“I can’t do that!”
Noel had reached out and turned Pat’s hand over. Shaking his head, he said, “You’ve got to toughen up. This won’t hurt me, but you won’t be able to hold your musket tomorrow if you keep on. Here, wrap my handkerchief around one hand and use yours for the other. Just sort of make the motions. Sergeant Gordon doesn’t care who does it, as long as the ditch gets dug.”
Pat had stared at his bleeding hands, then surrendered. He had wrapped his hands and watched as Noel made the dirt fly. They had talked all morning while Noel dug the ditch, and Pat discovered how mistaken he had been to assume Noel wasn’t intelligent. Noel was quiet, but he had read a great deal, just as Deborah had said.
They didn’t see Corporal Buck Riley, but the stocky Riley had sharp eyes. He’d seen what was going on and reported to the lieutenant. “Maybe I ought to eat them both out, Lieutenant. Can’t let them get by with that.”
“Let it go, Corporal,” Monroe said in his twangy voice. “Anything them boys do for each other will pull ‘em together. That Kojak, he ain’t afraid of work, is he? And the best shot in the platoon.” He thought about it, then shook his head. “I know Zale’s been giving Kojak a hard time.”
“Yes, sir. Mostly on account of Kojak’s religion—but he’s jealous, too, ‘cause the boy’s a better soldier than he is. I expect he’ll pick a fight sooner or later.” Riley shrugged, making his evaluation. “Zale’s a tough one. Kojak would take a pretty stiff beating. But there’s nothing we can do about that.”
The trouble Corporal Riley had seen coming between Zale and Noel Kojak erupted not an hour after he had mentioned it to Lieutenant Monroe. It came when Noel and Pat returned to their tent. Most of the squad was there, having come in from drill, and Manny Zale was seething with anger over a tongue-lashing he’d taken from Sergeant Gordon for falling over his feet in drill.
When Noel and Pat came in, Zale scowled at them. He was a quarrelsome man, requiring a fight from time to time as other men require food. He had decided days earlier that he would establish his place by giving Kojak a sound thrashing. He sat there, watching as the two cleaned up, and when Kojak started outside, he made his move. Rising to his feet, Zale made for the entrance of the Sibley tent, reaching it at the same time Kojak did.
“Who you think you’re shovin’ around?” Zale said loudly and, with a curse, gave Noel a hard push that sent the young man sprawling in the dirt just outside the tent. Zale followed at once, and as Noel got to his feet, he yelled, “You’ve been bragging about what a fine Christian you are—now you go shovin’ a fellow around! Well, I ain’t no Christian, and you ain’t either!”
Jim Freeman, a happy-go-lucky young fellow of eighteen, said, “Aw, back off, Manny!”
“Keep your trap shut, Freeman!” Zale scowled. “You’re another of these imitation Christians. I’ll fix you when I finish with the preacher here.” He stuck his face close to Noel’s, saying, “Now it says in the Bible, don’t it, Preacher, that a Christian’s got to turn the other cheek when somebody takes a poke at him. That right or not?”
Noel saw what was coming but could not think of any way to avoid Zale. “That’s right, Manny.”
Zale looked around, a grin on his wide face; then without warning his fist shot out, catching Noel high on the temple. Noel fell to the ground, the world spinning. He heard Zale say, “Well, c’mon, Preacher! Get up and turn me that other cheek!”
Noel got to his feet unsteadily, knowing that Zale would keep it up, but suddenly Pat Steele came to stand beside Noel, his eyes gleaming, and said, “Hey, Zale, I’m a Christian.”
Manny Zale had no use for Pat Steele and shouted, “Well, take this, then—”
But when Zale threw a hard punch at Steele, Pat moved his head to one side, and as the burly soldier was off balance, Steele clipped him on the chin with a powerful right cross that dumped Zale on his back. A shout went up, and Zale made two tries before he got up. He was an old hand at brawls, however, and waited until his eyes cleared. Glaring at Steele, he demanded, “If you’re a Christian, how come you busted me?”
Pat Steele smiled at him, then winked at Freeman and Tate Armstrong, who had come to watch. “I’m a backslider, Manny. That means that I’ll beat your brains out if you don’t stop throwing your weight around.” Then Steele shrugged. “I’m just not as good a Christian as Noel, Manny, so come on and I’ll give you the best we’ve got in the house.”
With a snarl Manny threw himself forward, and as the two men slugged it out, a crowd gathered. Manny was tough, but so was Pat Steele. He had taken up boxing at college and had had a fine instructor. Now he stood off and with his long arms hammered at Zale’s lantern-shaped jaw. Both men were bloodied when Lieutenant Monroe came strolling in. He’d been alerted but had let the two fight for a while before he came in to say, “All right, you two, break it up.”
Zale and Steele stood there, gasping for breath, expecting to be punished for brawling, but Boone Monroe liked to see a tough streak in his men. “Better save some of that fer the Rebs,” was all he said; then he strolled off.
Manny glared at Steele, cursed, and walked off to wash his bleeding face. Pat laughed, saying, “Come on, Noel. We’ve got a date with a lady. Let’s see if we can get me patched up.”
Noel tried to thank Steele, but the tall young man only laughed. The two of them dressed and caught a ride into town. When they got out of the wagon, Noel said, “Pat, you don’t need me around. You’ll want to spend the time with your sister alone.”
“Nope. Deborah said to bring you along, and I always try to mind her. She’s a pest when she doesn’t get her own way. Come along now. We’re supposed to meet her at the Baxter House.”
If he could have thought of a way, Noel would have fled, but Steele had a hold on his arm, and soon they were in front of the large white building with the imposing sign saying Baxter House in front. Pat walked jauntily into the lobby, then took Noel’s arm again. “She’s probably already in the restaurant.” The two of them entered the huge double doors, and when a white-coated waiter came to them, Pat inquired about his sister. The waiter said, “Yes, sir. Miss Steele is already seated. If you’ll come this way, sir.”
Noel followed Pat, more terrified by the elegant setting around him than he had been by anything he’d seen in the army. The enormous room was flanked with high windows admitting bars of sunlight, which caught the gleaming silverware resting on a hundred white tablecloths and glittered and refracted through the crystal chandeliers. The men and women were richly dressed: the women with jewels gleaming, the men with gold watch chains and heavy gold rings.
Then he heard Pat saying, “Well, Deborah, here we are.”
Noel looked up and saw Deborah smiling at him. She said, “Come and sit down. We’ve been waiting for you. This is Mr. Langdon Devoe. My brother, Pat, and this is Private Noel Kojak.”
Noel took the man’s hand, mumbled something, and fell into his seat with relief. A waiter came, and the other three talked about food, but Noel was speechless. It came as a welcome relief when Pat said, “Noel, I’ve eaten here before. Would you trust me to order your dinner?” Noel nodded, never suspecting that his friend had eased the thing after getting a nod from Deborah.
The meal was fine, but Noel was so tense he could not have said later what he ate, except for the dessert, which was ice cream in a frothy crust, browned in an oven. He had relaxed a little during the meal, for the others carried the talk without demanding anything from him. Finally Pat said, getting up to leave, “Well, I’ve got important business. Strictly a military secret. See you back in camp, Noel.”
“I’ll bet that ‘military secret’ is a beautiful blond with blue eyes,” Mr. Devoe said, smiling. He was a small man of thirty-five, with reddish hair that was receding rapidly and a full mustache that covered his lips. He wiped it now with his napkin, leaned back, and examined Noel. “Now then,” he said with a gleam in his eye, “so this is your discovery, is it, Deborah?”
�
�Now you be nice, Mr. Devoe,” Deborah said sharply. She was wearing a silk dress of green and white, and a hat covered her hair. “You can be very sharp when you want to.”
“Why, I meant no harm,” Devoe said in surprise. Deborah had warned him that young Kojak was terribly shy, and he saw that she had not exaggerated. He asked, “You’re from Washington, Private Kojak?” and slowly he drew a response from Noel. But Devoe was a man who knew how to talk and how to make others talk, and soon he had put Noel at ease.
“Noel—if I may call you that?—I’ve read some of your stories. Did you ever hear of the New Review? No? Well, I’m the editor of the thing. Miss Steele has worked with me often, and she brought me some of your work.” He put his sharp, dark eyes on Noel, saying, “I think it has potential.”
“Well, it’s just things I saw, Mr. Devoe. I—I don’t really know much about writing.”
Devoe laughed; then when Noel looked at him with alarm, he waved his hand. “Sorry. It’s just that most writers have an ego bigger than the Rock of Gibraltar! Comes as quite a shock to find a young fellow who still has modesty.” Then he said, “I want to print one of your stories, ‘No Hope for Emily.’ It’s a good piece of work, though you’ll need a little help in putting the finishing touches on it. I think Deborah will help you with that.”
“Yes! I will, Noel—and there’s more!” Deborah had gone to see Devoe with Noel’s work and had practically forced him to read the stories. Now she said, “Tell him the rest, Mr. Devoe.”
“Well, I’d like you to write about the war, Noel. You’ll be moving out soon, I hear. You’ll be very busy, but as soon as you can, write down what you’ve seen. It doesn’t have to be about battle. Write about the marches, about the food you eat, about what the men are saying. I want to give people the real thing!”
Devoe spoke with excitement, then finally asked, “Well, will you do it? Oh yes, I forgot, you’ll be paid for this, of course.”
“Paid for writing?” Noel said with such amazement that the other two smiled at him. “Well, I—I don’t know, Mr. Devoe—”
“Oh, Noel, you must!” Deborah cried out. “God has put this talent in you. You mustn’t bury it!” Her eyes were wide, and Noel thought he’d never seen her looking so beautiful. “Please, Noel!” she begged.
Devoe looked at the two shrewdly, then rose. “You two settle it—and I hope it works out, my boy. You do have an exceptional talent, as Deborah says. I’ll expect to hear from you.”
After Devoe left, the two of them sat there for an hour. Noel could not believe what had transpired, and it took much persuasion on Deborah’s part to bring him to agree.
Finally he said, “If you think I can do it, Deborah, I’ll try.”
Delighted at this, Deborah put her hand over his, smiled at him, and said, “Oh, Noel, it’s going to be wonderful! You’re going to be a fine writer!”
Finally she said, “Oh, pooh! It’s time to go. I have to go to a reception tonight.” They rose and walked out of the hotel, and she left, saying, “I’ll bring your writing kit to the camp tomorrow, Noel. You can get started right away.”
Noel took her hand, said good-bye, and then she was gone. He wandered the streets for several hours, then went back to camp. Pat came in later and asked, “You going to do it, Noel—be a writer?”
“I guess so.”
Pat laughed. “Sure. I knew you would. Watch out for that sister of mine, Noel! She thinks she can boss every man she sees! She’ll be running your life just like she does mine if you let her.”
CHAPTER 14
ROAD TO MANASSAS
Captain Hiram Frost was standing outside the large tent that served both as his private quarters and as headquarters for A Company. He looked up as a soldier came on a half run from the drill field where Lieutenant Boone Monroe was putting his platoon through close-order drill.
A little earlier, Frost had been thinking about his three children and his wife, Kate, in Maine, when a message from regimental headquarters had been handed to him by one of Colonel Bradford’s sergeants. He had read it and sent at once for Private Kojak. While waiting for the private to report, he resolutely put his family out of his mind and ran over the multitude of details that were his responsibility. The Blues would move out at dawn the next day, assigned to Sherman’s division, and all of the details had to be complete before then. And now this message from Colonel Bradford!
Frost watched the young private approach, thinking of the sort of man he was, and it struck him that an infantry company was not too different from a large family. As the captain, he was the father, who supervised the daily routine; saw that the men were equipped, fed, clothed, and sheltered; heard their complaints; administered punishment for minor offenses; looked after their health; provided for their general welfare; and led them into battle.
Frost knew every man by name and was fairly well acquainted with his circumstances and even individual members of his family. The lieutenants, sergeants, and corporals were his helpers, their position comparable to that of older children in a family—but the welfare of A Company lay on the shoulders of Captain Hiram Frost. As Kojak entered the room and Frost returned the private’s salute, he mentally listed what he knew about him.
A workingman and a good one. Poor family and a large one. Dedicated Christian. Was having trouble over that with some of the tougher men in his platoon. A good soldier whose equipment is taken care of. Best shot in the company. Wish I had more like him.
He drew a breath, then plunged in. “Kojak, you’ve got a brother named Bing. Well, I’ve got some bad news for you.” Frost paused, calculating the sudden expression on the young soldier’s face, then said quickly, “He’s in trouble with the law. I don’t know the circumstances, but he’s headed for jail.”
Noel bit his lip, then said, “He’s been running with a bad crowd, Captain Frost. I’ve been afraid something like this would happen.”
“No question of his guilt, but I think it’s not as serious as it might have been. The judge has given him a choice: go to jail or join the army. And he’s asked to join this company.”
Noel looked relieved. “That’s good news, sir! Bing wouldn’t be able to stand being locked up.”
“I’m not sure I want him in the company, Private. He’s a troublemaker, and we’ve got enough of those.” Frost caught the disappointed look on Kojak’s face, then added, “If I agree to let him join, I’ll expect you to keep an eye on him. Keep him out of trouble. Be your responsibility. What about it?”
“I’ll do my best, Captain. He’s—pretty wild, but we’ve got good sergeants and a corporal who’ll bear down on him. It’s what he needs most and never got. One good thing is that he’s fit enough, real strong.”
“All right.” Frost nodded. “I’ll send word to have him transferred at once. And I’ll advise Lieutenant Monroe to keep an eye on him. That’s all, Private.”
“Thank you, sir!”
Noel went through the rest of the morning automatically, worried about Bing. At noon in the chow line, Pat asked, “What’s wrong with you? Your mind is someplace else, Noel.” When Noel told him about Bing, revealing some of his problems, Pat shrugged and grinned. “Don’t worry about it. Lieutenant Monroe will take the starch out of him!”
In fact, that was what happened. Bing arrived at camp late that afternoon, and his first interview was with First Lieutenant Boone Monroe. The camp was in a furor with men getting equipment together, ammunition being issued, and the cooks preparing rations for a three-day march. Bing Kojak stood in front of the lean officer, rebellion in his eyes, saying nothing. At first he had been relieved to escape a prison sentence, but now he was sullen and resentful.
Boone Monroe was a tough man, hardened by years in the Regular Army. He knew men, and he was an expert on the hard ones—those who fancied themselves tough. Seeing the anger burning in Kojak’s eyes, he let the hammer down. “Kojak, you’re no good! It ain’t for me to question my commanding officer’s choice, but it’s me who’s go
tta make this platoon run. You think you’re a tough pumpkin? That’s fine! We’ll see how tough. I reckon in a couple of days you’ll be begging for a prison cell!”
Boone came to stand before Bing, his eyes hard as agates. “You’re a fighter, I hear tell, a pug. Right now, you’re thinking you can whup me. Go ahead, take a swing—then you can see if you’re tougher than a firing squad, which is what you’ll get if you ever lay your hands on me or any other officer! And I’ll tell you this, you use your fists on any feller in this squad, and on every march you’ll carry sixty pounds of bricks in addition to your regular pack. And you’ll do it on bread and water! Any questions, Private Kojak?”
“No,” Bing growled through clenched teeth.
“‘No, sir!’ Kojak! You forget that one more time and you’ll dig more latrines than you can think of. Come with me!” Boone walked out of his tent and when he found his sergeant, Jay Gordon, said, “Sergeant, this here is Bing Kojak. See that he gets equipped at once.”
Gordon was a smallish man but tough. He resented big men and had just lost his two children in the epidemic. Now he stared at the tall, strong figure of Kojak and asked, “You a relation of Noel?”
“My brother.”
“All right. You do as well as he does and we’ll have no trouble. Get out of line one time and I’ll make you miserable. We’re pulling out in the morning, so I don’t have time to teach you anything. You stay with your brother; do what he says.”
Noel was getting his gear in shape when Bing walked in, his arms piled high with his uniform and gear. Sergeant Gordon said, “Here’s your brother, Noel. Get him as ready as you can. We’ll pull out at dawn, and I don’t want him getting lost.”
“Hello, Bing,” Noel said. The other members of the squad were there, so he said nothing of the trouble that had brought Bing here. Instead he said, “This is my brother, Bing, you fellows.”
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