by Alexa Kang
The war was real now.
He glanced at Wesley. It no longer mattered who was leading the mission.
"Try to not get yourself killed in the next two hours," Wesley said to him. "If you can stay alive through this, chances are you'll live for the long haul."
Swallowing hard, Anthony tugged the cross hanging around his neck, more glad than ever that Tessa had sent it to him.
"Be careful when you run across," Wesley said. "There might be mines."
Right. The mines. He knew that. He had learned about this in training. But regardless, he was glad Wesley reminded him.
"We go ahead on my signal," Wesley told them.
In the next minute, everything turned into chaos. "Move! Move!" Anthony heard men shouting all around him. Gunfire rained down from every direction. Where were the shots coming from? When did the Germans realize they were here? A bullet flew past his temple. Just missed. Another barrage of bullets came. Machine gun bullets. The bullets showered down on them like a rapid hailstorm. He ran. Ran as fast as he could and ran for his life. Shells hit the ground around him, splashing up dirt that pelted against his leg. It hurt. Sweat drenched his back and his chest. His heart pounded and he was running out of breath. Needed to run faster. Needed to get to the wall of the outpost building where he could take cover.
A shell exploded somewhere to his left side, followed by screams. Some of his men running alongside him got hit. Maybe they all got hit. He couldn't tell. The stench of burnt hair and human flesh made him gag. He wrinkled his nose to fend off the smell. Behind him, someone howled. He turned his head. A medic ran toward a soldier lying on the ground. He continued running and stepped on a detached hand. His mind couldn't process the ghastly sight.
When he reached the side of the building, Wesley had already gone inside. Others followed and he hurried in with them.
Gunshots fired off inside the enemy outpost. He could hear Wesley shouting upstairs. The men who came in with him charged into room after room, searching out their enemies. In the midst of the confusion, Anthony saw the stairs leading to the basement. He went down with his rifle aiming ahead, ready to shoot.
He had just reached the bottom of the stairs when a German soldier jumped out from hiding. For a brief moment, maybe as short as a split second, they came face to face and their eyes met, their guns aimed pointedly at each other.
By instinct, Anthony pulled the trigger.
The bullet hit the German soldier in the chest. The force of the gunshot propelled his body backward and he slammed against the wall. Anthony pulled the trigger again. Again. And again. In fright, he kept firing just in case the man might still be alive. The German soldier's body slumped motionless on the floor. He didn't know how many times he had shot the man. When he stopped shooting, he took several deep breaths and tried to think.
He almost died.
The man lying motionless on the floor had meant to kill him.
He walked up to the dead body. Blood gushed out from bullet wounds and the stain spread on the soldier's uniform. He pushed the man's shoulder to make sure he was dead. The soft flesh of the dead man beneath his fingers surprised him. He almost forgot the body belonged to a human. What happened?
He just killed someone.
The thought made him sick. He turned away. He took one sweeping look of the empty basement and returned upstairs.
Above on the second floor, Wesley Sharpe had subdued the enemies stationed at the outpost. Jonesy had secured the back and led the squad in.
"Round them up and take them outside," Wesley told Jonesy and headed back downstairs. In German, Jonesy ordered the captured men to walk outside.
"Jonesy speaks German?" Anthony asked Fox, who had caught up with Wesley while Anthony was down in the basement.
"Sergeant Jones's mother was a German immigrant," Fox said. "Crazy, isn't it? He's fighting his mother's native land." He looked at the four dead German soldiers on the floor. "Sergeant Jones didn't do this though. Lieutenant Sharpe did. He took down these men by himself."
Anthony dropped his shoulders. He could not have done this. He could hardly get over killing one enemy soldier in the basement.
"He caught those five Krauts who Sergeant Jones is marching out too." Fox swung his rifle across his shoulder. "One of them's a German major. The captain's going to be pleased. Command will have an intel party tonight."
Before leaving with Fox, Anthony took one more look at the dead German men. No. He could not have done this. Wesley made the correct call to take over.
Outside, Beck and Jonesy had rounded up more German soldiers by the shack where the Germans kept their stockpile of arms. Beck was giving Wesley an update and Anthony was about to join them when he noticed one of their own men lying in the weeds. He ran over to him. The injured soldier had been shot in the chest.
"Medic! Medic!" he shouted and kneeled down next to the soldier. The soldier made no sound and his body was convulsing. Anthony pressed his hands on top of the soldier's wound to try to stop the bleeding.
"He's in shock," Jesse said. He had heard Anthony's call for help. "Give him some water!" He told Anthony as he tore open the soldier's uniform and spattered sulfa on his wound. "I said give him water!" Jesse shouted, jerking Anthony out of his stupor. Anthony opened his canteen and put it next to the soldier's lips. The soldier swallowed the water, gasping between gulps.
"You'll be all right." Jesse said to the soldier while he patched him up as best as he could. "Stay with me, okay? Stay with me." He inserted a needle in the soldier's arm and gave him plasma. "Get a truck here," he said to Anthony. "We have to get him to the hospital."
Anthony got up and ran to call for help.
Back at the base, Anthony sat alone and watched the sun climb the high noon sky. The trees and fields looked normal like it was any other day. Everything was clear and illuminated, but his own mind was a blur. He could not remember what happened before he got into the vehicle after their mission was over. He remembered telling a communications sergeant to call for a vehicle for Jesse and the injured soldier. He recalled riding back in the military vehicle and the unit breaking into an impromptu celebration for a mission accomplished. Liquor found at the German outpost was passed around and everyone toasted to everything both worthy and ridiculous. Other than that, he couldn't remember what else had happened. He felt numb.
Wesley came over and sat down next to him. "Do you know why Harding sent you to lead the platoon to initiate the attack?"
Anthony didn't answer. He had no idea. After what he saw today, he didn't know why the captain would task him with leading the assault. Someone with more experience should have led the mission.
"You see all those men over there?" Wesley glanced at the men in their company still drinking and celebrating. "They're all battle-tested. Jones, Ollie, even Fox. Some of them, like Beck, they've been fighting this war for more than two years. They've got experience. The captain wouldn't risk losing them if he didn't have to."
Anthony frowned. What was Wesley saying?
"Better to send the least valuable ones out to take the first hits. The ones with no experience have the least to contribute. That was why half the platoon he sent to attack the front was made up of replacements. You included. Didn't you notice?"
Anthony's heart sank.
"The replacements," Wesley looked at him, "they make good human shields."
A human shield. He felt ill.
"Don't take it personally," Wesley said. "It's purely a strategic decision. Every other captain is doing the same thing. Besides, most rookies like it that way, trying to prove they're tough and to fit in."
Scowling, Anthony stared straight ahead.
"There was always a chance you would make it out okay."
Perhaps. Probably not. "Thank you then, for changing the plan and looking out for me." He felt completely used.
"Don't thank me. I wasn't trying to save you. I might've done the same thing if I were the captain and I had a more favorable set
of circumstances to work with."
Anthony didn't know what he meant.
"The men in this company need people who will look out for them. If something should happen to me, someone else will need to take charge and do what needs to be done, or a lot of them are going to die. We've lost three second lieutenants this year already. All of them wasted. All of them KIA." He looked Anthony in the eyes. "We don't have the luxury to keep filling the position with inexperienced junior officers, especially not when someone who can excel at the job comes along."
Did Wesley just say he could excel at the job? Wesley valued him but the captain didn't? He felt all confused. "What about the captain? Isn't he in charge?"
Before Wesley could answer, a jeep pulled up the road. A major and his lieutenant got out and Harding went to greet them. Their unit had won another fight and both the major and the captain could bask in the glory of having their mission accomplished.
"The captain has his own agenda," Wesley said. "Whatever he has in mind, it's now up to you and me to get everyone through this. For that reason alone, I've got your back. In the meantime, you need to step up your game and figure out how this outfit really works and do it fast. Figure out how to get our men behind you. You can't command them if they don't trust you."
With that said, Wesley got up and walked away. Anthony lowered his head. His hands were still covered with the dried blood of the injured soldier earlier. The bloodstains had smeared all over his uniform.
He opened his bloodstained hands. It could easily have been his own blood.
The baptism of blood.
VII
Part Seven - Goodbye Chicago
24
On the day of Ron Castile's discharge from the hospital, Alexander brought along the puppy with the droopy eyes. "This is Snowball." Tessa took the leash from Alexander and handed it to Ron. "Snowball will keep you company when I'm not there."
Ron broke into a smile as he bent down to pet the puppy. Wagging its tail, the puppy licked his face. "Thank you, Tessa," Ron said. "Thank you for everything."
"Don't mention it," Tessa said. "Come on, let's get you home." She waved goodbye to Alexander and walked Ron from the courtyard to the exit for the patients' loading zone. There, his parents stood waiting by their car.
"Ronnie," Mrs. Castile cried out and embraced him the minute she saw him.
"Mother," Ron put his arms around her. Wary, he said to Frank Castile, "Father."
Frank Castile put his thick arms around his son. "Welcome home, son."
Ron smiled, obviously relieved. Before they left, Mrs. Castile turned to Tessa. "Miss Graham. You must be the nurse I've heard so much about." She took Tessa's hand. "Thank you for helping Ronnie."
"It was my duty, Ma'am. We are all very happy for his recovery."
"Would you come to our house for dinner tonight?" Mrs. Castile asked, still holding Tessa's hand. "We're having a special dinner to celebrate Ron's homecoming, and I won't take no for an answer."
Tessa looked at Frank Castile. For once, he actually smiled.
"Please come, Tessa," Ron said. "I'd love to be able to thank you for everything you've done."
Ron looked so hopeful, she didn't want to disappoint him. "Thank you, Mrs. Castile. I'll be there."
The Castiles took their son away. Heading back into the hospital, Tessa wondered how she would survive dinner with Frank Castile. What could she possibly talk to him about?
On the other hand, in the back of her mind, she couldn't stop thinking about what Sarah had said.
He's still a general. He can probably make things happen where others can't.
Could she ask Frank Castile for help? Or would he scold her? Would such a request backfire and invite his scorn for asking for special treatment?
Dinner at the Castiles was more relaxed than Tessa had expected. Surprisingly, the Castiles had a younger son, Allen, who was not in the military but was attending school at Loyola University. Tessa wondered how Frank Castile could have allowed one of his sons to not be in the service.
At the table, Mrs. Castile and Allen carried the conversations, updating Ron on things that had happened and news about their friends and relatives while Ron had been away. Ron looked happy to be home. In between the family news, Mrs. Castile asked Tessa about her work and her family. No one mentioned anything about the war or Ron's time in the marines. Tessa guessed they didn't want to remind Ron in case that might upset him.
Frank Castile didn't say much and he rarely cracked a smile. Yet, his steely exterior had softened. His eyes glowed with affection whenever he looked at his wife. His normally wooden face seemed milder and his posture less stiff and overbearing.
"Frank," Mrs. Castile said while passing a plate of vegetables. "Aunt Estelle wants to come over tomorrow. Would you pick her up and drive her over for lunch?"
"Dear, can she come after I leave?" he asked, a bit exasperated. "I'm heading back to Washington the day after tomorrow."
"Frank!" Mrs. Castile said, seemingly oblivious to the effect Frank Castile had on other people. "She wants to see Ronnie. We shouldn't make her wait."
"All that woman does is whine and gossip."
"Now you be nice. She's an old lady. We must show her proper respect."
"I can't sit through lunch with her."
"You can and you will."
Tessa held her smile. How could it be? This lovely, petite woman was giving the fearsome General Castile orders.
"You can pick her up at her house at eleven-thirty tomorrow," Mrs. Castile said. "We'll have a nice family lunch together. All of us."
"All right, dear. If that's what you want."
Tessa couldn't believe what she heard, but the general wasn't taking an order. This was his way of indulging his wife. From the doting way he looked at Mrs. Castile, he clearly adored her. Tessa never would have thought Frank Castile had this softer side to him.
Could she really approach him for help?
At this point, what had she got to lose? When dinner was over, she asked to speak privately to him and he invited her to his study.
Frank Castile's office was like an extension of the man. From the dark wood colors and the rich, brown carpet, the room felt heavy and serious. No clutter could be seen anywhere. All the furniture was arranged in practical order with every personal item neatly organized and displayed. Only the soft lighting emanating from the lamps saved the room from feeling cold and sterile.
"My sons." Frank Castile picked up a photo displayed on his desk and showed Tessa. In it, three boys had come off the basketball court. Tessa recognized the one in the middle as Ron and the one on the left to be Allen Castile. Ron was still a teenager in the photo.
Frank Castile took a seat at his desk and motioned to her to sit down. "You know Ron. You've met Allen. The other one is Patrick. He's the oldest."
Tessa sat down across from him and put the photo back on the desk. Castile looked at the photo. His eyes beamed with pride. "We're a military family. I served in the Great War. Patrick is in the Air Force. He's based in the Pacific now. Allen has acute asthma and is disqualified from joining. Most people would be glad to have any excuse to get out of the draft, but not Allen. There is no one he looks up to more than his two older brothers. It hasn't been easy for him not being able to follow in their footsteps."
Tessa listened. She had always thought she irritated the general as much as he annoyed her. She didn't expect him to talk to her about his own family.
He picked up the photo again. "Of the three, Ron is the strongest and smartest. Only the toughest men can make it through to the Marines. Ron passed all the requirements with flying colors. My wife and I always expected him to do great things. We knew he would face risks and dangers at war, but the worst we ever expected was that he would die a hero." He put down the photo and looked at Tessa. "So you can see how heartbreaking this whole experience has been for me and my wife. When I saw the film you showed me, it was devastating to see what had become of him."
"He's much better now, sir," Tessa said. "He's still a tough and intelligent man. That's why he is recovering so fast. And I find him to be very kind. He'll continue to get better."
"You deserve a lot of credit, Graham. Not just for your work in treating him, but in going above and beyond to fight for him and stand up for him. You've shown a lot of courage. I like that. If you were a man, I would recruit you to join the army in an instant. If I had a daughter, I would want her to be like you."
His compliment surprised her. She had no idea he thought so positively of her.
"What is it you want to talk to me about?" he asked. "Is it something about Ron?"
"No, sir. It's something about me." He waited for her to explain. She felt awkward and unsure how to start. "I completed my nurses' training two weeks ago."
"Congratulations. Well done."
"I've chosen to volunteer for service overseas."
"I'm glad to hear that." His response was just as she expected.
"There is just one thing." She mustered all her nerves. "I want to be assigned to a medical unit attached to the Sixth Army Corps. I want to ask you to arrange and authorize my assignment."
"That's an odd request," Castile said. "What is your reason for asking?"
Too embarrassed to tell him the truth, she thought of the time when she made this same request to Dr. Donovan several months ago. "My friend Ellie Swanson is with the 33rd Field Hospital attached to the Sixth Army Corps. I worked with her when she was a nurse trainee. I want to work with her again."
Castile sat stone-faced. His piercing stare made her exceedingly uncomfortable and she felt compelled to explain herself further. "I have a family member serving in the Sixth Army Corps."
The general remained disturbingly quiet. The look of disapproval on his face did not bode well. She wondered if this was a mistake after all. Maybe she never should have broached the subject with him. Nervous, she locked her fingers on her lap.
