Book X

by Robert P McAuley

  “Something like that. It’s Matt who sets up the transportation so I’ll be briefing him on the mission in the morning.”

  “Bill,” Rocko asked as he sat again, “is it possible to go back as an officer in the army?”

  “Yep! We can give you any rank you want along with the correct paperwork and even cut you a set of orders using the appropriate names and ranks of the time period.”

  “And uniform?”

  “Yep, uniform and all. However, I suggest that you go back as a captain.”

  “Sure, but why? Why not go back as major or colonel? Those guys have more clout.”

  “Because,” answered Bill, “A captain poses no threat to the commanding officer while a major or colonel could because they might have people in Washington on their side. A captain hasn’t been in the service long enough to make such contacts and is perfect as he is higher than a Lieutenant and the dirty jobs go to them before they go to a captain.”

  Rocko nodded, “Great. I’ll work up a plan of action and pitch it to you tomorrow. Good?”

  “Good.”

  John stood and stretched, “Guys, as much as I hate to say this, I have to get on home. I have a big conference call tomorrow morning. I hope to stay busy so I won’t dwell on the fact that I’m here while Rocko is traveling back.”

  The three men laughed as they walked towards the door.

  “Rocko,” asked Bill as he held the door for them, “do you have a feel for what time you’ll be back tomorrow?”

  “I should have a plan of action and be here around noon.”

  “Okay, see you then.”

  Rocko and John shook hands with Edmund, “Great meeting you, Edmund,” said John, “Maybe we can come visit you someday?”

  “Right,” added Rocko, “Maybe you can get that lady to invent something for us so we can hang out with you up in your time.”

  “I’ll see what I can do. Meanwhile, good luck on the mission. I’ll let the group know that it’s in good hands.”

  Bill closed the door behind the two men, turned and addressed his grandson. “Well, Edmund, what do you think of our club?”

  “Nothing but fantastic! I wish I could stay for even longer periods of time.”

  “I have an idea. After this mission is finished why don’t you and I grab a beer back in the 1800s?”

  “”Now that sounds great, Bill. I’m going to hold you to it.” He looked at the grandfather’s clock and added, “Right now, it’s time for me to get back.”

  Bill gave him a hug, “Edmund stop by anytime you want.” He opened the time portal door and said, “You don’t need a mission to stop by and visit your grandpa.”

  Edmund smiled as he went out the door and up to 2070.

  After a late breakfast, Bill sat behind his 1870 mahogany Victorian Partner’s desk, his Mac laptop open as he read up on the World War One Battle of Caporetto. An hour later there was a tap on the door at the rear of the den before it opened and Matt entered with Samson.

  “I took Samson for a stroll in Brooklyn’s Prospect Park, sir. I went back to August of 1956 and picked up a few of those buns that you enjoy so much, the hot crossed buns.”

  Bill’s eyes opened wide as Matt handed him a small white bag containing five, hot crossed buns. “Oh, Matt, you are the best!”

  “There would have been six, but Samson sat and begged so well that I felt he should be rewarded with one.” He removed the beagle’s leash and as he hung it on the bedroom’s doorknob said, “Mister Perna should be here in fifteen minutes so I took the liberty of setting up lunch in the alcove, sir.”

  Just then the bell sounded and Matt left the den as Bill closed the laptop and followed him.

  Rocko was all smiles as he pumped Bill’s hand. “I got it, Bill, I got the mission all planned out.”

  “Great, let’s have some lunch.”

  They sat in the alcove that faced downtown Manhattan and Brooklyn. The slight rattle of the tall windows told Bill that it was a windy day and the cold was one of the reasons that Matt decided to go back to a warmer day for a walk with the dog.

  Matt entered the room with a silver tray of cold cuts of meat, cheese and tuna fish along with soft rolls, white and rye bread. Mustard, butter and mayonnaise were centered on the round table.

  “Mister Perna, as I had your clothing sizes from your last mission, I took the liberty of setting up a suitcase of clothing for your trip, except your main outfit. If you tell me what you need I shall provide it for you.”

  Rocko was making a tuna and cheese sandwich on rye bread as he nodded and said both to Bill and Matt, “I’ll be needing an American Army uniform. My rank will be captain and I’ll be going to the Foggia Air Base on a morale tour.”

  Bill nodded, “A morale tour? Was there such a tour?”

  Rocko shrugged his wide shoulders, took a bite of his sandwich and said as he chewed, “Don’t know. In fact if there was one, it makes my entering the base easier and if there wasn’t one, the base commander would go along with it as he’ll probably act as though it was normal to be visited by an officer in charge of morale.”

  “So,” asked Bill, “once you’re on the base, what’s next?”

  “Don’t know again, but at least I’ll be present when the bomber takes off so hopefully I’ll be able to stop it.”

  Matt left the alcove as the two men chatted and returned forty-five minutes later. He carried a brown leather suitcase stamped Captain Rocko Perna U.S. Army. Although the case was brand new, it was treated to look as though it had seen many missions in an Army transport.

  “Sirs,” Matt said as he placed it on a hassock, “may I take a moment to show you the clothing for Mister Perna?”

  “Please,” said Bill, “go ahead, Matt.”

  Matt nodded and placed the clothes on another hassock as he said, “Six sleeveless t-shirts, six pairs of underpants, ten pairs of brown socks, three U.S. Army uniforms along with shirts, two ties, two belts, each with a secret money compartment, one pair of brown low-cut shoes and one pair of high boots with thick exercise socks. A brown wool scarf and knitted cap and one tin of brass cleaner and a brass pin depicting two crossed flags over a torch, which means you are attached to the Signal Corps. A set of dog tags with your personal information etched on them and a 1911, .45 caliber pistol and holster and a Sam Brown belt.” He held up a long winter coat and said, “This winter coat is cut exactly as the original ones were in 1917, however, you will find it to be half as heavy as the originals were. Lastly, a box of Cuban cigars for you’re your enjoyment or bribes. Did you bring a toothbrush and toiletries?”

  Rocko opened a small leather pouch and presented a toothbrush, tooth paste, a cake of shaving soap and a folded straight edge, shaving blade.

  Matt packed them away then took a wallet from his inside vest pocket and opened it to reveal money as he said, “Two thousand dollars in various denominations. A round trip ticket aboard the Italian liner, Principessa Mafalda that leaves Pier 28 in Manhattan on December 15, 1917 at ten o’clock in the morning. She’ll cross the Atlantic in fourteen days and dock at Naples where you take the Rapido Railway to Lucera and from there you hop a motorcar to Foggia airbase where you report to Major William Ord Ryan. He handed Rocko the hairbrush with the communication device hidden in it. Although Rocko was familiar with it, he pressed down on the wooden handle as he twisted it and it popped open to reveal a small keyboard and screen. He looked up and smiled, “Great.”

  “Bill nodded, “Have you thought of your pitch to Major Ryan?”

  “Yep! I’m going to tell him that I was sent by the top brass in Washington to see if the men’s morale is up and if not, why.” He looked at Bill and asked, “What if the Major contacts Washington to check up on me?”

  Bill shook his head and answered, “First of all, he has no reason to think that you’re not on the up-and-up. Second: communications back then were so slow that you’ll be gone by the time someone decides that you were a phony and third, he’ll never let anyone o
f authority know that he had an unknown on his base for a few days.”

  “That’s pretty much the same way I figured it too.”

  Bill continued, “According to the people uptime, their computers say that the bomber bombed the palace at one o’clock in the morning of December 30, 1917 so if you leave on December 15 you should dock on December 28. Once in Naples you catch the Rapido Railway and you should arrive in Lucera in three hours. There is a small food outlet there and they make trips twice a day to the Foggia airbase so hopefully you can get a lift.”

  “Well, I’m ready to go.”

  Bill shrugged his shoulders and with a nod said, “Well, Rocko, it’s your call. If you feel up to it, by all means go for it.”

  Rocko picked up one of the uniforms and Matt took him to the dressing room as Bill poured himself another cup of coffee. Twenty minutes later Rocko entered the room with an alcove.

  “What do you think, guys?” he asked Bill and Matt.

  He stood in the brown uniform of the U.S. Army of 1917. The jacket had a high, stiff collar from which a small bit of white shirt collar could be seen. Two pockets at his breast and two more at the jacket’s bottom were buttoned with highly polished brass buttons. The uniform’s pants were jodhpurs that ballooned out at the thighs then slimed down to be worn inside of his high brown boots. His Sam Brown belt was buckled in the front and had a strap that went from the left of the buckle, up and around his shoulder by way of going through his shoulder epaulette. A set of brass captain’s bars was on his shoulder epaulettes. On his head was the peaked round dress hat with a brass eagle in a wreath fastened to the front peak. In his hands, Rocko held a pair of brown leather gloves and over his arm was the long coat.

  “Wow! You are ready!” quipped Bill.

  “Yep,” Rocko said as he picked up the suitcase, “Lead the way.”

  Bill walked him to the door and asked, “What time of the day do you want to go back to?”

  “Well, the Principessa Mafalda leaves Pier 28, which is on 28th Street, at ten o’clock in the morning and it takes about twenty minutes to get there by cab so I’d say make the time eight-thirty. I know there’s a cab stand at the corner so I’ll be on my way with plenty of time.”

  “Want me to walk you there?” asked Bill.

  “Naw. Thanks anyway but the sooner I’m back in time with just my thoughts, the better.”

  Bill set the Time Frequency Modulator for December 15, 1917 @ 8:30 a.m., opened the door and stepped out onto the landing with Rocko following. Bill led the way down the red-bricked stairwell. The only sounds were their footfalls on the stone stairs and the hissing of the gas lamps that lined the stairwell. Once at the bottom he opened the large, heavy security door. He held it for Rocko who followed him into the garden.

  DATELINE: DECEMBER 15, 1917 PLACE: THE 1800 CLUB’S GARDEN, NEW YORK CITY

  A cold wind whistled through the garden, which was cut back for the winter. Here and there were spots of ice and snow from a storm that had passed through New York City ten days earlier. Rocko put the suitcase down and quickly donned the long winter coat. Bill led the way and once at the tall iron-gate that denoted the end of the club’s property, opened it. He faced his friend and put out his hand. Rocko gripped it and they shook hands as Bill said, “Good luck, Rocko. If you need me just send a text message. But remember, it will take me just as long to reach you as it took you to get there.”

  “I know, Bill, and thanks for giving me this mission.”

  Bill slapped Rocko on his back, “Rocko Perna, you are the best man for this one. Go and make it happen but have some fun too.”

  Rocko smiled and said, “I will. I promise you, I will.” He stepped out onto the streets of New York City, 1917 and Bill watched as he walked down to the corner of the block, and turn left, out of sight.

  Rocko was thrilled to be back in old New York City. He had made a few trips back and felt at ease walking the streets. He passed groups of men on their way to work and most who saw him tipped their hat out of respect for the uniform, especially since there was a war on.

  Once at the corner he spotted a line of tall, boxy, taxicabs parked alongside the high curb. What looked like steam enveloping the five cabs actually was their hot exhausts meeting the cold air and forming a fog around them. Seeing no drivers, he peeked into the first cab and saw the driver shivering beneath a thick horse blanket. The man saw him and rolled down the side window.

  “Need a cab, bud?”

  “Yes. I’d like to go down to the 28th Street pier. You open?”

  “Yes sir. Hop in.” The cabby sat up straight, leaving the blanket over his legs, “Flag up or flag down? Ain’t no police around today.”

  Rocko grinned as he interpreted what the driver had said, ‘If the meter’s flag is up, the passenger pays what the meter reads at the end of the trip. Of course leaving the flag up meant the cabby had to share his fare with the company after they read the meter and learned how many trips he had that day. However, if the flag was left down, that meant the owner couldn’t tell how many fares the cabby had that day so the driver keeps it all. And if it is left down the cabby and the passenger had to decide on the fare and should a policeman see a cab driving by with a passenger in the rear and no flag up, they get a ticket for breaking the law. So the cabby was willing to gamble that today the police were slouched down in their cars and not looking at taxicabs going by.

  Rocko loved helping out the little guy and asked, “Flag down is fine with me, but what’s the price?”

  “Flag down is two bucks. If the flag stays up it’ll probably come to three bucks.”

  “Flag down is good for me, and I’ll tell you what: just in case the police are looking, I’ll sit low in the seat and it’ll look like you’re cruising for a fare. Okay?”

  The man turned and with a big smile answered, “Okay, pal!” He pulled away from the curb as Rocko lay back on the hard, horsehair-filled seats. He tried to get a glimpse of the streets but the windows were frosted over. That explains the blanket, he thought as he said to the driver who was constantly wiping the inside of the windshield, “Don’t they have a heater in here?”

  Once again the driver turned and said as he shook his head, “They do, but it hardly does anything.” He picked up his blanket and said as he showed it to Rocko, “Let me tell you something, my friend, I miss my horse! She was reliable and surefooted while this beast slips and slides along the road.” He shook his head and went on, “This was her blanket and I’m glad they didn’t take this away too.”

  Rocko pulled his long coat tighter and thought, Thank you, Matt.

  In slightly less than twenty minutes they pulled up to the dock and Rocko passed the driver a five-dollar bill. “Keep the change, my friend.”

  The man was all smiles as he hustled to open the door for him. Rocko went to a long wooden shed, which acted as a windbreak along the cold wide-open dock. Inside he grinned at the sight of at least one dozen steel trash barrels with a fire burning in each one as passengers and dockworkers gathered around them. Rocko went to a small wooden room set on cinder blocks to keep it up and off of the cold pier. He opened the door and spotted three men sitting in another room facing out behind an open window. Each man had a blanket wrapped around him and he went to the one with the typewriter.

  “Can I help you, soldier?” said the man as he put on a pair of glasses.

  Rocko passed him his ticket and said, “I’m supposed to travel aboard the Principessa Mafalda.”

  “Ahhh, Naples,” the man said. “Sunny Naples.”

  “Have you ever been there?” Rocko asked.

  “No, I just know that it has to be warmer there than it is here.” He stamped the ticket, passed him a stub and said as he pointed to the right, “Go out this door and go right. Halfway down the dock you’ll see a gangway, go up it and you’re on your way to sunny Italy.”

  Rocko followed the instructions and as he passed the trash barrels of fire he noticed another ship across from the Principe
ssa Mafalda. Now he realized the passengers warming themselves were slowly entering that ship and not the Principessa Mafalda. He went quickly up the gangway, first to get out of the cold and second because he felt the gangway shift slightly. Once aboard there was no one to greet him. He shrugged his shoulders and walked the internal deck in search of his cabin, 157. He walked down a long corridor with room numbers stating that he was on level three. Finally, he spotted an elderly man carrying a mop and pail.

  Rocko stopped and the man stopped and tilted his head in greetings.

  “Sir, Can you tell me where cabin 157 is?”

  The man shrugged his shoulders and said, “Mi dispiace, Signore, non capisco inglese.” (“I'm sorry, sir, I don't understand English.”)

  Rocko hesitated momentarily and then with a big smile said,

  “Buona giornata. Mi puoi dire dove è la cabina 157?”

  The man smiled and shook his head, yes, “Ah, certo. Due ponti fino verso l'avanti, Signore.” (“Ah, sure. Two decks up towards the front, sir.”)

  Rocko smiled and bowed slightly, grabbed his suitcase and followed the man’s instructions. Funny, he thought as he opened his cabin’s door, on the way up here I saw only workers, not passengers.

  He opened the cabin door and was shocked by the opulence. The door opened to a short hallway with a door to the right, which was a closet and right across from that was the washroom. A wall-to-wall thick dark brown rug covered the floor. After walking out of the hallway, Rocko entered the main room. First came a large, high bed with mahogany rails to keep one in bed if the seas were rough. Next to the bed was a six-drawer dresser with a mirror over it. Standing at the foot of the bed, Rocko faced two porthole type windows on the far wall, with light brown drapes that reached the floor. To the left of the bed was a writing desk with a cane chair tucked under it. Writing paper, ink and a blotter were on the desk along with a color brochure of places that the ship visits. A 12-inch high, white, wooden molding ran around the foot of the walls which were covered with wallpaper depicting white and blue flowers with cherubs looking down at the bed as they played flutes, harps and other musical instruments as others tossed down petals from a handful of flowers.