by Dean Hughes
Now, here at the luau, Bobbi could see that Sam also liked what he saw in Afton. He was standing near the dancers, watching, but it was clear that his eyes were only on her.
The hula lessons ended soon after that, and some of the men from the ward danced and sang. Brother Nuanunu was in the middle of everything, wearing a flowered shirt like the others, not a native costume. He danced and sang, even shouted at times. Hazel delighted in that. “He’s an old thing, but he still looks pretty good. Don’t you think?”
“He’s a handsome man. Like Sam,” Bobbi said.
“Maybe my Sam spent too long on the mainland. Maybe he likes the looks of the haole girls.”
Bobbi looked to see what Hazel was noticing. Sam was standing with Afton. They were drinking punch, talking, paying little attention to the men’s dance. Bobbi felt a little uncomfortable about that. She hoped Afton wasn’t getting into another one of the “situations” she seemed to find herself in sometimes.
After a few more dances the men joked that they were tired out and needed to eat. The pig, dug into a pit at the back of the yard, had been cooking over coals for a long time. Some of the men began to uncover it, and the sisters brought other dishes outside to start the buffet. Hazel went off to help, and Bobbi joined her. Bobbi hoped Afton would do the same, but Afton lingered where she was, still talking with Sam.
The dinner was good. Bobbi still avoided poi, but she had learned to like some of the other native foods. She especially liked the taste of the pork, cooked in the smoke pit. She also knew the members quite well now, and she took time to talk with some of them. She thought of the ward parties back home. They were nice but never so vibrant with music and dance and animated chatter. She already knew it was this that she would miss someday, back home, and this that she would never experience again.
On the bus on the way back to Pearl Harbor, Afton didn’t mention Sam, so Bobbi didn’t either. But in their room, Afton seemed entirely too lighthearted, too lifted, to be excited only by the party. Finally, Bobbi said, “I noticed you enjoyed the dinner more than usual. You must be getting used to Hawaiian food. And Hawaiians.”
Afton was sitting in a chair with one foot pulled up. She was painting her toenails, something Bobbi had never seen her do before. The lacquer smell of the polish was filling the room. Afton looked up and rolled her eyes. “I liked the pork,” she said.
Bobbi was sitting on her bed. She had been reading Richard’s last letter over again, but she put the letter aside now and said, “I think the pork liked you, too.”
“If you’re referring to Sam, he’s not pork. He’s prime beef.” Afton giggled.
“Afton, if you let him believe you like him, you could work yourself into an awkward problem, don’t you think?”
Afton let her breath blow out. “Don’t. Okay? Don’t tell me what I should do. You’re not my mother, no matter how hard you try to be.”
Bobbi was shocked. And hurt. Afton had never said anything like that to her before. But Bobbi knew she had a tendency to instruct Afton too much, even preach to her. She didn’t blame Afton for being irritated. “I’m sorry,” she said. And yet, she could see trouble ahead, and when the disaster came, Bobbi would be the one who would have to patch Afton back together.
“I’m sorry too,” Afton said, after a minute or so. “I didn’t mean to sound like that.”
“I just thought–”
“I know. I know everything you could say to me. And you’re right. But I don’t want to think right now. I haven’t been this happy in a long time.”
“Are you saying you really like him?”
“I don’t know, Bobbi. He really is the best-looking guy I’ve ever seen. I mean ever. And when he looks at me I can see in his eyes that he’s thinking the same thing about me. I don’t want to stop him from looking at me like that, Bobbi. I’ve waited a long time for someone to see me that way.”
“But if he starts thinking–”
“I know. I know. I know.”
Bobbi went back to her letter.
It was Afton who finally spoke. “My mother would die on the spot if she’d seen us. And my dad would get his rifle out and run him off.”
Bobbi understood, of course. An interracial marriage–or even a flirtation–was shocking to most people back home. And even though it was much more common in the islands, Bobbi was uneasy about the idea. Afton had always been quite vocal against it herself.
“He’s just like us,” Afton said. “He talks like we do. When I’m around him, I can’t think what would be so bad about going out with him. But there’s nothing I could ever say or do that would change the way my family feels.”
“I know. I understand that. I even know how they feel.”
“What do you mean, you ‘know how they feel’?”
“Afton, we’ve talked all about this. When I saw you two together, it gave me a funny feeling–like it wasn’t right. You’re the one who’s told me that yourself.”
“So you were sitting over there thinking I was doing something wrong?”
“No. Not exactly. I just . . . I don’t know . . . have a strange reaction to it.”
“Bobbi, we were only talking. I wouldn’t ever marry him. I don’t even plan to go out on a date with him.”
“Then why do you let him look at you that way?”
“Let’s not talk about this.”
“Okay. Fine.” Bobbi lay down on her side, using an elbow to prop herself up. Once again she looked at her letter.
“What were you and Hazel talking about? Did she say anything about it?”
“She just pointed out the way Sam was looking at you when you were dancing.”
“Oh, Bobbi. I’ve never felt anything like that. I was stiff at first, but I started getting the feel of the dance, and then I saw him watching me and something happened. I started feeling how the hula is supposed to go. Did you see how good I was getting?”
“I sure did.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Bobbi set her letter down. “Afton, it’s a very . . . enticing dance.”
“Sexy is what you mean, isn’t it?”
“Well, it is.”
“I don’t think so. It’s pretty.”
“Hazel told me herself. It’s supposed to be sexy.”
“Oh, it is not. I wasn’t doing it like that anyway.”
“Maybe your hands were telling a story, Afton, but Sam skipped the plot. He was concentrating on the action.”
“Just shut up, okay?” Afton said. But she was smiling. And Bobbi could predict that this plot was going to thicken before it was over. “What is Richard telling you these days?” Afton asked, obviously to change the subject.
“He’s being transferred–or I guess by now he already has been. He’s going to an escort carrier, whatever that is. It’s called the Saint Lo.”
“Will that change anything?”
“I don’t know. But I don’t like what I can read between the lines.”
Afton had finished her toenails. She put the little brush back in the bottle and set the bottle on the nightstand by her bed. Then she put both feet on the floor and admired her work. “You’re such a worrier, Bobbi. You always see the worst in anything he says.”
“But he sounds concerned–like he’s expecting to be in danger. He keeps saying he needs to do his duty, no matter what he’s called to do. He never talked like that when he was here. It just sounds like he’s trying to remind himself–or maybe convince himself–that the war is worth it, if he has to die.”
“Oh, Bobbi, don’t say that. You shouldn’t even let those words come out of your mouth.”
Bobbi knew what Afton meant, but she didn’t agree. She had denied the possibility of her brothers being killed, and now Gene was gone. Somehow, to Bobbi, it seemed better to tell herself that Richard might die. If she accepted that reality, and then it came about, maybe it wouldn’t undo her quite so much as Gene’s death had.
“Bobbi, men are dying. I know
that. But a whole lot more make it through. My two brothers are still in safe places, and maybe they’ll stay that way. Somehow, I just feel like they’ll be okay. It’s so much better to think that way.”
“Until they don’t make it. Like Gene.”
“Bobbi, I know. I didn’t mean. . . .” Clearly, Afton didn’t know how to finish her sentence.
Bobbi understood Afton’s attitude. But the war had taken Bobbi’s beloved little brother, and Richard was not in a safe place. Neither was Wally. Alex had been wounded once and would probably be returning into harm’s way. To make it through, she knew she had to admit to all the possible outcomes.
Bobbi also thought Afton should be a little more realistic herself–not only about her brothers but also about Sam.
Chapter 5
The C-47 transport had taken some minor anti-aircraft fire, but the pilot had stayed his course, and now Alex had made his jump and was floating downward, in daylight, onto the flattest drop zone he had ever seen. When his feet hit the soft ground in a plowed field, he was able to stay up, collapse his chute, and release it. Then he scanned the area. Hundreds of men were descending in white parachutes–like a snowstorm–but there was no enemy fire. From all appearances, the Germans had been taken completely by surprise, just as the Allies had hoped.
The landing was in Holland. The operation was called “Market Garden,” and the concept was exciting. Allied airborne troops were to take and hold a narrow corridor–mostly just a road–angling north and east from Belgium through Holland. The British Guards Armored Division planned a quick thrust up that road. If the troops could cross the Lower Rhine at Arnhem, the Allies could skirt the Siegfried Line and make a break into the industrial Ruhr area of Germany, then east to Berlin. It was September 17, 1944, and Alex had first heard of this mission only two days before, but he was now hopeful that the war would be over by Christmas.
“Move out!” Lieutenant Owen was shouting. “Clear the field before the equipment drop.” At the edge of the field, a smoke grenade was putting out a dark plume that marked the assembly point for the company. Alex pulled his M-1 loose and looked around for his men. He repeated Owen’s command and then ran toward the smoke.
The men gathered quickly. There were none of the usual injured ankles or bruised shoulders. And no one had trouble finding his unit. No drop had ever gone this well, even in training maneuvers.
The 506th Regiment was heading for the little town of Son. The first objective was to take and hold a bridge over the Wilhelmina Canal, just beyond the village. Second Battalion, Alex’s unit, would head straight down a little road to the town. First Battalion would march on its left flank, and Third Battalion would follow, in reserve.
Lieutenant Owen told Alex, “I don’t expect any trouble between here and Son. The Germans are over on the other side of Eindhoven, way south of here. But we’ve got to get to Son fast and take that bridge before the Germans get organized.”
So E Company set out walking in file along both sides of the road and keeping up a hard pace. Alex felt some pain in his leg, where he had been wounded. Still, he was in decent condition now, and the pace was no big problem for him. In fact, he found it difficult to take this “operation” seriously. The temperature was mild and the sky blue. Cows were grazing in the fields, and crows were flying about, too content to make much noise. This was nothing like the nighttime terror of the D-Day drop.
The soldiers were all laughing and talking. Duncan kept telling the replacement troops, “This ain’t right for you guys to get off so easy. We learned the hard way in Normandy.”
Alex watched Howie Douglas. He laughed at Duncan’s jibes, but he didn’t have much to say. He seemed wary, maybe anxious about what lay ahead.
“Let’s hold it down,” Alex told his men. But he was feeling good himself. If the Germans weren’t ready, and the British troops could dash up this road according to plan–through Eindhoven, Son, Veghel, Grave, Nijmegen, Arnhem, and on into Germany–the operation would be over in a few days. The paratroopers would probably be pulled out. If that happened, Alex might be seeing Anna before long. He had managed to get a three-day pass early in September, and he and Anna had gone on another little honeymoon. They had taken a train to Wales and spent two nights in Merthyr Tydfil, not exactly a romantic setting with its slag heaps and coal-dust—darkened buildings, but a quaint town, and the place the Thomas family forebears had emigrated from more than a hundred years before. Alex and Anna hadn’t needed a lake or wildflowers to feel romantic; they had enjoyed every second together.
As the file of soldiers reached Son, Alex could hear the commotion up ahead. What he heard were not bursts of gunfire but laughter and shouting. D Company had marched into town ahead of E Company, and the civilians had poured into the streets to greet the soldiers and to celebrate. The local men wanted to shake hands with the troops; the women hugged and kissed them. In some of the buildings, from second-floor windows, orange national flags–forbidden by the Nazis–had appeared, and kids were running about in the streets waving flags or yelling their greetings. All that was fine, but Alex became concerned when his men passed a guest house where the proprietor was offering free beer. Duncan was quick to grab a half-pint mug and begin gulping.
“Come on, keep moving,” Alex shouted. “We’ve got to get to that bridge before the Germans do.”
Duncan took a last swig and then wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “Hey, I’m ready for the Krauts now. That’s what I needed.” He handed the glass back, slapped the barkeeper on the back, and moved on. Things had bogged down, however. Too many people were milling about and getting in the way of the soldiers. A priest was even passing out cigars, and many of the men were lighting up.
Lieutenant Owen had to get firm with the men, but it was hard for Alex not to feel like a hero, a liberator. He accepted an apple a woman handed him, and he thanked her. He tucked it into his pocket, however, and kept shouting at his men. Little Earl Sabin had lit up a cigar and was puffing away. He grinned at Alex. “This war stuff ain’t so bad,” he said.
“That’s enough, Private Sabin. Throw that thing away. We’ve got a mission to achieve.”
Delbert Ernst, in his southern dialect, said, “Put it out, Sabin, but don’t throw it away. That’s a dern good smoke.” He was grinning and puffing on his own cigar.
Alex stepped to Ernst and barked at him, “You get rid of that cigar, soldier. Do you hear me? We’ve got some serious business ahead of us.”
“Sure, sure,” Ernst said. He set out walking harder, but he was stabbing his cigar against his jacket sleeve, not throwing it away. The men did settle down once they cleared the town, however, and they marched hard and steady.
Then Alex heard the first artillery shell. He hit the ground with the others, but he was watching all the while. A shell, probably from an 88, had struck just left of the road, about a hundred yards ahead. Alex thought First Platoon, or some of the D Company troops, might have taken casualties. By then, machine-gun fire was also clattering from an emplacement straight down the road.
“Let’s go,” Lieutenant Owen was yelling. “We’ve got to get to that bridge before the Germans blow it up.”
Alex knew a single machine gun could not stop a whole battalion–even with a big gun back there lobbing in shells from beyond the canal. But this was all real now. He had to get his men moving.
First Platoon pushed ahead and took most of the fire. Alex ran forward and waved for his men to come with him, but it was all he could do to keep his squad up and going. The new guys–the young replacements–would dive to the side of the road every time they heard an incoming shell. They still had no sense of which ones were close and which were not.
Alex heard grenades go off, and then the machine-gun fire stopped. At the same time, D Company began to move ahead faster. “We’ve gotta keep up, men!” Alex told his squad. “Go hard.” He ran up the road, keeping low, watching, at the same time hoping that D Company would take the bridge without much resistance.
And then a powerful concussion struck him, knocked him down. The bridge had blown, and the air was full of debris. Alex curled up tight as huge planks and rocks rained down, thumped onto the ground.
It was all over in seconds, and Alex jumped up to see that his men were all right. Nothing was left of the bridge, and a sickening sense of failure hit him. If the battalion had gotten through Son more quickly, or kept moving faster when the shelling had started, the Germans might not have been able to blow up the bridge. Now, somehow, a passage would have to be rebuilt. The problem with the Allied plan was that it depended on speed, and any weak link could bring the whole operation down.
Owen ran back along the road to Alex. “Summers just told me to get to the canal and set up east of where the bridge used to be. Our battalion is supposed to lay down covering fire while 1st Battalion figures out some way to cross.”
Alex ran with his men to the canal. The gun had stopped firing, and Alex suspected that the Germans, who had accomplished what they had to do, had now withdrawn. He had Gourley and Pozernac set up their machine gun and fire toward the woods across the canal, but he saw no sign that the Germans were still there.
The command soon came to stop all fire. That meant time to eat, time to wait. And for Alex, it was time to worry. He had no idea what the Germans might be up to, or how many might be in the area. His understanding was that the next target for the regiment was Eindhoven, further south. The site here at Son was firmly held, and engineers could figure out some way to get the bridge rebuilt, but the Germans had to be grouping to stop the advance of the regiment along this crucial road.
Alex also understood the Allied challenge better now. The roadbed was raised a meter or so above the fields on either side. For troops to move along it meant standing out against the horizon and becoming sitting ducks. All the Germans had to do was create a bottleneck at any spot along the narrow corridor and the whole plan would fall apart. The greatest challenge was at Arnhem itself, where the British 1st Airborne Division had to take the well-guarded bridge and hold it until the British tanks arrived. Any delay in the thrust would make their job almost impossible.
