbling backward.

  The boys below reacted quickly. They caught him, breaking his fall.

  “Are you all right, Noah?” someone whispered.

  Noah nodded, though his heart was racing. That had been close. He hadn’t considered dying in an accident before they even reached the top. He took a deep breath. He would have to be more careful.

  He stood up and turned back to the cliff wall. “The rock is more brittle than the general anticipated,” he said softly. “We’ll have to use wedges and slits and the padded hammers.”

  They all nodded their understanding. Noah turned and rummaged in his rucksack for new footholds. The different equipment caused a dull click every time Noah hammered it into the rock. He could feel the hair rise on the back of his neck with each small sound. At last, they began to climb.

  Sweat ran down Noah’s face as they rose higher and higher toward the enemy. Each boy in the company carried almost one hundred rounds of ammunition on his back. They were walking explosives. Noah knew that they could easily be picked off by a German pilot or soldier — one good shot would blow them sky-high.

  Slowly, they ascended. An hour passed. The wall of the mountain got colder and icier. Fog drifted in, making the going even more difficult. Noah rubbed his eyes, straining to see what lay ahead in the dark.

  Farther away, he could hear the sound of the boys in the other groups climbing up. He reached out his hand to find the next spot for a toehold and felt nothing but ice. His fingers searched all around. The ice was rough and seemed to go on in a continuous pattern.

  “What is it?” whispered the boy right behind him.

  “We’ve come across a frozen waterfall,” Noah whispered back.

  “Can we get around it?” another voice softly floated up.

  Noah felt around some more. It seemed to cover the whole side of the hill, but there were parts where it wasn’t too wide. “No. We’ll have to cross it.”

  Cautiously, Noah felt his way across the slippery surface, searching for areas where the ice was thin or the width of the water was narrow. Slowly, the boys came along behind him, until at last, they were safely across.

  Again, they began to climb. The sky began to lighten. Noah began to panic. It wouldn’t be too long before they would be spotted.

  He hammered in another foothold and then another. Then just before him, he saw that they had reached the summit. He signaled behind him that they were there. He didn’t know whether to be relieved or terrified. He realized that when his head crested the top, he would be facing Germans. He swallowed hard. Slowly, he unhooked his rifle from his back and pulled himself upward.

  A pair of boots and a gun came into view. Noah looked up to find a soldier standing above him.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  We beat you, Skeeter!” James Shelley crowed. “We beat you guys up here, and you now owe me one bottle of the best whiskey made in Italy!

  “If they make whiskey here,” he added. Then he stopped and stared. “Hey! What the …”

  But Noah didn’t hear the rest. He was looking at how many Germans his uncle’s company had managed to capture and truss up like birds at a Thanksgiving dinner. Noah felt tears coming to his eyes, tears of thanks that he had not had to be involved but had still saved Skeeter the energy of the climb.

  Then there was a hand on his jacket, and he was being yanked up.

  “Watch it!” Noah cried out. “There are other men attached to the end of this rope!”

  His uncle let go and set Noah down. His eyes bored into Noah’s as the rest of Noah’s company scrambled up to the summit.

  Noah stood, looking at the ground. The boys moved away quickly, leaving Noah alone to face his uncle’s anger.

  “What,” began James Shelley icily once everyone was safely at the top, “were you doing out in front?”

  “Skeeter wouldn’t have made it. The general okayed it,” Noah said, still not meeting his uncle’s eyes, looking at the Germans instead.

  The Germans looked frightened. What must they be thinking? Noah wondered. His heart went out to them. They had to be scared. One of the younger ones was fidgeting, wiggling around uncomfortably.

  “He what?” Noah’s uncle exploded.

  “We knew you wouldn’t agree to it,” Noah mumbled, “so we just didn’t tell you.”

  “We don’t have time to talk about this now,” Shelley sai
d, “but, boy, you are in hot water when we get down from here.”

  Noah saw that the young German’s one hand was free. Someone had not tied his ropes tightly enough. Then Noah caught his breath as suddenly the boy was swinging a gun around, aiming it at James Shelley.

  “No!” Noah screamed. “Stop!”

  James Shelley ducked, and everyone began to run toward the Germans. But it was too late. In the fury and hatred that Noah saw reflected in the German boy’s eyes, he realized he had no choice. Noah pulled his rifle to his shoulder, aimed, and fired. The boy fell over in a heap.

  Bill, Roger, and the others reached the Germans and quickly began to check the rope on the other soldiers while Daniel bent over the German boy, ripping away his gun. “He’s been shot through the shoulder,” he told them.

  “Wow, Shelley,” Roger said, finally standing. “He almost had you.”

  Noah’s uncle swayed back and forth, his face strangely white.

  “You saved your uncle’s life, Noah,” Bill said.

  Noah stared down at the rifle in his hand. He felt a welling in his stomach. His hands began to shake. He dropped the gun, fell to his knees, and was sick.

  His uncle knelt down beside him and held his head. “Keep a sharp eye on those prisoners for a minute, boys.”

  “I had to,” Noah mumbled in between heaving. “I had to. I couldn’t let him shoot you.”

  “You did what you had to, Noah,” his uncle agreed, “what any good soldier would have done, what you were ordered to do.”

  Noah threw up again and again. He threw up until his stomach felt torn apart. Then Noah sat back wearily and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Are you okay, Noah?” his uncle asked, and Noah could hear the worry in his voice. “Are you okay, boy?”

  With jerky motions, Noah forced himself to stand. Then, bending over, he picked up his rucksack.

  “What are you doing, Noah?” his uncle asked.

  Noah didn’t answer. He walked unsteadily over to the Germans. The enemy soldiers all looked at him with wide, frightened eyes. Noah bent over the boy he had shot. The boy tried to move away, but Noah clamped a hand on his good shoulder and held him there firmly. The boy cried out.