by Dean Hughes
“Bobbi, you’re beautiful. I was just thinking how good you look. Is it all right if I tell you that?”
“You can tell me anything you want. But you always did make things up.” She took David out to the lawn, where they sat on the grass, facing each other. David crossed his legs and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. Bobbi, a little embarrassed by her bare legs—and her freckles—tucked her legs under herself. “How did you know where to find me?” she asked him. She found herself pushing her hair behind her ears, trying to smooth it.
“We got in last night. As soon as they let me off the ship this afternoon, I walked up to the hospital. They told me you were shipping out in a few days, but they also told me where the nurses’ quarters were. By the way, what’s the name of that red-haired nurse I saw at the hospital? You know—just in case I need a checkup before I leave town.”
“David!”
“Hey, she could just check my pulse and my blood pressure. That’s all I had in mind.”
“It sounds like your heart is beating just fine.” She looked him over, wondered who he was now. “David, what’s going on? What’s this all about?”
“What? Going off to war?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know. When I realized I was going to be drafted, it just struck me as a great joke to become a Marine. I’m a kind of parody, I suppose, but I rather like the idea of having a go at heroism. I want to be Jason. Or Hercules. I want to live a little life, not just read about it.”
“To be a hero, you have to believe in what you’re doing, David. That’s part of the deal.”
“Oh, I’m a true believer. I hate all our enemies, and I’m fierce with anger. Can’t you see it in my eyes? I love liberty, freedom, and above all . . . General Motors.”
She did look at his green eyes—remembered all the moods she had seen in them, but what she saw now was nothing but irony. “When did you become such a cynic?”
“I’m not, really. It just seems too maudlin to admit that I actually do feel some commitment to what I’m doing. The truth is, I haven’t been very happy these past few years, but this seems right—what I ought to do.”
“Why haven’t you been happy?”
“Ahhhh. Well . . . that’s something we can talk about later.”
He pulled a blade of grass slowly from its roots, then stuck it into his mouth. Bobbi watched him, remembered how his hands worked, his shoulders, always with more motion than was needed, as though his body were bursting to do, to act, no matter how much he preferred to think. He wasn’t as good-looking as Richard, but there was something electric about him. His thoughts were always fascinating to chase, and his moods were like little eruptions, changing almost a sentence at a time. “Tell me about this fellow you’re going to marry. What’s his name again?”
“Richard Hammond.”
“Is he a thinking man, Bobbi? Will he keep you interested for a whole lifetime?”
“A whole eternity, I hope.”
He laughed. “That’s right. Mormons sign a long-term contract. Do you really want to be around him that long?”
“Richard’s not like you, David. He hasn’t read everything. But he’s curious, and right now, sort of perplexed by life. He’s asking lots of questions. But he likes answers. You always liked the questions better than the answers.”
David smiled. “You do know me, Bobbi,” he said. “But lately, I must admit, I’ve longed for a few answers. I guess I’m getting old.”
They looked at each other, and Bobbi was surprised. She saw the sadness in his eyes, and with it, his affection for her. She looked away.
“Well . . . I hope this one’s not like that last guy you got engaged to,” he said.
“No. He’s not like Phil. He’s gentle, and smart, a little more correct than I am, but very kind hearted. Before the war, he didn’t care that much about ideas and books. He was one of those engineering students at the U that you used to make fun of. But now he tells me he’d like to hole up in a library and read for a few years.”
“Don’t try to make me like him. I refuse to do that.”
Bobbi hadn’t expected David to say something like that—not even as a joke. She didn’t want this to be awkward. “You would like him,” she said. “But you two are nothing alike. He holds back; I have to dig inside him to find out what he feels.” She smiled. “That was never your problem.”
“True. But I’m not like that with most people. I talk a lot, but I don’t admit very much about myself. You were the one who brought that out of me.” He hesitated, and then he added, “Bobbi, what intrigued me about you was your goodness. Lots of religious people toe the line, but you really are good, and that always disarmed me. I’m sure I told you about me just so I could hear more about you.”
“You overrate me,” Bobbi said, and she meant it.
“No. I don’t think so. I spent my years in Utah laughing at Mormons. There’s just something so self-conscious about the way your people live their religion. But to me, your impulses always seemed right—even though they were so deeply tied to beliefs I couldn’t take very seriously.”
“I don’t know how you can say that. You’re the one who had the right ‘impulse.’ I was ready to make a mistake, and you sent me packing.”
“Funny you should say that. It’s crossed my mind a few thousand times in the past couple of years that breaking it off with you was the biggest mistake I ever made.”
“No, David. It was right. I’m just thankful to you for recognizing it.”
“Well, let’s see. You’ve just thanked me for not marrying you. That could almost be taken as an insult.”
“But it isn’t meant that way, and you know it. It was a noble thing you did, David, and very wise.”
“So much for wisdom. I won’t try it again.” He tried to laugh, but then he looked down at the grass. Bobbi had to resist the desire to bend forward and touch his hand. “Will Richard give you room to think for yourself, Bobbi? He’s not one of those guys who’ll ‘exercise his priesthood’ on you, is he?”
Bobbi smiled. “He never tries to boss me—if that’s what you mean,” she said. “But he’s independent. I’m not going to get away with telling him what to do either.”
“How well do you know him?”
“Not as well as I need to, David. I love him; I really do. But I haven’t had a lot of time with him yet.”
“Well, then, let me ask you one more question.” He grinned. “Since I’m so wise and all—like a dear old uncle—I’m still looking out for your welfare.”
“That’s kind of you. What’s your question?”
“Are you sure this is the right guy for you to marry?”
“Yes. I’m sure this time,” Bobbi said, and she tried to keep her voice as light as David’s.
But then he said, “Bobbi, I’m serious.”
Bobbi tried to say the words with conviction, had them ready, but they didn’t come out. Instead, she found herself saying, “I think everything will work out all right, David. But I have been a little worried lately. I don’t know how to read Richard sometimes. He’s going through a hard time, and he won’t let me help him. Sometimes I wonder whether he’ll ever be as open with me as I want him to be.”
“Don’t compromise on that one, Bobbi. There are too many married couples in this world who live in the same house, go about their business, and hardly seem to notice each other.”
“I know. But I don’t think it would be like that.”
“What do you mean, you don’t think it would be. Don’t you know?”
“David, when I’m with him I don’t worry as much. It’s harder when we’re separated like this.”
“You don’t worry as much?”
“Come on, David, you know me. I worry about everything.”
“Maybe so. But I don’t want you to be unhappy. I didn’t give you up for that.”
Bobbi couldn’t do this any longer. She didn’t like the muddle of emotions she was feeling. What
would Richard think if he could hear this conversation? “You needn’t worry about that,” she said. “I’m sure everything will be fine.” And then she changed the subject. They talked about Chicago and what David had been doing, about the Thomases, and about all the changes that had come because of the war. Two hours passed quickly, and then David was saying that he had to get back to his ship.
“Bobbi, I don’t know how long we’re going to be here,” he told her. “I don’t even know whether I can get off the ship again. But could I see you again? I would at least like to see Honolulu, maybe eat dinner.”
That sounded like an evening together—a date—and Bobbi wasn’t sure. But she did want to see him again. “Sure. We could take the bus into town. I’m not working now, until I go. But I could be leaving some time next week.”
“Yeah, the same here. If I can’t get off my ship, I’ll get word to you. But if I can get shore leave again, I’ll call. All right?”
“All right.”
Bobbi was surprised by her own emotions—by the excitement she felt—but she didn’t want to give him the wrong idea. “David, it’s just . . . you know. I mean . . .”
“Sure, sure. We’re just old friends. Don’t worry. I won’t bother you any more about Richard. I just like seeing you. I’ve missed you. Every single day.”
Bobbi took a long breath. “David, don’t—”
“I’m sorry. I won’t.” He got up, suddenly, quickly, brushed his fingers through his hair, as though he thought he still had that lock of hair that had always fallen into his eyes before. He was smiling. “If you want, you can bring that redheaded nurse along—you know, just for a chaperone.”
Bobbi liked that better. “I doubt you’re ready for her. She only dates captains and admirals.”
“I should have known.”
“Well . . . do call me if you can. I have plenty of time.” But that sounded much too inviting. As Bobbi walked back to her quarters, she was almost certain she had done the wrong thing.
Chapter 6
Alex was living in a stone farmhouse that had been damaged by artillery fire, but he was out of the worst of the cold. The men in his platoon had scrounged a little wood stove from somewhere, and that took the chill off the place. His battalion was now stationed in Haguenau, in the French Alsace, a part of France that had been German territory at times in the past, and where most people spoke both French and German. Haguenau, sliced in half by the Moder River, was a town of about 20,000 people. On the opposite side of the river from where Alex and his platoon were quartered, the city was still occupied by German forces. All a man had to do was walk outside to draw sniper fire. If two or three walked out together, they might attract a round from an 88-millimeter gun. Well back from the line, the Germans also had an enormous 205-millimeter railway gun. When it fired, the incoming shell made a sound like a flying truck. Anyone upstairs had plenty of time to run all the way to the basement before it struck, but if one those big shells had ever hit the house dead on, nothing would have been left of anyone, whether in the basement or not.
The house the Americans occupied was serving as a forward observation post. Lieutenant Owen could call in artillery on targets across the river, or he could inform headquarters about any troop movements on the other side. In truth, however, everyone was quite certain that no counterattacks were coming. The Germans had made a push just before the 101st had been pulled out of Belgium, but the brass now believed that had been only a feint to draw some Allied troops south, away from the retreating German forces in the Bulge. Right now, in Haguenau, everything was on hold on both sides. When spring broke, the Allies would unquestionably begin a major offensive, and paratroopers would assist in the operation. But for now, all the signs pointed to both sides sitting tight. Alex had received a couple of replacement soldiers, which meant that the position was being bolstered, not abandoned.
The replacements were not as young as the last group, but they were still wide-eyed and fresh out of jump school. One was a fellow named Darwin Pugmire, who was something of a kindred spirit to Alex. He was a blond-haired fellow, tall and strongly built, with a tendency to smile, subtly, even when there seemed no reason to do so. He had graduated from the University of California in engineering and had held down a job in a defense plant for a time. He was married, too, and had a little boy. The arms factory where he had worked had begun to cut back the previous year, and when he lost his job, he was suddenly vulnerable to the draft. The army was taking more fathers now, but he and Alex were the only two married men in the squad. That linked them in some ways, but beyond that, they shared an interest in history and in the politics of the war.
The other new man, Eliot Kaplan, was from New York City. He was a tough-talking little guy, and something of a philosopher, with an opinion about almost everything. He liked to double up his fist when he talked and hammer home his convictions. Alex liked having a couple of men around who could talk about things that were going on back in the States, and men who had some interesting ideas to discuss.
Neither of the new men was impressed by the quarters. But they were the only ones. The soldiers who had survived the Bulge thought they were living in a palace. The windows in the old house were blown out, the plumbing didn’t work, part of the roof was blown away, and the floors were covered with trash—ration cans and cigarette packages thrown among the plaster and bricks and broken glass—but the men could cover the windows and heat the place a little, and they were out of the snow and wind. For a time, right after they arrived, the weather had warmed, but lately, in early February, snow was falling again. Still, the men were happy not to be digging foxholes and sleeping in mud.
Alex and his men, shortly after arriving, had had the chance to take showers. They had stood in temporary canvas structures and let the water—not hot, but at least not freezing—run over their dirt-crusted bodies. Pulling off their long underwear, after almost two months without changing, had been tedious and painful. The hair of their legs and chests had grown through the cotton fabric, and it was impossible to undress without ripping a lot of that hair out. But once they had stripped down and soaked themselves, soaped up and scrubbed, they felt human again. And now, with a place to hunker down, out of the elements, they were living in comparative luxury.
After Alex had shaved, he had stood and looked at himself in the mirror. He was surprised to realize that his face hadn’t changed any more than it had. He expected to look older, more haggard. His dark eyes and long eyelashes, the sculptured bones of his face, seemed almost effeminate to him now—after looking into hard, rough faces for so long. The way he felt inside, it seemed a sort of deception to look so much like his old self.
One afternoon Summers, on assignment from the company commander, came to see Alex. He was still the executive officer of the company, but his promotion had come through. He was Major Summers now. He and Alex shared a lot of history, all the way back to basic training in Georgia, and Alex respected the man more than any other officer in the company, but he didn’t like the look on Summers’s face today. Summers talked to Alex’s platoon leader first and then came to Alex. The two stepped outside, away from the view of the Germans across the river, and they talked for a long time. When Alex walked back into the house, he could tell that he must have taken on the major’s expression. Pozernac immediately said, “What do we have to do now?”
“I’ve got to get some people together, and then I’ll tell you,” Alex said. He went looking for the men he wanted. When he had gathered his “volunteers”—twelve soldiers—into the living room, he stood in front of them. They were sitting on the floor or leaning against walls. All the furniture in the room had been burnt in the wood stove, long ago.
“I’ve been asked to put together a patrol,” Alex said. Most of the men moaned, and Alex didn’t blame them. “My squad is going, and I chose you other five men because I know you’ve been around for a while. Your squad leader gave me permission to ask you.”
Alex watched Pugmire and K
aplan. He wondered what they were thinking. But they kept looking him in the eye, probably trying to communicate that they weren’t afraid.
“We’re going to take a couple of rubber boats across the river. We know where there’s an outpost in the basement of a building, just on the other side. We’re going to go in fast, grab a couple of Germans, and bring them back. The S-2 isn’t excited about sitting here with no idea what the Germans are doing over there. He wants to get hold of some soldiers he can interrogate. Sooner or later, we have to cross that river, and he wants to know what we’re going to be up against.”
Alex heard one of the men from another squad, a man named Ed Lyon, mumble something to the soldier next to him.
“What’s the trouble?” Alex asked.
Lyon looked at Alex for a time, and then he apparently decided to say what he really thought. “These intelligence
guys . . .” He cursed them. “They get tired of sitting around, so they put our lives on the line for a little information. I don’t think we’re going to learn much from a couple of German soldiers, and we’re just about sure to get some of our men killed.”
“I can’t answer to the value of the mission, Corporal,” Alex said. “What I know is that I’ve got an order, and I picked some guys who can carry it out. We’ve got a good plan. We’ll hit quick and get back, and we’ve got all kinds of firepower backing us up. But if you don’t want to go, just say the word. I’ll get someone else. That goes for all of you. Just raise your hand if you want out.”
Lyon swore again, but he didn’t raise his hand. No one did.
“We’re going to train with the boats in the morning, and probably the next day—but not where the Germans can see us. Be ready at 0800 tomorrow, and we’ll get trucked to a place where we can make some practice runs. The mission itself starts at 2200, day after tomorrow. I’ll fill you in on the whole thing in the morning.”
Alex let the men go then, but what he felt was that Lyon was probably right. He wasn’t at all sure that Intelligence could learn anything, and there was no question that the mission was dangerous. He also had to wonder why he was the one chosen to lead the mission. Summers said it was because he spoke German, but virtually every soldier knew how to say “Hände hoch” or “Komm mit, schnell!”
