by Alexa Kang
"I own it!" A proud smile came on his face. "It was a dream for my wife and I to have all the little kids in the neighborhood come every day after school. Those little ones are so adorable. They're always so eager to find out the surprise topping of the day."
From the way Darnell smiled, Anthony could almost see him behind the ice cream counter, scooping ice cream into cones to serve to neighborhood kids while indulging them with extra toppings and his hearty kindness. The image of Darnell, in a pink and yellow outfit in his ice cream shop full of children, was not one he could easily reconcile with the Jim Darnell in full army uniform, carrying guns and military gear and charged to kill.
After picking up his mail, Anthony went to the USO canteen. Although it was mid-afternoon and the canteen was half empty, he nonetheless chose an inconspicuous table in the corner so he could be alone to enjoy his coffee and to read one of the new books his parents had sent him. Small pleasures such as a quiet afternoon reading by himself were something he had learned to appreciate after months of army life. He was about to finish the first chapter when someone interrupted him.
"Is that The Lady or the Tiger?"
Anthony put down his book. A young man with raven dark hair stood before him. They looked about the same age. He, too, wore the gold stripe of a second lieutenant, except he also wore a white band with a red cross around the sleeve.
"Yes," Anthony said. "My parents sent it."
"You like folk tales?" Uninvited, the medic took a seat.
"I do." Anthony flipped the book over. The cover showed a conflicted young man standing before two doors in an ancient Roman arena. Behind one door was a maiden selected to be his bride. Behind the other, a fierce, hungry tiger awaited. As punishment for falling in love with the daughter of a barbaric king, the young man must choose which door to open. His fate depended on the princess, the beautiful girl shown above the arena whose finger pointed to the right. Would the princess send him into the arms of another woman or to his death?
"I do like folk tales," Anthony said. "Mythologies too."
The medic picked up the book and thumbed through the pages. "You know what the problem is when people read this story? They read it from the lover's perspective. It poses the question like he had a choice, but all he really had was a game of chance. Maybe the princess was a lovesick idiot or maybe she was a jealous viper. Whatever. In the end, his situation remained the same. His decision wouldn't change what was behind either door, so whether he believed the princess or not, his chances were still fifty-fifty." He put the book down. "It's a boring story when you read it that way, like watching someone roll dice."
"What's your take then?" Anthony asked, curious. It had been months since anyone had engaged him in a stimulating conversation about literature. Not since he left Chicago.
"My take? I'd rather approach it from the princess's perspective."
"The princess?"
"Yes. See, hers was not a game of chance. She could be the mastermind behind the scene. She held her lover's life in her hand. She held all the cards and she could decide the outcome. What do you think went through her mind when she was presented with her choices?"
"If I had to guess? She pointed him to the door with the tiger. The story implied she was consumed by jealousy."
The medic shook his head. "Too easy. What fun is there if she was nothing but a stereotypical jealous girl?"
"All right. What would you do then if you were the princess?"
"Me? I'd send him to the door with the maiden, of course."
"Because you love him?"
"Hell no!" The medic looked at Anthony as if it was the most ridiculous thing he had heard. "I don't do anything for love." He paused to make the point, then relaxed again. "But that would be a smarter choice than feeding her lover to the tiger."
"Why's that?"
"Because I'd arrange to kill the maiden when their wedding was over. The maiden would be dead before her wedding night began. She was the princess, right? Then she could easily arrange that."
"Kill the maiden? But the maiden was innocent!"
"Life's not fair, is it?" The medic answered without a beat. Anthony couldn't be sure if he was joking or not. Someone who could talk so freely about killing was a medic?
"So you see, the princess could have it both ways," the medic concluded. "Why kill her lover when she could kill the maiden? She could keep her lover alive without sending him to the maiden's marital bed. She could one-up everybody, including her father the king."
"Shrewd," Anthony said, "but you're wrong."
"I am?" The medic looked puzzled. "How so?"
"In your scenario, the princess assumed her lover would open the door she chose. What if he didn't?"
"You think he wouldn't trust her?"
"That could be. Or he really loved her. He might choose to die rather than be with another woman to prove his love to her."
The medic laughed in disbelief. "You got to be kidding!"
"Maybe. I'm still right and your scenario's flawed. The princess didn't hold all the cards. You have to factor in what her lover would do as part of the equation."
"Okay, you got me there," the medic conceded, then held out his hand. "Jesse Garland. I'm with the medical unit attached to your division."
Anthony shook his hand. "Anthony Ardley."
"I know. You're M Company's new second lieutenant. From Chicago, I hear."
"Yes," Anthony said. "Where are you from?"
"New York," Jesse said. "Gotham, if you like." He took out a pack of cigarettes and offered it to Anthony. Anthony declined. Jesse lit one for himself and inhaled. Anthony watched him in wonder. Unlike the army grunts and boors, Jesse had a very smooth way about him when he smoked. He took his time to light the cigarette. When he blew the smoke, he looked more like a movie star in a posh lounge than a serviceman in a military canteen.
"What were you doing before the army?" Anthony asked.
"Me?" Jesse said with a playful but dubious smile. "I was a professional fraud. I con people."
"You can't be serious."
"Ah! But that's just it. I am serious." Jesse said. "Sometimes the biggest lie you can tell is the truth. When the truth is so outrageous, no one would believe you. They would believe the exact opposite." He took another drag. "Enough about me. What did you do? Were you in school?"
"Close to graduation from university," Anthony admitted. "How'd you guess?"
"I'm good at reading people." Jesse glanced at Anthony's books on the table. "I haven't been in school since I was fifteen."
That surprised Anthony. With his polished manners and the sophisticated way he spoke, Jesse Garland did not look anything like a high school dropout. He could have easily fit in with the rest of the students at UC.
"What were you planning to do after you finished school?" Jesse asked. "I mean, if you weren't here."
"My parents wanted me to go into the family business."
"Really? What kind of business?"
"Real estate, trade, financial investments."
"Phew!" Jesse whistled. "I'm gonna have to hang around you more." His cigarette now finished, he put it out and got up. "Good meeting you, Ardley. I'll see you around."
Anthony watched him walk away. He would like a friend like Jesse Garland, someone with whom he could have discussions like the one they just had.
No sooner than Jesse was gone, Warren came up to him with a coffee in his hand. "I see you've met Jesse Garland."
"Yes. Interesting guy."
"He's interesting all right," Warren said.
Anthony caught a note of caution in his voice. "What do you mean by that?"
"He joined our division right before Sicily. When he came he was a sergeant on the field. Next thing I know, the powers on high made him a lieutenant. It's very unusual for a medic to be promoted to officer rank. You know why they did it? They found out he could get things. To make sure they could get things from him without violating the anti-fraternization rules, they mad
e him one of us."
"Get things? What kind of things?"
"Innocent things like socks, blankets, extra rations, food. And some not-so-benign things like booze, cigarettes, censored photos and magazines. Who knows? Whatever anyone needs."
"You mean Garland deals in the black market? Isn't that against the rules?"
"There's the rub. Garland doesn't take money for anything." Warren lowered his voice. "He trades favors, but never any favor for himself that would break any code. No one could ever get anything on him."
How intriguing. Anthony had never met anyone like that.
"I'd watch out if I were you," Warren joked. "If he's hitting you up, I betcha you got something he wants."
"What could he possibly want from me?"
"I don't know. I'm just saying." Warren finished his coffee. "You never know."
22
The ceremony to honor the nurse trainees who completed the Nurses Specialized Training Program was a low-key affair. The event included a few speeches and an official recognition of each of the trainees. All that suited Tessa fine. It saved her from having to explain to anyone why no one from her family attended. She still hadn't told anyone outside of the hospital she was on course to accept an assignment overseas. She was not ready to break the news to the Ardleys or her parents.
She still had not found any way to get assigned to the 3rd Division. She felt so silly now to have thought she could make this happen by sheer force of will.
Sitting alone on a bench in the hospital courtyard, she watched her fellow trainees and their families celebrate and roam about. It was now too late to back out. If she couldn't get the assignment she wanted, she would still have to deploy. But at least, her service overseas would be her own choice. She would be dealing with the war on her own terms. If she could not be with Anthony, she would still be doing the same thing he was doing.
That was all she could think of to console herself.
"Tessa," Sarah came over with her parents and a photographer in tow. "Won't you take a photo with me and my parents?"
Tessa smiled in agreement and the photographer took a snapshot.
"I'll tell the photographer to make a copy for you," Sarah said and insisted that Tessa join her and her parents at the luncheon reception that followed. On their way to the reception, Sarah pulled her aside. "Any response from anyone about your assignment?"
Tessa shook her head.
Sarah put her arm around Tessa's arm. "I've been thinking, why don't you try asking General Castile to help you?"
"You want me to ask General Castile?" That was preposterous. "That mean, full of himself, pompous…"
"He may be all that." Sarah didn't let her finish. "But you practically saved his son. Who knows what would have happened to Ron if it weren't for you? If you ask me, the general owes you a big favor."
"I don't know." Castile was the last person from whom Tessa wanted to plead for a favor. "I haven't exactly been respectful to him. I don't like him, and I don't think he likes me very much."
"He's still a general," Sarah said. "He can probably make things happen where others can't."
Tessa raised her head and looked ahead. Castile? Would she really have to go to Castile?
She lost all appetite for the luncheon reception.
23
The Allied forces were moving north.
For Anthony, the inevitable moment had arrived. Following Operation Avalanche, the joint mission by the British and the American forces in September in which the Allies overtook Salerno, Italy, the 3rd Infantry Division had been called to move north toward Naples to reinforce the British troops. Ready or not, the time had come for him to assume the role he was trained to perform.
Their convoy traveled up the rocky roads toward the village of Acerno, passing piles after piles of stones and rock fragments left by shell explosions and grenades. Abandoned military trucks were lined up on the side of the road, some knocked out by bombers, others still intact but out of gas. Rifles, helmets, and gear were scattered everywhere. All were remnants that reminded him of the brutal battles that had gone on before they arrived and the reality that awaited him ahead.
At the unit's mobile base that evening, Captain Harding convened the officers to plan for the takedown of a German command outpost fifteen miles north.
Standing among the officers in his company, the gold stripe on Anthony's shoulders felt to him more like a mockery of his inexperience than a symbol of his higher rank. Beck made no effort to hide his contempt for him. While Beck would not openly contradict him, his eye rolls and yawns whenever Anthony spoke to the soldiers in the unit disrupted his attempts to assert his authority. He could reprimand Beck, but fussing over an experienced noncom's indirect slights would only make him look insecure. He would be better off being above it. Besides, they had real enemies ahead. The company needed Beck and his expertise. He did not want to create animosity between him and the company's first sergeant.
It wasn't only Beck. Jonesy and Ollie were nice enough. They always deferred to him and showed him the respect owed to a ranking officer. Still, he could not feel truly in command. The noncoms knew he was green. When they showed him deference, it felt like they were humoring him. They were all putting up a show pretending that he knew better. Their respect was not real. The order of command was unfair. Even he felt it.
If he could not convince the people below him, he had an even tougher time convincing the person above him. Wesley had been observing his every move. The first lieutenant's constant watchful eye added a load of extra pressure on him not to make any mistake.
Only Harding seemed unconcerned whether he had what it took to lead their men. The captain was the only one who didn't make him feel like an outsider.
"How do you see this play out, Lieutenant?" Captain Harding asked Wesley.
Sharpe studied the aerial photos of the enemy's outpost. "I say we surround them. Send one platoon to the front entrance, attack and draw them out. When their defense is preoccupied, a second platoon goes around to the back. Split up. Two squads go to block the Germans from escaping from the back while another squad goes for their stockpile of weapons here." He pointed to a shack next to the outpost.
"All right," said the captain. "You and Beck will take a platoon to the back of the outpost. Ardley, you'll take a platoon to their front entrance for the direct attack."
Lead the front attack? Anthony looked up. The captain wanted him to take the riskiest and most important part of the mission?
"It's your time to shine." The captain said. He showed not a trace of doubt.
"Captain," Wesley said, "may I suggest either Sergeant Beck or I be the one to lead the attack to secure the front?"
Anthony threw Wesley a glance. The captain was giving him an opportunity to prove himself. He did not want Wesley to take it away.
Wesley ignored him. "The front platoon will be exposed. They can use more back up."
Anthony couldn't contradict him, but he did not need back up.
"No need." Harding looked at Anthony. "Lieutenant Ardley will do fine. Won't you, Lieutenant?"
"I will, sir," Anthony said. He did not want the captain to doubt him.
Noting Wesley's unease, Harding asked the sergeants. "Any of you want to back up Lieutenant Ardley?"
The sergeants eyed each other. "I will," Jonesy volunteered.
"Good. Sergeant Oliver will stay behind with the reserve unit." The captain gathered the intelligence reports on the table in front of him. "That'll be all, gentlemen. Get a good night's rest. You'll need it."
As they left, Anthony felt Wesley watching him again. The first lieutenant did not like the captain's arrangement. That was clear to him, but he wasn't happy with Wesley implying in front of everyone that he wasn't up to the job either. He didn't need a babysitter.
He could not fail tomorrow. He must show Wesley he was capable of this. He would not let their unit down. He would change Wesley's mind about him.
At 0400 hours, t
heir company convoy set off for the German outpost. As they got closer, Anthony could feel his body tensing up. He reminded himself to keep calm. He must stay calm and in control.
The vehicles stopped half a mile away from their destination. Keeping quiet, the company of men set out on foot toward their barely visible target under the still-dark sky.
"Showtime." Jonesy jumped out of the vehicle.
"Lieutenant," Beck said to Anthony. "Get ready for your baptism of blood." He smirked as Anthony watched him pass by and went ahead.
They came to the line where the enemy's outpost was within their view. Wesley stopped the unit and directed the officers to lead their troops into position. "Beck, take the men around that way to the back. Jonesy, go with him."
"What?" Jonesy asked.
"You heard me. Go."
Jonesy paused, then glanced at Anthony and walked away. Wesley pointed to Anthony. "Ardley, you're with me."
Confused, Anthony said, "But the captain said…"
"The captain's not here. Situation's changed. New rules." He stepped up and signaled their men to go forward. "Follow me," he said to Anthony.
Frustrated but having no choice, Anthony did as Wesley ordered. He could not understand. Wesley Sharpe had just sabotaged him.
They hopped down into a ditch canal and stepped over the body of a dead British soldier lying face down. What was he doing here? Anthony wondered. Was he on a reconnaissance mission? There was no way to know. A small notebook lay next to his body. The notebook's pages had been shredded by bullets, but the photo that had fallen out of it was still intact and he could see a woman holding a child. He turned away. Subconsciously, he touched his own pocket where he kept the photo of Tessa, the one he had asked her to send to him.
They moved closer until they reached a spot before where they must run through open land to the outpost's front door. A sliver of morning sunlight had broken over the horizon. Above them, pieces of human limbs hanging on the trees and body parts strewn across the field became visible. Feeling nauseous, Anthony winced and looked away.
