by Dean Hughes
When the debris settled and he looked up, he saw Campbell, with his bazooka, on a dead run. He was angling toward the side of the tank, and bullets were sending up puffs of dirt around his feet. Another flash burst from the muzzle of the big tank barrel, and again rock and debris from the barn exploded into the air. Alex wondered whether anyone inside was still alive.
Campbell, by then, had dropped down again. He couldn’t have been more than a hundred feet from the tank. And this time when he fired, the bazooka shell penetrated the armor, tore a hole in the side, and set off a huge secondary explosion inside. The tank jumped.
When Alex saw that all was quiet at the tank, and saw that Campbell had scrambled up and was running toward the barn, he hurried to the barn himself. The doors were blown off, and part of the wall was gone, but his men were all right. They had all been upstairs, in the loft, and the tank had fired at the main floor.
“All right. Good work,” Alex told the men. “Now we need to be ready if another tank comes this way. I think–”
“Sergeant, the tanks are falling back,” Pozernac called from the loft. “I can’t believe it.”
Alex nodded. “Good,” he said. “We bluffed them.” He looked over at Campbell, who was white with exhaustion, maybe with fear. “Hey, our boy Campbell fights tanks hand-to-hand,” Alex yelled. “The rest of us don’t have to worry.”
“It was our only chance,” Campbell said, still breathless. “That bazooka wasn’t going to cut through that kind of armor unless I got in close.”
Alex nodded. “I know. But most guys would have been running the other way–not at a Tiger. You’re going to get a medal for that one. I’ll see to it.”
“I’m alive. That’s the only thing I was thinking about. I figured he had us all.”
Sabin and Ernst walked into the barn.
Curtis had just climbed down from the loft. He looked at the two men and asked, “Where’s Duncan?”
“I don’t know,” Sabin said. “Hasn’t anyone seen him?”
Howie was now climbing down the ladder. When he stepped onto the dirt floor, he said, “Duncan was running next to me, and then he went down.” Howie’s eyes were set and unblinking, as though the terror was gone now, but a deeper more permanent dread had taken over.
“Don’t worry. He’s not dead,” Campbell said. “No one can kill Duncan.”
But Alex didn’t believe that. What he hoped was that his wound wasn’t too bad, that medics had gotten to him and carried him out. “This might be a good chance to eat something,” Alex said. But he wasn’t hungry himself. He walked over and sat down next to Howie, who had slumped onto the floor and was leaning against one of the cow stalls. “Are you all right?” Alex asked.
“I don’t know. I don’t feel like I’m thinking right. I got all confused out there. I couldn’t remember anything I learned back at basic.” A shaft of light from a crack in the roof, full of little dust particles, streamed across Howie’s face, but he wasn’t squinting or looking away. His eyes were still fixed.
“You did what you had to do,” Alex told him. “And you didn’t get hit. Next time, you’ll do better.” Howie finally looked at Alex, stared at him, and Alex knew what he was thinking. “I’m not saying it ever gets easy. But you learn how to handle it.”
“I didn’t think we’d make it,” Howie said. “I thought they had us.”
“Just don’t think about it. I told you I’d get you through, and we made it today.”
Howie nodded, but Alex knew the boy was in a bad state.
Alex got out some K rations. “Let’s eat something,” he
said. He wanted Howie to start moving ahead and not look back. Alex had only just begun to eat some of the canned meat–Spam–he detested when a shadow appeared at the barn door. Alex grabbed for his rifle, but by then he had heard Duncan’s voice. “I’ve been looking all over for you guys,” Duncan said, and he laughed. “You guys didn’t get scared off by them little ol’ tanks, did you?”
Alex got up and walked to the door. Duncan was grinning, but not with his usual brightness. He looked tired, and something else–maybe a little dazed. “Did you get hit?” Alex asked, and now he saw the hole in the front of Duncan’s helmet.
“Look at this,” Duncan said. He took his helmet off and showed the burn mark where a bullet has singed his hair and torn the skin in a line right around his head. Then he held up his helmet, and showed that there were two holes, one of them in the back. “It went right around my skull. I guess my head was too hard for the bullet to get through.” He tried to laugh. “It went in through the back and out through the front. I was high-tailing it out of there, the same as you guys.”
It was too close. Alex felt the air escape from his chest. He took the helmet and looked closer.
“I’m glad you’re all right, buddy,” Campbell said. He walked over and shook Duncan’s hand.
Duncan nodded, and he tried to smile, but he couldn’t seem to think of anything to say. He walked away from the door, sat down, and leaned against the part of the rock wall that was still intact. Alex followed and sat down next to him. “It’s okay,” Alex said.
“I was so scared I almost filled my pants out there,” Duncan said. “I thought I was a dead man.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet,” Alex said. They didn’t look at each other. There was a lot to say, but neither one was about to say it. What Alex could hardly believe was that all his men were still alive.
“I never thought we’d run like that,” Duncan said. “Paratroopers don’t turn and run.”
“We didn’t have a choice.”
“I still didn’t think we’d do it.”
“I’m just glad you got here,” Alex said. “I found out I can still run hard–if I’m scared enough–but my leg is aching awfully bad right now.”
“Deacon, if that bullet had been a quarter of an inch to the left, I’d be dead right now.”
“I know.”
“As far as that goes, we’re still in a bad situation here. This whole operation is in trouble. We might all be dead before it’s over.”
“I know that, too.”
Chapter 6
LaRue Thomas hated Sundays. She came home from Sunday School–which she never found interesting–and then had to suffer through the long, boring afternoon until sacrament meeting at seven o’clock. Her father, Alexander Thomas, didn’t object to her visiting friends, but the problem was, Mom never knew when he was going to get home from his church meetings, and Dad preferred that everyone–which meant Mom and Beverly and LaRue these days–be home for Sunday dinner. Mom usually tried to have dinner at two, but Dad, who was the stake president, often got tied up in meetings and didn’t get home until much later. So LaRue could never really plan anything.
On this particular Sunday afternoon, in October, LaRue had been reading Pride and Prejudice. It was assigned reading for her English class. But she was bored with the book, so she wandered downstairs to see what she could find for a snack. What she noticed when she walked through the living room was that Tommy Dorsey’s “Your All Time Hit Parade” was on the radio. When she saw that her dad was in his office, with his door open, she called out, “Say, Dad, that program you’re listening to isn’t very spiritual for the Sabbath, if you ask me.”
“Actually, you’re right,” he said, and he sounded a little embarrassed. “It came on after the news, but I wasn’t really paying any attention. Would you turn it off for me?”
LaRue stepped to her father’s door. “That’s how it starts, Dad. You let the devil pay a visit, and the next thing you know, he’s taking up permanent residence.”
LaRue didn’t get the response she wanted. The truth was, she was upset with her dad, and she was hoping to get his goat just a little. “I’m glad to know you understand that,” he said, and he laughed.
“The way I look at it, on the Sabbath you should spend your entire day reading the scriptures–and frowning.”
Mom was in the kitchen. LaRue heard her voic
e through the door. “That’s about enough of that, LaRue,” she said.
But LaRue was letting her aggravation build. “If we can visit the sick on Sundays, I don’t see the difference in visiting people who need company. What would it hurt if I went down to the USO club for a little while?”
Dad had been dubious about her going to the club, and he certainly wouldn’t let her go in on Sundays. LaRue painted the picture with lots of red, white, and blue, but President Thomas accused her of being mostly interested in spending time with the young soldiers she met there. Some of them were just passing through, and the club was a place for them to kill a little time between train connections; others were stationed in Utah: at Fort Douglas, Camp Williams, Hill Field, Camp Kearns, or one of several supply depots and military hospitals. They came to the club in the evenings, danced to the jukebox–or sometimes a live band–and drank soft drinks.
It was all very wholesome, according to LaRue. And that was mostly true. The club was certainly not a bar, but the soldiers sometimes sneaked in their own flasks or hidden bottles, and some of them came from wild backgrounds. LaRue had actually volunteered to work around the place: serve doughnuts or sandwiches and clean up a little. She was too young to be a hostess and dance with the soldiers. But the manager didn’t know how old she was, and he had never said anything to her about dancing–especially on nights when not many hostesses showed up.
The supervision was tight, and the young women–many of them University of Utah co-eds–didn’t really have to worry about being mistreated. Still, when LaRue was there she always felt she had escaped Utah just a little. She was happy for the chance to experience some of the wartime atmosphere that had changed the nation and was reaching Salt Lake City. There was a freedom, sometimes even looseness, that she found exciting, and she loved the way the boys flirted with her. Maybe LaRue was only fifteen, but she looked older, and she was stunning with her rich, dark hair and hazel eyes, her pretty figure. When she walked through the club, she always turned heads, and she loved having all those eyes on her.
What had upset her particularly today was that her friend Gaye Jennings had gotten permission from her parents to go. And more than that, a certain young man had suggested she come that day. All day LaRue kept thinking how much fun everyone was probably having while she was sitting at home.
President Thomas took a long look at LaRue, and then he said, very simply, “We’ve been over all this before, honey. You know how I feel about it.”
LaRue knew that this tone was her father’s idea of being firm but loving, but she found his manner condescending. “When do I get to decide for myself what is spiritual and what isn’t? I’m not a little girl anymore.”
LaRue saw her father take a long, deep breath. His voice was changed, almost harsh, when he said, “You don’t earn your rights by having birthdays, LaRue. You earn them as you show that you can accept responsibility. The truth is, right now, what you are is immature and self-centered. I keep hoping to see some improvement, but it just doesn’t come.”
The words were a stab, hurtful on purpose, and LaRue reacted. “Thanks, Dad. I’m looking forward to being mature, like you. Then I’ll always know exactly what’s right and wrong–not only for myself, but for everyone.”
LaRue knew she had crossed a line. She had never said anything this bitter to her father before. At the moment, however, she didn’t care. Mom pushed through the door from the kitchen. “LaRue, I think you’d better go up to your room and cool off.”
But Dad said, “Wait a minute. LaRue, I’m sorry.”
If he had said “I denounce everything I believe,” LaRue couldn’t have been more surprised. She turned back toward him, watched his face, tried to see whether he really meant it.
He said, “I didn’t mean to sound like that. I don’t have all the answers. And before long, you’ll be making all your own decisions–no matter what I think. So I do need to trust you.”
LaRue was still staring at him. She hardly knew how to react. But inertia seemed to carry her forward.
“So if I decide to skip sacrament meeting and spend the evening down at the club, you’ll let me do it?”
“I didn’t say that. The Lord has told us to attend sacrament meeting. That’s not something I thought up.”
“But it’s still my decision.”
“It’s also a family rule.”
“So it’s not my decision?”
“Ultimately it is, LaRue. Of course it is.”
LaRue had him now, and she wasn’t going to miss this chance to call his bluff. “All right. I’m going to take the streetcar into town. I won’t be out late, but I won’t be back in time for sacrament meeting.”
What LaRue now expected was some hedging, but Dad didn’t say a word. It was her mother who said, “LaRue, think what you’ve been taught all your life.”
“I’ve been taught to serve people. And there’s no better time to do that than on the Sabbath. Dad always says that being a true Christian is more important than just going to church.”
“LaRue, be honest with yourself,” Mom said. “Is that why you’re going down there–to serve people?”
“That’s exactly what I do, Mom.”
“That’s playing with words, LaRue, and you know it. Listen, why don’t we all come out in the living room, sit down, and talk this over?”
But Dad said, “That’s all right, Bea. It’s LaRue’s decision, and I want her to do what she knows is right.”
LaRue could see what was going on. This was Dad’s way of making her feel guilty. He expected her to back off. But she wasn’t going to let him win that way. She tromped up the stairs to her room and changed her clothes. She put on a pretty, rose-colored dress that Dad hated because the skirt was so short.
LaRue looked over to see Beverly standing in the doorway. “Don’t do this, LaRue,” she said.
“Leave me alone,” LaRue told her.
“You’re just trying to make Dad stop you.”
“I’m doing what I want to do–not what everyone tells me to do.”
“You’re breaking a commandment.”
“Maybe you think so. I don’t.” She finished buttoning her dress and looked at herself in her bureau mirror. She grabbed a brush and ran it quickly through her hair a few times, and then she applied some dark red lipstick–something else her dad didn’t like. She got her coat from the closet, threw it over her arm, and said, “I don’t care what you think, Bev. Call me guilty as sin if you want. It’s my choice, and I’m going to make it.”
She hurried down the stairs. “Good-bye,” she called as she shut the front door, but she didn’t go back and face her parents.
By the time she reached the club, LaRue was feeling guilty, but that made her angry. If there was one thing she had learned at the club, it was that Mormons found all kinds of things to fuss about that most people didn’t think mattered, and going to church every single Sunday was one of them.
Even so, she was just a little jarred by the sudden change as she walked into the building. The jukebox was blaring, the room full of smoke, and people were laughing and talking loudly. A few couples were on the dance floor, in most cases holding each other much tighter than was ever allowed at church dances. What LaRue also noticed, however, was that her one, clear wish had been granted. He was there.
For the past couple of months, a young airman from Hill Field had been coming in regularly. His name was Ned Dimmick, and he was from Newark, New Jersey. He had asked her to dance one night and then teased her about her accent. LaRue, in her usual feisty way, had worked him over, pointing out all the defects in his own speech. And he had loved it. “Hey, you’re a ball of fire, aren’t you?” he had told her. LaRue had licked her thumb, placed it on her hip, and made a sizzling sound.
She had known that she was not only flirting but also giving him entirely the wrong idea about herself. But it was exciting. She liked what she was doing to him. He kept trying to pull her closer as they danced, and she held him
off, even teased him about it, but at the same time, she knew how much he wanted to get her into his arms, and she liked that very much. One thing she was careful not to let him know was that she was only fifteen, and when he said something that indicated that he thought she was out of high school, she let the impression stand.
Today, when Ned spotted LaRue, he walked to her immediately. “I was hoping you’d come,” he said. “You can’t live without me, can you?” He smiled, and LaRue, as always, was impressed with how cute he was. He had dark, curly hair; wonderful walnut-colored eyes; and a bold, confident smile.
“Excuse me. Have I met you before?” LaRue asked.
“Sure. I’m the one you dream about when you go to bed at night.”
“I do have a problem with nightmares from time to time.”
He waved his hand in a gesture that said, “Don’t give me that.” Then he took her arm and said, “Come on. Let’s dance.”
The jukebox was playing “One O’clock Jump,” a Benny Goodman number, and Ned began to jitterbug. LaRue felt funny about that, since it was the Sabbath, but she danced anyway, and she was good at it. So was Ned. That was one of the things she liked so much about him.
When the dance was over, LaRue told him she had to report to the manager that she was there. “Okay,” Ned told her, “but then come over to my table. I want you to meet my friends.”
LaRue walked to the little sandwich counter and said hello to her friend Gaye. “I’ll come and help you in a minute,” she said. “I’ve got to talk to someone first.”
Gaye was the same age as LaRue, but she seemed years younger. She was a big girl, pale, with almost colorless eyes, and she wore no makeup. She leaned across the counter and whispered, “LaRue, you shouldn’t be dancing. You know that.”
“It doesn’t matter. No one cares.”
“But when we volunteered, we–”
“It doesn’t matter. I’ll be back in a minute.”
She walked to the table where Ned was sitting with another airman and a young woman in a navy uniform. Ned stood up. “Johnny,” he said, “this is the girl I’ve been telling you about. LaRue. And this is Johnny Bernardi, a friend of mine from home.”
