by Scott Turow
"Martin?" he asked. "Bob Martin? They've sent you to arrest Bob Martin? Don't they know what the hell is going on here? We've got everybody firing a weapon, including the cooks. I have three companies under the command of NCOs. I've got two second lieutenants who between them have a total of one week's experience in Europe. And they want you to arrest one of my best combat officers?"
"Those were my orders, sir."
"Well, I'll give you different orders, Captain. You arrest Major Martin or anybody else who's able-bodied and firing back at the Germans and I won't bother arresting you. I'll shoot you, Captain Dubin, and don't take that for jest."
I looked to the circle of officers for help.
"Three days from now," Algar told me, "four, whatever it takes to deal with the Krauts, we can sort this out. McAuliffe can talk to Teedle. They can take it up with Patton if they like. Or even Eisenhower. They'll hash it out at the top. Right now we're all trying to save this bloody town. And ourselves. Understood?"
I didn't answer. There was a silent moment of standoff, before Algar spoke again.
"Just out of curiosity, Dubin, what is it exactly that Martin's supposed to have done?"
I took a second evaluating what I could say, then asked to speak to him alone. It was too cold for Algar to ask his officers to step outside, but he shooed them to a corner.
"Colonel," I said in a whisper, "there's a question of loyalty.
Algar leaned forward so quickly I thought he meant to hit me.
"Listen, Dubin, Bob Martin has been fighting with the 110th for almost a week now, leading a combat unit, and doing one heck of a job. As a volunteer. He's been through hell, like the rest of us, and he's just taken on another mission that requires more guts than common sense. I'll stake my life on his loyalty."
"Not to the Allies, sir. It's a question of which one.
Algar watched me, once more trying to figure me out. He betrayed his first sign of nervousness, nibbling at the mustache over his lip, but that, it turned out, was only as a means to control his anger.
"Oh, I see," he said, "I see. More red-baiting? Is that it? I've been watching the brass give the cold shoulder to a lot of the French resisters whose politics they don't care for, men and women who risked everything for their country, while half of France was kneeling down in Vichy. Well, I've got no use for that, Dubin. None.
"I'll tell you the truth, Captain. I feel sorry for you. I do. Because that jump took some guts. And it was for a bunch of silly crap. And now you're not just out of the frying pan into the fire, but straight into a volcano. The Germans have us surrounded. We have damn little food, less ammunition, and the only medical supplies I've seen are the ones that fell with you. So I don't know what the hell you're going to do with yourself, but I promise you this--you're not arresting Bob Martin. Ralph," he said, "find Captain Dubin and his sergeant a place to sleep. Gentlemen, that's all I can do for you. Dismissed."
Chapter 16.
NIGHT VISIT
Biddy and I were 'transported about a mile to the town of Hemroulle and a small stone church that stood amid a clutch of dark farm buildings, where we put up for the night with an infantry unit under Algar's command. I slept on an oak pew, better than the cold floor, but too narrow to be comfortable. Between that and the reverberations of jumping and deflecting bullets, I could not really manage much sleep and I woke easily at the sound of two men, Americans, shouting at each other in the back of the sanctuary. Somebody else hollered to take the row outside. The radiant dial on my watch showed nearly 3:00 a. M. I lay there a second longer determined to sleep, then suddenly recognized both of the quarreling voices.
When I bolted up, Biddy was visible in the light of a candle beside the door, dragging Robert Martin along by the collar of his field jacket, looking like a parent with an unruly boy. I took just an instant longer to convince myself I was awake, then grabbed my tommy gun and rushed back there. Biddy's woven belt was tied around Martin's hands. The Major was furious.
"Why is it when you tell even a good man that he's a policeman, he turns into a thug?" Martin asked as soon as he saw me.
According to Bidwell, Martin had driven up only a moment ago, while Bidwell was on his way back from the outhouse.
"Smiles like he was my auntie come to visit and asks for you," said Biddy. "My orders say arrest him and that's what I done."
I knew Biddy had laid hands on Martin just for the pure pleasure of it, given what we'd been through. Nor did I blame him. But Algar would treat this as mutiny.
"Let him go, Gideon."
He looked at me in his way. "Hell, Captain," he said.
"I know, Biddy. But untie him. We need to get things straightened out first."
One of the men from the platoon sleeping behind us sat up on his pew and called us jerk-offs and told us again to take it outside.
We passed into the church's narrow entry, just beyond the sanctuary. Two candles had been placed in the corners for the benefit of those using the outhouse. As soon as Biddy untied Martin, he banged out the old wooden doors. I assumed he was leaving, but the Major returned in an instant with his steel flask. Apparently he'd lost it after offering it to Bidwell. Martin's knowledge of judo might have given him a fair chance, even against Gideon, but Biddy had fallen on him without warning, while Martin was offering him a drink.
I remained astonished to see Martin. If he knew we were here, he had to know why.
"Come to taunt us, Major?"
"More to pay my respects and clear things up. That is, until I ran into Primo Canera here. I understand it was you two we saw being shot at in the sky last night. What kind of training did you have for that, Dubin?"
I was not sure I wanted to answer, but shook my head a bit.
"Quite heroic," said Martin. "I hope you weren't patterning yourself after me." He found the comment amusing. Martin was dressed as he was at La Saline Royale, in a field jacket and combat fatigues, with a vest full of equipment. He was dirty and unshaved and rubbing at one of his wrists, which must have been a little sore after his tussle with Gideon. Every now and then he reached down to swipe off more of the snow that had collected on his trousers when Bidwell had pinned him out on the church steps.
"I don't fancy myself a hero, Major. It's not a label I deserve. Or that I'd exult in."
"Is that a personal remark, Dubin?"
It was, but I wouldn't admit it. "I admire what you've done, Major."
Is that why you've come to arrest me?" He said he'd heard about my orders from Ralph Gallagher, Algar's Exec. I still had a copy of Teedle's written directive in the inside pocket of my tunic, now wrinkled and still moist with my sweat. Unfolding it, Martin walked closer to one of the candles to read, his shadow looming enormously behind him. Biddy was crouched down along the paneled wall opposite. His hand was on his tommy gun and his eyes never left Martin.
"Seems like everybody's quite vexed with me, Dubin," said Martin as he handed the paper back. "Including you."
"You lied to me, Major. And stole away in the dead of night."
"I told you I was about to depart on a mission, Dubin, when you arrived that day at the Comtesse s.
"You were referring to blowing the dump at La Saline Royale."
"Was I? Your misunderstanding. I'm sorry. Have you spoken yet to OSS? What is it they've told you about my current orders?" I realized then that was why Martin had come around. He wanted to know what OSS surmised about his disappearance--whether they thought he'd gone mad, or had deserted, or if, more critically, they'd figured out that he was working for the Soviets. I was determined to give him no answers to that.
"London has approved your arrest, Major."
"Rubbish. I'd wager a large sum, Dubin, you have not heard that personally from anyone at OSS. They're the ones who sent me this way. Don't you recall? I told you several times I was being dispatched to Germany." To link up with his old network and save lives, he had said. There was no doubt OSS would want German supporters at this stage.
&nb
sp; Across the entryway Bidwell's eyes had jumped from Martin to me to be certain I wasn't going to be taken in again, but he had no need for concern. The motto of the law remained with me. Falsus in uno, falsus in omnibus. False in one thing, false in all. One lie was enough to deprive any witness of credibility and Martin's fabrications were beyond tolling. Whatever the irony, I reposed considerable faith in Teedle's veracity by now He was too direct to lie. I simply shook my head at Martin.
"You make it your business to get to London, Dubin, and to speak with Colonel Winters. You'll see I'm telling the truth."
"For your sake, I hope you are, Major. But there is no ambiguity in the orders I have. You are to be arrested. Whenever we can make safe passage to the west, Bidwell and I will escort you back to Third Army Headquarters. As an officer you'll be held under house arrest until your trial."
"House arrest?"' He chuffed some air after the words. "That sounds like my childhood. And won't Teedle be satisfied?" That thought wilted him. He slumped against the wall across the entryway from Bidwell, and opened up his flask. He offered me a slug, which I declined. I wanted no more of Robert Martin's generosity.
"Do you read Nietzsche, Dubin?" Martin asked after a moment.
"I have."
"Yes, I have, too. General Teedle has read Nietzsche, of that you can be certain. life's school of war: what does not kill me makes me stronger.' It's all rot," he said. "And Teedle is not Superman. Do you know why the General wants the world to think he's a great man of action, with his arms across his chest? Have you seen him strike that pose in the newsreels? The General is a fruit," Martin said. "Have you learned that yet?"
I said nothing.
"I don't mind faggots," said Martin. "There've been several who've done some damn good stuff for me over the years. One of them was a waiter in Paris. Can't imagine what a waiter overhears, Dubin. But he was one of those wispy queers who made no bones about it. The General thinks he's just a man who sleeps with men."
"Are you saying that feeds his grudge against you, Major?"
"Who knows? Probably not. For Teedle it's probably all about me supposedly being a Communist. Have you asked him about that?"
I took a second to consider what I should say. I couldn't entirely surrender my curiosity now that he'd raised the subject.
"Teedle says you were a party member, Major. In Paris."
Rarely given to laughter, Martin managed a short high-pitched cackle. "Well, I've always liked a good party," he said. "And for that I'm to be arrested?"
"You're to be arrested for insubordination, Major. But General Teedle would probably tell you to your face that he suspects that when our armies meet, you'd follow the orders of Russian generals rather than his." Given my experiences with Martin, I wouldn't have placed much faith in his denials. But I was still taken aback when he made none. Instead, he chuckled again.
"You can lay good money on that, Dubin. I'd sooner take directions from a squawking parrot than Teedle. But fortunately I'm here under a fine commander. I have no problems with Algar, you'll notice."
"The Lieutenant Colonel said you were about to undertake some new operation, Major?"
"Indeed. We start about an hour from now." I expected him to invoke the privileges of required secrecy, but apparently the mission was common knowledge. The military situation around Bastogne was even worse than the flight mechanics at Virton had suggested. The Germans had cut the last roads yesterday and fully encircled the area. Now they would tighten their grip until they could blast the American troops into submission. Our position was tenuous, but the men I'd encountered, including those with Algar, and Martin now, remained calm. Patton was on the way, supposedly, but the troops all felt that what they needed was bullets and equipment so they could break out themselves. That was what Martin's operation was about.
On December 19, as the Germans had flanked Bastogne to the south and west, they had cut off an American supply train near Vaux-les-Rosieres, blocking the tracks with tanks and leaving the train there, probably waiting to determine if they could make any use of its contents themselves. Along with some of the men from the 'loth Regiment whom he'd been commanding for a week now, Martin aimed to reach those railcars full of ammunition.
The bet was that when his troops and his three Hellcat tank destroyers cut into the thin German lines, the Nazis would fall back to consolidate their position, thinking this was the spearhead of a concerted American effort to pierce the encirclement. Martin and his men would probably have an unimpeded path to the train. If Martin could get the locomotive moving, they would steam into Bastogne. If not, they would off-load as much as they could of the 75mm ammunition and the bullets for smaller arms and then dash back before the Germans closed in again.
The only difficult part, Martin thought, might be getting through in the first place.
"The infantry's thin," he said. "We'll go right past them. The Panzer Lehr are roaming out there somewhere, but even McAuliffe thinks it's a solid plan," he said, referring to the commander of the mist who was directing the defense of Bastogne. "Even if the Lehr show up, we can fall back. And if we make it through, our chances of success are very high."
"Trains and ammunition," I said. "You seem to have a motif, Major."
"Old dog, old tricks," he answered. "It's damn boring to be a specialist. I never wanted to specialize in anything when I was a boy. But then I fell in love with the railroad."
I asked if he was the kind who ran model locomotives around a track decorated with miniature trees and stations.
"Never had patience for that. I was somewhat frenetic as a child. I suppose you can still see that. No, trains for me came at a later point. I left home for a spell when I was seventeen. Hopped a freight car. First taste of freedom I'd had in my life was when that car went hurtling out of Poughkeepsie. I decided at that moment that the railroad was the greatest of mankind's inventions. I loved being around trains. When I went to my mother's people in Paris after I dropped out of college, that was the work I sought. Started as a porter. Ended up as an engineer. The idea that I was a common workingman appalled my father, but it delighted me."
"I don't think I've heard you mention your parents before, Major."
"No accident in that, Dubin." He nipped at his flask again and looked at the candles. "My father's a professor of Romance languages at Vassar College. Met my mother when he was at the Sorbonne. Very distinguished fellow, my father. And the meanest man walking God's green earth. I agree with him about everything. Politics. Music. I don't like his attire, I suppose, I don't like his hats. But it goes to show you beliefs aren't everything. He's a complete son of a bitch."
"Hard on you?"
"Very. And harder on my mother. She couldn't get away by hopping a train. So she blew her head off with his shotgun when I was sixteen."
As the wind came up outside, the wooden doors knocked and the candles guttered, but he didn't take his gaze from the corner. I expressed my sympathies.
"Well," he said. "It was hard, of course. Horrible. But it wasn't a picnic before then. My mother was always in bed, an impossibly beautiful woman, but utterly morose. I can barely remember her features because I rarely saw her anywhere but a dark room." He drank and looked at the wall. "These aren't stories I often tell, Dubin."
I could understand that. But I recognized Martin's instinct always was to master the moment however he could. His. charm had been undermined by his lies. So now he would prey on my sympathies. Or parade out Teedle's perversions.
"I think I should come along on this operation with you tonight, Major." I had been considering that for a while. Across the entryway, Biddy could not contain himself.
"Jesus Christ crucified," he moaned. I found a pebble on the floor and tossed it at him, then repeated my request of Martin.
"Afraid I'll run away, Dubin?"
"That would not be without precedent, Major."
"Well, right now you have the Germans to ease your mind. Every road has been cut. And the snow is high. And I
've got a team to bring back."
I said I still wanted to come.
"Don't be an ass, Dubin. You won't be there for the mission. You'll be there to keep an eye on me. Which means you'll be a danger to both of us. And damn certain to get in the way."
"We didn't get in the way at the salt mine."
"At the salt mine, Dubin, you stayed in one place.
This is a mobile operation. In armored vehicles on which you've never been trained."
"I'll speak to Algar."
"It's not Algar's choice. It's mine. And I don't want you there."
The chance that Algar would overrule Martin was minimal, but given the situation I needed to try. I asked if Martin was willing to drive me back to Algar's headquarters so I could make my case to the Lieutenant Colonel. He wound his head disbelievingly, but smiled brightly at my doggedness, as usual.
"I have to get ready, Dubin, but I'll drop you there. Come along."
I told Biddy to stay and sleep. He seemed unconvinced.
"He's got a tommy gun with him, Sergeant," said Martin. "I think he'll have a fair chance against me." Martin called Gideon "Bruiser" when he gestured goodbye.
As soon as we were under way in his jeep, Martin said, "Aren't you going to ask me about Gita?"
hook a second. "I hope she's well."
"As do I."
"I understand she's near Houffalize."
"You won't find her if you look there, Dubin." Martin turned from the road with a tart, narrow look and we stared at each other. It was the first instant of actual hardness between us, undeflected by irony. He wanted me to ask where she was, and I wouldn't give him the pleasure. Even so, this friction reminded me yet again what a terrible mistake I'd made with her.
"If you have a complaint with me, as far as Mademoiselle Lodz is concerned, Major, feel free to lodge it."
"No complaints," he said quickly. "She wouldn't stand for it. Her life is her own. Always has been and always will be." This was a disciplined answer, like a soldier taking orders. "She's in Luxembourg. At least I hope she is. Roder. Overlooking the German border. We both sent reports to Middleton that the Germans were massing tanks, but nobody wanted to hear that. God bless the United States Army." He tossed his head bitterly, as he pulled the vehicle in front of the barn where Biddy and I had been with Algar a few hours earlier. When Martin's hand came forward, I lifted my own to shake, but instead he pointed at my side.