The Forgotten Home Child

by Genevieve Graham

  twenty-seven JACK

  — 1943 —

  Jack closed his eyes, riding the swell of the ocean, inhaling the open sea air. The wind felt good against his face. It was a different wind from the one that had pushed him from train to train, the one that had reddened his cheeks all winter through iced-over miles, and the one that had drenched him during spring rains. The wind always felt right to him. Cleansing, in a way. As if the grime of the past could fall off and be left behind.

  “I feel like all we ever do is wait.” Cecil’s chin rested on his folded arms. He was bent over the ship’s rail, staring glumly at the water. “I just want to get there.”

  Edward chuckled. “We’re always in a hurry to get somewhere, then we can’t wait to leave. What’s the rush, I say.”

  “I ain’t never liked boats,” Cecil said.

  Jack felt a little of both. He was eager to get to the war, but he never got tired of being with the brothers. Jack had met them at the Shilo station when they came out to join the 1st Canadian Infantry Division, and it was as if they’d never been apart. Just like him, they joined up ready to fight, but the training had gone on forever. Even after they were shipped back to England to join the British forces, the training continued. Some of the men with whom they shared barracks complained about the cots, the food, and the discipline, but for the Home Boys, almost everything about training camp was a luxury.

  Now it was late June and they were finally headed into conflict. During their first week at sea their commander had told them they were part of “Operation Husky,” along with several other divisions travelling in the Mediterranean Sea, en route to join a huge armada involving over twenty-five hundred Allied ships. Two miles off the southern tip of Italy was the volcanic island of Sicily, currently held by both Italian and German forces, and the island was in the perfect position for attacking and destroying the shipping routes of the Allied forces. The Allies’ mission was to storm the beaches and take the island. The boys were eager to flex some muscle, to make use of their skills. To have a purpose.

  In the meantime, they spent as much time as they were allowed on the top deck, breathing in the warm wind rather than the stale air below. With their days full of little but ocean, it was impossible not to think about their original sail out of England. A different ocean, a different lifetime.

  “Think it’s still the same?” Cecil asked. “If we’d gone back to London for a visit, would we have seen the same people and buildings?”

  “Some of it’s been destroyed by the Germans,” Edward said. “But I imagine some of it’s the same.”

  Jack’s mind wandered back to those cold, wet streets, to the jostling marketplace where no one had wanted them. “I wonder if what they said is true,” he mused. “If they gave us a better life by sending us away. I mean, England wasn’t so different. Just like in Canada, the folks here called us thieves, sneaks, vermin… you know.”

  “Yeah, but in England we deserved it.” Edward paused. “I have a question. I know who we’re fighting against. But who are we actually fighting for? England or Canada?”

  “One and the same,” Jack replied. “We’re the good guys, no matter what.”

  “Where are you gonna go after the war?” Cecil asked. “We’re on our own now, don’t owe nobody nothing. No one cares that we’re Home Boys anymore.”

  “Back to Canada,” Jack said without hesitation. There he would find meaningful work, like he’d always intended to do, and there he would find Mary and Winny. Seven years ago he’d made the girls a promise, and he’d wasted a lot of time not following through. He’d been wrong to give up before, and when this was all over, he would search for them, even if it took the rest of his life.

  * * *

  A few nights later, they were again standing by the rail when Jack heard a splash nearby. He knew where the other fifty or so boats in their convoy should be, and this noise seemed out of place. There was just enough moonlight to let various shades of grey play with his vision, so he pressed binoculars to his eyes, scouting the endless void of water. Another splash came from his right, sounding even closer. This time, he clearly saw the source… and more.

  He grabbed the front of Edward’s shirt and shoved the binoculars into his friend’s hand. “Look!”

  Edward peered through the lens, and his jaw dropped. “Cecil. Get over here.”

  Cecil laughed out loud when he saw. “Those Nazi bastards won’t know what hit ’em!”

  The sea, which had seemed so vast hours before, was now crowded with Allied ships, manned by tens of thousands of Canadian, American, and British troops. Everywhere Jack looked there was another immense ship teeming with men. The spray of thousands of steel bows slicing through the surface, the sheer military might that covered the sea around him, filled Jack with an undeniable sense of power.

  But doubt returned a week later when their convoy floated slowly through a well-known U-boat hotbed. All at once, torpedoes blasted through the water, and there was nothing he or any of the others could do but stand on deck and watch in horror as three of their freighters blew up, one after another. Almost sixty men lost in the blink of an eye, along with five hundred vehicles and weapons. That night he and the rest of the division lay in their cots, haunted by what they’d seen.

  The day before the scheduled invasion, a storm blew in. As if to protect the island, the wind stirred the water to colossal waves that tossed the warships like toys. The men were ordered to keep to their quarters for safety, but the ship rolled so badly that even the hardiest sailor had trouble keeping control of his stomach. It came as a great relief when evening finally arrived and the winds began to die down. Jack, Cecil, and Edward were among the first to escape to the top deck for fresh air. They should have been sleeping, Jack knew—he had a feeling this day would demand more from him than he had to give—but a restless flow of apprehension and excitement ran through his veins like wildfire.

  A new roar started up from somewhere behind them, growing louder and louder until it shook the sky, and the boys stared in awe as airplanes soared overhead.

  “Paratroopers!” Edward hollered over the noise. “Someone said they’ll be dropping behind enemy lines to prevent escape.”

  “Crazy bastards,” Cecil yelled, waving a fist in the air. “Go get ’em, lads!”

  Just then a major walked over and ordered them back downstairs. “If you can’t sleep, then clean your guns and shine your boots and buttons.” He patted Cecil’s shoulder on his way by. “But you’re gonna wish you’d slept.”

  Two hours later they were jolted awake by deafening booms as the Allied ships started shelling the shore. The blasts were continuous, shuddering through Jack’s chest and pounding in his ears. The men were primed, and they stood shoulder to shoulder as they waited for orders. When it was time, they climbed down the ship’s outer stairs, fully loaded with guns, grenades, and ammo, then they stepped aboard a landing craft along with dozens of other men. From the middle of the crowd, Jack could see nothing but the sky and the backs of the men in front of him. Battle was unavoidable now, and Jack fought to contain his rising panic. As the boat cast off, he heard someone whispering prayers.

  Ping! Jack jerked sideways out of reflex when something hit the wall of the craft right beside him. Bullets, he realized, heart racing. When the ramp at the front of the craft opened, he and the others would rush out and run straight into those bullets. More and more hit the vehicle as they drew closer to the beach, and suddenly everything was much too real.

  Cecil and Edward stood stiffly beside him, and Jack could sense their fear. They’d been through too much together not to know what the others were thinking, and this time they not only faced the unknown, they faced possible death. Jack’s mind went to all the times they’d been in trouble, and how they’d stuck together through it. When things got out of hand, Jack had been the one they’d turned to, and they’d been the ones he’d counted on. Today would be no different.

  “Hey,” he said. The br
others’ faces were pale, their eyes large under metal helmets. “What do you say we meet at a nice Italian restaurant after this is all done? Maybe just on the other side of the beach.”

  They didn’t answer, but he saw the softening in their expressions, the moment they’d needed to break through the fear and remember who they were. How far they’d come. And that they weren’t alone.

  He gave a quick, single nod. “Right then. First one in gets the table. Last one in pays.”

  Their commander took his position at the front of the boat. “Gentlemen! Remember your objective. Take out the enemy’s defenses and head past the beach. Do not stop. Do not assist any fallen men. Do you understand? I don’t care who he is, leave him there and keep running.”

  “Not bloody likely,” Edward muttered.

  “Ready!” the man yelled. “Five… four… three… two… one.”

  The ramp dropped with a sharp squeal and splashed into the water. Jack pushed forward with the rest of them, and when he leapt off the edge he sank unexpectedly to his chin in warm Mediterranean water. Cecil splashed in at his side, but he couldn’t see Edward. Bullets hacked into the surface around them, and though the weapons and ammo weighed him down like an anchor, Jack’s mind flew ahead, listing everything he needed to do right now. Get out of the water. Get onto the beach. Don’t get hit. Head toward the dunes, sprint toward the barbed wire—

  A private he’d had breakfast with two days before fell in front of him. Jack yanked the man back to his feet and kept moving. It was getting easier, since his knees were above water now. To his left, another soldier cried out and a plume of blood exploded from his arm. When someone reached to help him, he was hit too. Cecil grunted to his right, and Jack wheeled toward him, eyes wide.

  “I’m okay, I’m okay,” Cecil said, and Jack saw Edward on his other side, pulling Cecil to his feet. “I tripped.”

  A bullet landed in the water to Jack’s left, another one ahead, and streams of bubbles rose in their wake. He lifted his gun as if it were a part of his arm and fired at the enemy bunkers over and over again, though he had no idea if any of his bullets would hit. When he reached the sand dunes, the brothers went in the same as he, guns blazing over the crest, but the enemy wasn’t there. They had expected tens of thousands of Italian forces to be waiting for them, and thousands of Germans behind them, but despite the urgency of everything going on around them, this seemed like a light resistance. Where was the enemy?

  The three of them joined others from their battalion, already hunkered down in the sand and awaiting direction. Jack studied the expanse of scrub brush spread before them, but he couldn’t see any opposing forces there either. Had the sheer magnitude of the Allied armada intimidated the enemy enough to send them running?

  Their commander jumped over the dune, then waved them on through the sweltering heat. “On your feet,” he yelled. “Let’s see if we can find any of the cowards. Looks like most have fled inland, but a lot are surrendering.”

  The troops headed toward a dry dirt road, always on the lookout, but they saw no opposition.

  “They may not be shooting at us, but it’s still gonna be a long day,” Edward said.

  Jack resigned himself to the unavoidable walk ahead. Thanks to the earlier U-boat attack, most of their jeeps and trucks now lay at the bottom of the Mediterranean, along with hundreds of guns. The army had no choice but to walk the entire way across the barren, rocky hills of Sicily, smothered by the oppressive heat and accompanied by tanks that stirred up clouds of choking dust. Their mud-green uniforms were soon a thick, chalky yellow.

  They were at the front of the unit when they eventually reached a small village dotted by little white houses, and Edward clutched his gun out of reflex.

  Jack shook his head, put his hand on the barrel. “Look at the white flags. Those aren’t soldiers. And they look pretty happy to see us.”

  * * *

  For the next week, they passed carefully over mine-filled roads and through more villages, receiving mixed but usually harmless welcomes. Still, they could never completely drop their guard, because the enemy occasionally infiltrated the villages and hid within the innocent-looking walls.

  The farther inland they marched, the more it became a battle against the land, with its punishing mountains and canyons, its rugged, winding roads. The heat baked their steel helmets and burned their faces. The dust was unrelenting, and Jack’s eyes felt like sandpaper. When he reached for his water bottle to soothe his parched throat, the water was hot. As the mountains rose more steeply, they began to run into skirmishes, and they discovered the Germans knew this terrain well. The enemy had learned to dig into a fortified spot on a mountain then swiftly move to the next, using their hidden vantage points to fire onto the weary Canadians.

  Jack and the brothers were assigned to a small contingent of men that was frequently ordered to the tops of the hills to scout for Germans. When their commander sent them up again, they went without question. Despite the heat, which Cecil repeatedly declared must rival the temperature of hell, the squad clambered up the steep rise toward the peak, conditioned by three years of hard training. Once they reached the top, they leaned against a rock face, taking a few minutes to recover from the climb. A pearl of sweat rolled down Jack’s cheek.

  “I’ve never been this hot,” Cecil groaned, leaning against the hill. He took his helmet off and scrubbed his fingers through his hair, which was plastered to his skull.

  “Yeah, you have,” Edward said. “You recall those good old days working for Warren?”

  “I choose Italy,” Jack muttered. “Look at that water down there. You ever seen such a beautiful colour?”

  “Yeah,” Cecil said, his voice wistful. “It’s almost worse that we can see it, you know? Feels like it’s teasing us.”

  Suddenly one of the men close to Cecil cried out, clutching his leg, and bullets pelted the rock face.

  “Snipers! Take cover!” Jack yelled.

  Cecil slid down the dirt, reaching for the fallen man, who was slipping helplessly down the mountainside. “Come on, lad! Get up!”

  “Cecil! Get over here!” Edward yelled.

  Cecil wasn’t giving up on the injured man, so Edward and Jack ran out to help. Edward got there first, grabbing the man’s pack strap, and the brothers heaved him out of danger.

  “Idiot,” Edward said, handing Cecil the helmet he’d left behind. “You forgot—”

  Cecil suddenly flew backwards, showering the dirt with blood. Jack and Edward dove down beside him, shielding his body and dragging him behind a shrub, out of harm’s way.

  “Jesus.” Edward pressed hard against his brother’s neck, but blood seeped out between his fingers. “His artery. It hit his artery, Jack! I don’t know what to do!”

  Cecil gasped desperately for air and his body shook unnaturally.

  “It’s nothing, mate,” Jack tried, his voice cracking as he looked in Cecil’s eyes. “They can stitch that up quick. You just gotta stay awake.”

  “Cecil, don’t you do this.” Tears streamed down Edward’s face, cutting through the layers of dust. He touched his nose to his brother’s and tried to speak, but he choked on his words. “Breathe, damn you!”

  “Don’t leave me,” Cecil mouthed. “Don’t leave me.”

  “Never,” Edward promised.

  “We’re right here,” Jack said, squeezing Cecil’s arm hard and hoping he could feel it.

  The battle carried on around them. Enemy snipers were firing out of enclaves they’d dug out of the volcanic rock across from them, and the Canadians were shooting back. Bullets pummelled the dirt on both sides and cracked into rocks, men yelled desperately at each other, but all Jack could think about was Cecil.

  “No, no, no,” Edward sobbed, still pushing on Cecil’s neck.

  “It’s been a laugh,” Cecil managed, struggling to keep his eyes open. “My two brothers. Watch out for each other.”

  “Cecil!” Edward yelled, and his brother’s eyes fluttere
d open. “Don’t give up!”

  The corners of Cecil’s dust-covered lips lifted as his eyes closed for the last time, and Edward collapsed on top of him, weeping. Jack rose, his head throbbing with every pulse, and the ground swayed beneath him.

  The Germans would pay for this.

  He backed away then dove behind a shrub just as a bullet skimmed past. From his relatively protected position, Jack raised his gun and set his sights on a German, but his hands shook so violently, his first shot missed, cracking off a stone near the sniper. He shot again, and it went wide. Furious at his clumsiness, he took a moment to concentrate before he tried again. This time, everything inside Jack focused on the German across the way. All his hate and grief manifested into a solid strength that he knew would not miss. What he needed was a better angle. Stepping out from behind the bush, he stood up tall, fired the shot, and hit his target straight on.

  A searing pain cut through his body, and he staggered backwards, stunned by the blow. As he fell to the ground, he gripped his stomach reflexively, and all he could think was I hit him! I got him for you, Cecil! But the burning agony in his gut couldn’t be ignored.

  “I’m hit!” he yelled, his voice strangled. “I’m hit!”

  Edward lifted his head from his brother’s body. “Oh God,” he breathed. Keeping his head low, he crawled to Jack then dragged his body back toward Cecil.

  “Is it bad?” Jack asked, but he thought he already knew.

  Edward’s blood-covered hands went to Jack’s stomach. He ripped Jack’s shirt open to see the wound and Jack jerked, gasping with pain.