by Kris Tualla
“What makes you sad?” he asked in English.
Might as well.
“Not sad,” she corrected. “I’m just so moved at the obvious respect and affection these men have for you.”
Tor understood. Even without speaking to them most of the time, it was obvious that the young men under his command understood his dedication and his commitment to their training and safety.
“I’ll pass the test easily and they’ll feel like they helped.” Tor smiled softly, glad for how spot-on Kyle’s suggestions were. “It will bond us as a unit.”
Kyle looked tired. “They do love you, sir.”
“Are you all right?”
She waved a dismissive hand. “I didn’t sleep well last night.”
Tor glanced around to see if anyone was paying them any attention, then he switched to Norsk just in case.
“Why not?”
She appeared annoyed. “Your proposal.”
Tor’s heart stuttered. “Are you thinking about it?”
“Of course I’m thinking about it. About how impossible it is.” She drew a deep breath. “I wish you hadn’t said anything at all.”
“I didn’t intend to,” he offered. “But when you asked the question…”
Kyle looked up at him. “Do you understand that by proposing to me, now I’ve lost two futures?”
That perspective had never crossed Tor’s mind. Losing her future with Erik was obvious, but until Tor said he wanted to marry her, she had no future with him.
He created the possibility and it was destroyed in the same conversation. “I do now. And I’m sorry, Kyle. That wasn’t my intention.”
“I know.” She shaded her eyes and watched the soldiers reform their platoon, bayoneted rifles on their shoulders. “I guess it’s another casualty of war.”
September 15, 1944
Tor and Frank’s platoon was scheduled for orientation. They arrived at the theater early and the forty men filed into the seats.
“Where’s your translator?” Frank asked.
“I’m listening in English,” Tor explained. “I must practice for my test. So I can go to Italy.”
“I can’t believe you had the chance to get out of it.” Frank shook his head. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
Tor looked at the faces of the soldiers he’d trained, and who were now training him. They were eager, earnest, and determined to a man.
Then he looked back at Frank. “I have to do this. For them, and for Norway.”
Frank’s expression showed his respect. “Yeah. I guess you do.”
When the officer giving the orientation showed up, he was carrying a copy of U.S. News and World Report. He glanced through it and then started telling the group what it said.
“Do they just grab any guy and let him do orientation?” Frank muttered. “This is ridiculous.”
“We could read that ourselves,” Tor said. “But I don’t think the men will.”
“Good point.”
When the magazine’s information was apparently exhausted, the sergeant walked to the side of the stage where a stand and maps were waiting. He flipped a map over and showed the men where the allied positions were marked in blue.
“And here, in the red, are enemy’s positions.”
To Tor it was obvious that the red colored a lot more of the map than the blue did. The sergeant used a rubber-tipped pointer to explain where the Tenth would begin their attack and in which directions the three divisions would move to push the enemy back.
“So you all can see the importance of your mission,” the sergeant concluded. “Train hard and make America proud. We’re counting on you.”
*****
Train hard?
Tor looked around him as he walked to supper on that crisp mid-September evening. He still couldn’t wrap his head around the luxuries these American soldiers enjoyed.
Sure, the Colorado Rockies had a way of knocking a man to the ground without warning. The soldiers’ actual training was physically demanding and the strains of the high altitude divided the men from the boys in pretty quick order.
On top of that, the deep snow didn’t forgive any mistakes, especially stupid ones.
But Camp Hale offered an embarrassing multitude of leisure time recreational facilities including auditoriums, movie theaters, service clubs, and field houses for all types of activities year-round. Not to mention hunting and fishing in the surrounding forests and streams.
Soldiers could participate in band or choral groups. They even created a musical production, Hale and Hearty, with WACs and soldiers performing original numbers.
To top that, Denver radio station KOA broadcasted the music programs performed by the Camp Hale Regimental Band.
Tor was afraid that when his men were faced with mortar and machine gun fire from an enemy hell-bent on killing every one of them that they might freeze and forget their training, frightened by the realities of blood-spattered friends dropping dead right next to them.
These soldiers were young, some barely eighteen, and the task ahead of them was daunting.
Please, God, help us get them ready.
September 21, 1944
Kyle awoke to a pale-skyed world covered in white. She pulled back the curtain in her room and watched as snow removal was already in full swing this morning.
“How does it look?”
“Cold,” Kyle said over her shoulder to her new roommate.
First Lieutenant Sandra Weinstein had just transferred in from Fort Drum to assist in the administration of the WACs at Camp Hale. Once the Tenth was mobilized, the future of Camp Hale and the soldiers left behind needed to be decided.
Sandra threw back her covers and sat up. She pulled the curlers from her thick brown hair.
“Just like New York, I guess. Why couldn’t I be transferred to a fort in Florida?”
Kyle smiled. “Just lucky, I guess.”
As she dressed, Kyle wondered if the soldiers would go up the mountain today. She assumed they would if the T-bar was operating. They needed to freshen up on their skills.
She tried to focus on the beauty of the frozen day and not the fact that the snow brought Tor one step closer to leaving.
Chapter
Thirty Three
October 24, 1944
Tor wasn’t sure how the English test was going to be administered, but he entered the room with confidence. He took the chair indicated, and faced his three uniformed inquisitors.
“Good afternoon, Captain Hansen,” one of the men began.
When nothing else was said, Tor realized he was expected to respond. He dipped his chin. “Good afternoon to you all as well.”
“I’m Captain Despain of the Eighty-fifth Infantry,” he continued. “On my right is Sergeant Wilcox, aide to Major General Jones. And on my left is Captain Brown of the Eighty-seventh Infantry.
Tor noticed that Despain did not physically indicate which man was which and assumed this was part of the test.
He looked at Brown first. “It will be an honor to serve alongside the Eighty-seventh, captain.”
Tor moved his gaze to Despain. “And the same is true about the Eighty-fifth.”
Last, he looked at Wilcox. “And I hope the sergeant will give a good report about my English to the Major General when we have finished.”
Despain looked impressed. “Well done, Captain. I’d say we’re off to a good start.”
For the next half hour, the three men asked Tor a multitude of questions, and when his answers seemed to surprise them, he expressed his opinions.
“I am worried about the soldiers here,” Tor confessed. “I have not seen battle yet, but I have seen the enemy. I know what they are capable of. And they didn’t train in a resort.”
Despain’s brow furrowed. “Do you think about Camp Hale as a resort?”
“Not in the training, no,” Tor hastened to assure him. “But when we reach the Alps, there won’t be theaters and field houses for their entertainment.”
Captain Brown leaned forward. “I see your point, Hansen. And it’s well taken. What I would say in our defense is this: we now have ten thousand men here who train for war every day. If we didn’t give them someplace to cut loose and have fun, they’d be cannibalizing each other.”
Tor lifted his brow. “What is cannibalizing?”
Despain smiled. “So you will ask if you don’t understand.”
That surprised Tor. “I would do that in Norsk as well.”
The three men glanced at each other and Tor believed he had just scored more points.
“Cannibals eat each other,” Brown said. “To cannibalize is the act of eating each other.”
Tor thought the meaning would be something along that line based on how Brown had used the word. “I understand. Both the new word, and the reason why this camp has so many things to do.”
Despain looked at the clock. “I think we’ve heard enough. Do either of you have any more questions for Captain Hansen?”
“No, I’m satisfied,” Brown said. “You?”
“I’m satisfied as well.” Despain turned to Wilcox. “Do you feel this interview has provided a fair assessment of the captain’s English proficiency?”
Wilcox nodded. “I do.”
Despain faced Tor. “Will you step outside for a moment, Captain? We’ll be out shortly with our decision.”
“Of course.” Tor stood and saluted. “Thank you for the interesting conversation.”
He left the room, closed the door, and took a seat in the reception area. Less than three minutes passed before the trio appeared, smiling.
Tor stood.
Despain held out his hand and Tor reached for it. “The final decision is in the Major General’s hands, but it will be our unanimous recommendation that you ship to Italy with your division. Congratulations, Captain Hansen.”
Tor grinned. “Thank you. It’ll be an honor to fight alongside the Eighty-fifth and Eighty-seventh.”
*****
“Passed with unanimous recommendations!” Tor looked like a kid who really did get a pony for Christmas as he climbed into the waiting jeep. “Jones has to make it official, but there isn’t any reason for him to deny me now.”
“Especially since you also speak fluent German.” Kyle ignored the sense of dread that his words prompted and started the engine.
The outcome of his test was not a surprise based on his grasp of language, but nothing in the army was ever certain until it was certain. Whether she wanted him to go to Italy or return to Norway, however, depended on her ever-changing moods.
Tor interrupted her thoughts. “Will you go to the dance with me tonight?”
As was the case at almost all American military posts, dances were popular for both officers and enlisted men. The soldiers especially liked the dance competitions, though Kyle wasn’t sure whether that was for the prizes, or the thrill of defeating competitors. Probably both.
“Sure.” Kyle winked at him as she drove toward the mess hall between ridges of snow that could well remain until spring. “I’ll save you from the civilians.”
Since there were vastly more men than WACs at Camp Hale, single women were brought up to the camp from Leadville to be dance partners for the surplus of men. A lot of wartime romances, and a few marriages, sprang up as a result.
Tor shrugged. “I’m not a great dancer but that doesn’t seem to discourage them.”
Kyle laughed. “Of course not. Have you looked in a mirror?”
She parked the jeep and faced Tor, her dread intensifying. “Did they say what will happen to me now?”
Tor looked apologetic. “No. They didn’t.”
“Then I’ll guess I keep doing what I’ve been doing until I get different orders…”
“With such a short time left, maybe they won’t do anything until we’re all gone.”
Tor sounded hopeful, but that only made their impending separation more painful.
“Yeah. Maybe.” Kyle opened the jeep door and got out.
Tor could be gone in six weeks. Nine at the most, based on what was printed in the Ski-Zette. One way or another, the Tenth would be gone before Christmas.
As she forced herself to eat supper, swallowing past the lump in her throat, an aide from Jones’s office walked up to their table. He was beaming at Tor.
“Captain Hansen.” He held out an envelope. “I have a message from Major General Jones.”
Tor accepted the envelope and tore it open. A smile spread his cheeks and he looked at Kyle, his blue eyes twinkling.
“I passed my English test and am now set to ship out with the Eighty-sixth Infantry Division when they go to Italy.” He shifted his attention to the aide. “Thank you, Sergeant Wilcox.”
The grinning sergeant saluted Tor and Kyle before spinning on a heel and leaving the mess.
*****
Tor danced with Kyle all night. Even though that wasn’t considered sporting with the ratio of men to women present, there was no way in hell he was going to let go of her.
“Rum and Coke?” he asked when they arrived at the Rec Hall.
She looked nauseated by the suggestion. “No more of that for me. I’ll have a plain 7-Up.”
Tor claimed a small table off to the side of the dance floor. Tor downed his beer while Kyle sipped her soda. Most of the first songs were peppy and designed to get people moving. But at the first slow song, Tor grabbed Kyle’s hand and pulled her on to the floor.
As they danced, Kyle leaned into him. He held her closer. He rested his cheek on the top of her head and inhaled the scent of her shampoo. He closed his eyes.
I never want this moment to end.
But it was going to end, and there wasn’t anything he could do about it.
Tor decided to repeat his proposal, once he knew exactly when he was leaving. A last ditch effort to make Kyle his for the rest of his life. Faced with a definite date for his departure, she just might agree to marry him.
Where and how they would live when the war ended could be decided later. All he needed was to know she would be waiting for him.
Kyle lifted her head and looked him in the eye as if she heard his thoughts.
“I want to remember this moment forever,” she said. “So after we both leave here, we can talk about this in twenty years.”
Tor forced a smile. “In Norway with my wife and dozen children.”
“Exactly.”
Kyle tucked her head under his again, and Tor held her there.
November 2, 1944
Kyle went to the camp’s doctor for her required annual physical. She knew she’d lost weight and might have to explain to him that she was depressed and why.
He’s a doctor and what I tell him is private, she reminded herself.
Not that loving a man who was going into battle was unusual by any means. But loving a foreign man who was never coming back to the United States was one step farther down the path of futility. It had affected her both appetite and her mood.
Kyle was ushered into a chilly little room and instructed to undress and don a backless cotton robe. She did, keeping her socks on for warmth, and then perched herself on the examination table and waited.
A nurse came in and greeted her cheerily. “I don’t blame you about the socks,” she chirped. “Don’t know why it can’t be warmer in here.”
After Kyle was weighed—down twelve pounds—and her blood pressure and temperature were logged, the nurse asked her several questions. Kyle was honest about her current emotional state, while insisting she could still do her job in spite of the malaise that stole her usually bright spirits.
“We’re seeing a lot of that right now,” the nurse said as she made notes. “The women here have made friends—and more—with the men. Knowing they’re going into such a dangerous area has a lot of us worried.”
The nurse set her clipboard down. “Doctor will be in shortly.”
Going into such a dangerous area.
Kyle took deep breaths to
keep from crying. She couldn’t think about that now or the doctor might find her blubbering and say she’s unfit for work.
Think about something funny.
Would you rather be called Stump or Handy?
Kyle laughed out loud.
A soft knock on the door preceded the doctor’s entrance. He was a friendly-looking man with a horn-rimmed glasses and a fringe of red hair circling his scalp.
“Good morning, Lieutenant Solberg. I’m Doctor Kann. How are you doing?”
Kyle smiled a little. “I’m alright.”
“Let’s see here…” He lifted the clip board and read the nurse’s notes while he made little humming noises. “Nothing here to cause undue alarm.”
He set the clipboard down and settled his stethoscope into his ears. He stood next to Kyle and pressed the chestpiece to her back. “Breathe in.”
Doctor Kann moved through listening to her breathe, testing her reflexes and shining lights down her throat and in her ears.
“Everything looks good. Will you lie down?”
Kyle did so. The doctor began to probe her belly while she tried not to laugh.
“Sorry,” she giggled. “That tickles.”
The doctor leaned over to consult the clipboard. “When was your last period?”
Kyle felt her face warming. “I don’t remember, to be honest. I’m very irregular—always have been. I don’t even pay attention any more.”
Doctor Kann’s lips pressed together and he looked at her kindly. “I’m going to do an internal exam. Just to be sure everything’s all right.”
“Oh. Okay.”
The doctor washed his hands and asked Kyle to spread her legs. He slid his fingers inside her while he pressed on her belly. The pressure inside and out was very uncomfortable and she concentrated on breathing slowly and not tensing up.
When he removed his hand, he pressed his stethoscope to her abdomen. “Take a deep breath and hold it.”
After half a minute he straightened. Kyle heaved a sigh of relief.
