The Comic Book War: The Comic Book War

by Jacqueline Guest

  “What’s this all about? Something happened to George I don’t know about?” He sat back in his chair.

  “No, sir. George is fine. It’s my other brother, Patrick. He’s with the Loyal Edmonton Regiment at Ortona.”

  The squadron leader sat up. “The Eddies have been hit hard. If your brother is with them, he’s earning his paycheque for sure.”

  Robert plunged on. “Sir, I need your help. We received a telegram saying Patrick’s missing in action. I know what everyone thinks, but he’s alive, I’m sure of it. He’s being held hostage by the Nazis, in a castle somewhere near Ortona. I need to convince the army to send a reconnaissance patrol to find him and bring him home. You were so kind and helpful when George went down in France, I’m hoping we can work together to save Patrick.”

  Robert paused to watch the squadron leader for any hint of disbelief, but the guy had a poker face. “There can’t be many castles around, which means it should be possible. His life depends on it. Once they figure out he doesn’t have any sensitive information, they’ll send him to a POW camp or kill him.”

  “How do you know all this, Robert?” The squadron leader asked calmly.

  Here Robert hesitated. He knew how this was going to sound. “I kind of have a pipeline of information about my brothers. It’s hard to believe, so please, hear me out.” He explained about the comic books and how they foretold what was happening overseas. He talked about how Ice had mirrored George and took out his copy of The Maple Leaf Kid to show the squadron leader. Once he was done, he sat back and waited.

  The officer wasn’t convinced. Robert could see he had lost credibility and along with it, his one hope of saving Patrick.

  “I know how this sounds, sir,” Charlie jumped in. “But I’ve seen and heard a lot about this and maybe there is something going on here. Has anything ever happened to you that couldn’t be explained and seemed completely irrational, but turned out to be true? Rob’s cosmic connection is like that. I believe him, Squadron Leader Aberdeen, and his brother’s life depends on you taking a leap of faith.”

  There was a long silence, with only the ticking of a clock to mark the painful passage of time. Finally the battle-hardened pilot spoke.

  “Comic book heroes who take care of your brothers? Even if I believe you, no one else will. It’s Christmas Eve, why don’t you leave it with me and I’ll see what I can do.” He stood up. “I can’t promise anything, however, I’ll make some inquiries. I will tell you this – no one wants to leave a man behind.”

  “This is a great start. Thank you, sir.” Robert patted the pendant tucked under his shirt. He knew this was the best he could hope for and at least the machine was in motion.

  They rode away in high spirits. Robert had faith there would be positive results before long. He stole a glance at Charlie. “That was something, what you did back there. Stepping up to the plate, I mean.”

  A sliver of a smile appeared on her face. “It’s not often I find someone who’s crazier than me and now it’s official. You’re on record to the military about believing in this, this...”

  “Comic book war,” Robert filled in. “And I’ll put my superheroes up against Hitler any day.”

  “I’ll take Jimmy Stewart, Cary Grant or Humphrey Bogart,” Charlie said, listing her favourite actors. “Those are heroes worth my money.”

  From her voice, he knew these Hollywood stars were important. She’d mentioned movies a couple of times as they waited for deliveries, and Robert understood what they meant to her. He escaped into his comic books to keep sane and he suspected she did the same thing with movies. He had an idea. “So are you doing anything this afternoon? Maybe your family does something special on Christmas Eve?”

  She snorted. “You mean besides getting drunk as a pack of thirsty skunks? Nope, can’t say my dance card is filled.”

  “You want to go see Bogart’s movie Casablanca, with me? It’s playing at the Grand.” Then he felt stupid for asking – what if she thought it was a date? “Um, you see, I don’t want to go home right now and I bet you don’t either.”

  She slid a sidelong glance at him. “You buy the popcorn?”

  He pretended to think about this. “Yeah, I suppose.”

  “You’ve got a deal, Wonder Weed.”

  Then he remembered. They both had to work. “I forgot. We have to deliver those wonderful three-cent telegrams.”

  “Nope. I called Mr. Crabtree and explained everything, and he said under the circumstances, we could have the day off with his blessing. He’s going to borrow a couple of boys from another office for the day. I’d say that’s sweet as sugar without the flies.”

  _____

  They spent the afternoon watching the film, and Robert had to admit that Humphrey Bogart as Rick, the American nightclub owner in Nazi-ridden Casablanca, was great. When they left the theatre, Robert snuck a peek at Charlie. She was happy and sappy all at the same time.

  “Wasn’t it divine? Isn’t Bogey dreamy?” she sighed.

  Robert almost laughed. He wasn’t used to seeing Charlie like this. She sounded like some starstruck teenager, which, he guessed she was. “It was okay,” he said casually.

  “Are you kidding? Casablanca is brilliant! Besides, I saw your eyeballs glued to the silver screen, so don’t try to blow it off as some third-rate flick, Wonder Weed.”

  He remembered how long ago, he’d been upset at his nickname. Now he liked it. She was the only one who called him that. “Okay, I admit, I liked how Rick fought the Nazis in his own way, and did the right thing, even if it meant giving up Ilsa.”

  “Me, too,” Charlie agreed. “And I loved the scene in the bar where Ilsa asks Sam the piano player for As Time Goes By. It really got to me.” She looked wistful. “Say, I’ve never heard of Ingrid Bergman, have you?”

  “She’s from Sweden.” He liked showing off his insider knowledge to her, even if he had only found out from the girl behind the candy counter when he’d bought the popcorn.

  Charlie was bubbling now. “My favourite part was the way Rick said, ‘Here’s looking at you, kid,’ when he said goodbye to Ilsa. You could just tell what he really meant.”

  Robert was lost. He’d thought the line was catchy, but didn’t guess there was a hidden meaning. “Uh, it meant, ‘See ya, Ilsa, you Norwegian babe’.”

  She gave him an exasperated look. “He was telling her he loved her. He was still smitten.”

  “Smitten?”

  She bumped him with her shoulder. “You know, head over heels.”

  “Oh. Smitten.”

  They walked on together in companionable silence.

  He had to admit, Casablanca was a really great movie, especially the ending. Rick shoots the Nazi creep, Strasser, then sends Ilsa and her husband to safety, even though he really wants her to stay with him. In the closing scene, Captain Renault – the French cop – and Rick are walking into the fog and Rick says, “Louie, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.” It was the best last line of any movie he had ever seen in his entire life.

  He wondered if this was the beginning of a beautiful friendship between him and Crazy Charlie Donnelly. She’d stuck beside him and hadn’t bailed out when things got tough. He liked that. He also understood her better her now, and it only made him like her more.

  Too soon, they arrived at their bikes.

  “I’ve got to finish my Christmas shopping on the way home,” he admitted.

  “Nothing like leaving it to the last minute.” Charlie laughed. “Christmas shopping for my dear parents is easy. I buy a bottle of rye from a bootlegger, stick a bow on it and call it done.”

  Robert didn’t comment as Charlie pulled on her mitts.

  He waited until she was ready to leave, then Robert turned to his friend. “Have a good Christmas, or as good as you can, Charlie. And if I don’t see you, remember...we’ll always have Paris.”

  Charlie laughed at his Bogart imitation.

  Smiling, Robert jumped on his bike and
pedaled away.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  HOMECOMING

  Christmas 1943 was an understandably sombre affair at the Tourond house. Robert’s mother tried to make it as normal as possible, which would have been hard to do at the best of times with three sons away from home, but now, with one of them waiting for rescue, it was verging on the impossible.

  Robert had bought his mother a bottle of Evening in Paris perfume. She loved the present and said she would keep the elegant blue bottle, even when the perfume was gone. For his father, he’d bought something unusual.

  “What’s this?” his dad asked, unwrapping the gift.

  Weeks ago, Robert had bought his father a new football so they could do something together, something father-and-son like. Now he wasn’t sure it was the right thing to have done. His dad had never seemed interested before.

  “I thought we could toss it around, once the weather warms up, you know, if you want.” Robert felt awkward, maybe because he and his father had never played catch or kicked a football, not just the two of them. He hoped there was still time.

  His father rolled the ball around, then threw it to his son. “I think that would be a good idea, a very good idea. Thanks, son. This might be one of the best presents I’ve ever had.”

  Robert chucked the ball back. “If the Chinook stays, we could try it out tomorrow.”

  “I’d better warn you, son, my spiral’s still got a heck of a punch.” His dad spun the end of the football on his finger tip.

  “We’ll see about that, old man...” His father scowled and Robert thought he’d gone too far, but then his dad chuckled.

  “Your old man may surprise you yet, kid.”

  That was one surprise Robert would look forward to.

  _____

  Over the next week, Robert confirmed that patience wasn’t his strong suit as he waited for news about Patrick. He convinced himself the aggravation would all be worth it when Squadron Leader Aberdeen showed up with his good news and the celebrating commenced. Every day, he walked into Mr. Crabtree’s office and one shake of the telegrapher’s head told him nothing had arrived there either.

  Robert wished his parents would believe him so they wouldn’t be put through the agony of waiting, fearing the worst. His mother was a basket case and his father not much better. Somehow, they did what Touronds do best – they soldiered on.

  “Did your other pen-and-ink heroes arrive with news no one knows yet?” Charlie asked as they walked into the office together after returning from a delivery run.

  “It’s a weird thing. Neither Sedna nor Ice have shown up. Even Mr. Kreller hasn’t any idea why.” Robert had put it down to wartime supplies always drying up – maybe the comic book printers had run out of ink or something. He wasn’t worried, at least not too much.

  Saturday was New Year’s Day and still there was no news about Patrick. Robert decided this was good. He was sure the army was scaling some tower wall at that very moment.

  The week before, he’d had another telegram delivery to the Polish businessman and had asked him what would be the right treat for New Year’s in Poland. The answer had been faworkowe róze, a delicious pastry. Then he’d cajoled his mother into making it for Mr. Glowinski as a surprise. Robert wanted 1944 to be a better year for his neighbour and hoped the tasty treat would be a good start.

  “This nice, Robcio. If my Marta here, she would be very happy and say thank you for kind thoughts and delicious present.” He shook Robert’s hand formally then accepted the gift . “Any words on your brother?”

  “Not yet. I’m sure news is going to come any day now.”

  “Tak, tak,” his neighbour agreed. “Good you come. I forgot to give you this before.” He passed Robert a folded piece of paper with Robcio scrawled across the front.

  Inside was the last fragment of his meteorite.

  “I thought you should have it, in case.”

  It was fashioned exactly like Robert’s original, fancy metal work and all, only smaller with a finer chain. “Thanks Mr. G. It’s a great back-up in case anything ever happens to mine.” He touched his pendant, reassuring himself it was safe. Even the thought of losing his star made him shiver.

  “Back-up...maybe.” The soft-spoken man smiled knowingly. “Come. We have tea and one of these delicious pastries, tak.”

  “Tak,” Robert agreed.

  He’d never been inside his neighbour’s house before. He took in the sparse furnishings. There were few luxuries, none in fact. Then Robert saw something that drew him closer. In pride of place on the mantle was a small, worn black-and-white photograph. He peered closely, but it was hard to see the image on the cracked surface.

  “That my family. I have picture with me when I escape. Only one.” Mr. G poured them tea.

  Robert realized he could never imagine what this man had lived through. It showed him you could overcome any tragedy, with a little help from your friends.

  “You had a beautiful family, Mr. G.”

  “We friends, Robcio. You call me Teddy. It short for Tadeusz.”

  Robert held up his mug of tea. “Here’s to a great 1944, Teddy.” They clinked cups and talked for a long while. Teddy told him about his engineering work and how busy he was with the fix-it shop and Robert explained about seeing Casablanca with Charlie and how much they both liked the movie. When he finally went home, he felt very good about his visit with his friend, Teddy Glowinski.

  _____

  It was nearing the end of the first full week of January when Robert stopped by Kreller’s drugstore.

  “Hi, Mr. Kreller. I know last month’s Sedna and Ice still haven’t shown up and January’s will be here soon, but if the December issues ever do come in, I’d like everything, old and new.”

  Mr. Kreller put away a large bottle of pills on a shelf before facing Robert. “Actually, Robert, I got a letter from the distributor today. The company that publishes Sedna of the Sea, Captain Ice and The Maple Leaf Kid has gone out of business. There won’t be any more of those particular comics.”

  Robert was stunned. “All three? They’re gone?”

  “I’m afraid so, lad.”

  Panic squeezed the breath out of him and a rushing in his ears made it hard to hear what Mr. Kreller said next.

  “So, do you want me to keep any others for you? Captain Canuck or Canada Jack? Maybe Nelvana of the Northern Lights?”

  Robert couldn’t speak. Turning, he walked out of the store and went home. Once in his room, he blindly stood at his dresser. He didn’t know what to say to his brothers. How could this happen? And what did it mean for George, James and Patrick?

  Sleep didn’t come for the next few nights as Robert imagined all sorts of calamities happening to his brothers. When letters finally did arrive from George and James, he was afraid to open them. In the end, he couldn’t stand it and he read his brothers’ letters. Strangely, everything was fine, apart from their worry about Patrick. George had been out on some exciting missions and James had several funny stories about his Home Guard pals. Nothing else. No terrible tragedies. No pain and blood.

  The following week, Robert was at his locker when Charlie hurried up.

  “Any news?” she asked, unbuttoning her pea coat.

  “Have patience. It takes time to knock down a castle fortress.”

  “I’m sure it does. You may as well know now, I’m no good at waiting.”

  She took off her toque and shook out her hair. “Can I come to your place after work? It’s my birthday and for my parents, that’s as good an excuse as any for a party. Some of their hillbilly friends are coming over and I’d rather not be there.”

  “I know it’s your birthday and sure, you can come over.”

  She gave him a quizzical look. “You know it’s my birthday?”

  He hesitated a second, then furrowed his brow like he was remembering something. “I, uh, I might have seen it on your job application.”

  Charlie crossed her arms and waited for more informati
on.

  “Hey, ‘know your enemy’ and, at the time, you were the very definition of an enemy. I was gathering intel. Are you sure you don’t want to spend it with your family?”

  Her hard expression and thin lips said it all. This turn of events fit in with Robert’s plans perfectly. “Then it’s settled. You’ll come for supper. It’s Call It Delicious or Else Spam night.”

  Charlie giggled. “It sounds wonderful.”

  Work went well, with both of them having a high-paying delivery, and by the time they wended their way back to Robert’s house they were ravenous.

  “Even Spam sounds good to me right now,” Robert called.

  He was about to turn down his alley, when something on the street in front of his house caught his eye.

  It was a car, a familiar car. It was Squadron Leader Aberdeen’s.

  Robert’s heart leapt as he pumped up his speed. They must have freed Patrick! He was safe and coming home! Charlie had spotted the car, too, and was right behind him as they wheeled up to his garage and raced to the house.

  Barging through the back door, Robert ran to the living room with Charlie following breathlessly behind. He could hardly wait to hear the good news.

  His parents looked up as he burst into the living room. “I told you!” he laughed. “Didn’t I tell you he was being held prisoner!”

  It was then Robert saw Squadron Leader Aberdeen holding an old Métis sash.

  His mother was crying. More disturbing than this, so was his father. Robert had never seen his father cry before and it scared him. “What’s happened?”

  “Robert, your brother, he...” His father took a shaky breath. “Your brother died in action. They found him near where his patrol was ambushed. He was killed by a grenade and the force of the explosion blew off his identification tags so they didn’t know it was him.”

  Robert couldn’t speak. This wasn’t true! It couldn’t be.

  The Squadron Leader took a step toward him. “When you came to see me, I contacted a padre attached to the Loyal Edmonton Regiment deployed at Ortona. He looked into Patrick’s case and discovered what happened. Once they had a positive identification, they asked me to notify the family and sent Patrick’s personal effects.” The flying officer paused. “He was wearing the sash when they found him. There was a note in his belongings.” He handed Robert a worn piece of paper.