Blood alone bbwim-3
Page 33
"With these orders, you can get on a plane at 1400 hours. Are you leaving now? Without-"
"See ya, Sue. Thanks for everything."
I hotfooted it over to our tent. Sciafani was sitting in the sun, reading an old Life magazine.
"Big Mike around?" I asked.
"He is at lunch and is coming after that to drive me to the POW camp. Nothing worked out last night?"
"Nothing, Enrico. Sorry. Listen, I need a favor. Will you drive me to the airfield?"
"Should I be driving a military vehicle? Here?"
"Hey, you've been in the army. Come on, you'll be back in time for Big Mike to take you to the POW camp."
"Well, it was in a different army, but what can they do to me?"
"Right, come on. There's a two o'clock flight." I enjoyed using civilian time, a lot more than was normal. Maybe it was like a connection, like Big Mike carrying around his shield.
Big Mike had drawn a jeep from the motor pool to take Sciafani south to the POW camp. We got in and drove down the busy road to the airfield.
"Thank you for everything you've done," Sciafani said, speaking loudly above the road noise.
"I didn't get anything done."
"I mean back in Sicily. It was remarkable, really."
"Stubborn is more like it."
We pulled up at the gate and I showed my orders. The sentry waved me on. I followed the markers to a waiting transport. A line of officers and civilians stood near it as GIs loaded gear into the rear. An MP held up his hand for us to halt.
"You on this flight, sir?"
"Got the orders right here."
"Both of you?"
"No, just one."
"OK, get your gear out, have your orders ready, and then get this vehicle out of here." He blew his whistle at another vehicle and stalked off to tell the driver to get a move on.
"This is it, Enrico." I stuck out my hand and we shook.
"Where are you going, Billy?"
"All depends. But you, my friend, are going to Boston. Massachusetts General." I took my dog tags off and put them around Sciafani's neck.
"What?"
"Don't ask any questions. Stand in line, get on the plane, don't talk to anyone." I handed him the file and a wad of greenbacks that I guessed would buy a train ticket from New Jersey to Boston.
"But this is a discharge for you."
"Bad timing. Busy right now. Get going before I change my mind."
The MP blew his whistle again.
"Get a move on. One of you on board, one of you out of here! Sir!"
I liked polite cops.
"Are you certain?" Sciafani asked.
"God help me, I am. Here, one more thing. When you get to Boston, go to this address." I handed him the envelope. "He's an old friend of mine. Alphonse DeAngelo. He 'll help you. I'd send you to my family, but I don't want them to know that I could have come home."
"If this is truly what you want, Billy, I will go."
"Go."
He grabbed his bag with the few belongings he had packed for the POW camp.
"Don't get hit in the head again, Billy. Promise me that."
"Odds are against it."
Sciafani waved, a grin lighting up his face. He ran to the line, showing his orders to a bored PFC who hooked his thumb toward the open door of the transport without looking up from his clipboard. I smiled, wheeled the jeep around and floored it, certain I had done the right thing for Sciafani, and for myself.
But that didn't mean I wanted to watch him fly away to the States. I didn't want to think about what I had given up. As I heard the engines cough and turn, I kept my eyes on the road stretching ahead of me.
I drove fast, the wind whipping my face, bringing tears to my stinging eyes. This is who I am.
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