Blood Alone: A Billy Boyle World War II Mystey

by James R Benn

  "Perhaps I will visit you in Boston, Billy, after the war," he said. "Or you in Detroit, Mike."

  "Sure," Big Mike said, kneading his thighs with his hands. "How much longer before we land?"

  "Relax," I said. "It'll be a few hours."

  A few hours. A few hours until I'd be on the same continent as Diana again. I was heading back to North Africa to give Uncle Ike a report on our contact with Don Calo, and everything that had followed from that. Harding had also ordered a full medical check for me, to make sure I was recovered from the whacks I'd taken and my amnesia. I didn't mind a few pokes and prods if it gave me an extra day or so with Diana. Harding had allowed Big Mike a couple of days before he had to deliver Sciafani to the POW camp, in case I could work anything out for Enrico. The States, or maybe England, but that was doubtful for any Italian outside of a POW cage. Still, for me it would mean a few days of doing relatively little. Sleeping in, eating regular chow, clean clothes, nobody shooting at me. It's the little things that make life bearable.

  Then it would be back to Harding in Sicily, unless Uncle Ike needed me for something else. Maybe a colonel stealing a general's scotch, or a visiting congressman getting mugged in the Casbah. Either way, I'd be back in trouble soon enough.

  Harry had been given two weeks' leave for his troubles, time for his leg to fully heal, and had talked his way onto an RAF flight to England. Kaz was staying with Harding, waiting for something else to keep him amused while he decided if he wanted to live another day or so. He 'd seen me off at the airfield, and I watched his hand for any telltale shakes. There was nothing, no hint of any break in the shell. But I knew. I knew his heart would never heal. I knew too what a good and true friend he was to me, to watch me leave, knowing I would soon be reunited with Daphne's sister. I'd be in her arms tonight, and Kaz would be sitting outside Harding's HQ, his scarred face turned to the stars, dreaming of Daphne. Alone.

  Not for the first time, I wondered at my good fortune, and Diana's. We were alive. After Dunkirk, after Norway, North Africa, and now Sicily, we still had each other. I'd been a fool to let my worries come between us, my rage at Villard and my juvenile, insane, perverse fear of what being raped had done to her. Or to me. It had hurt both of us, and now it was time for me to put it behind us. If I could.

  Didn't it say something in the Bible about the truth? Know the truth, and it will set you free? Sometimes I think being a cop made me too literal, always looking for physical evidence, a confession, the stolen silverware. Real things, not concepts like freedom and the truth. I'm not a slave, so why do I need the truth to free me?

  Big Mike had gotten over his terror and was zonked out, sawing logs. Sciafani watched the clouds, and I felt the ache in my gut as I thought about Diana. Half fear, half joy. Not the best mix.

  The drone of the engines dulled my thoughts until I fell into a half sleep, startled by every patch of rough air. Finally we began descending, the North African coast visible below us, clear blue water churning up white foamy waves on sandy beaches. Peaceful, sandy beaches. We touched down at an airfield outside of Amilcar, north of Tunis. General Eisenhower didn't have a full staff here. Forward HQ occupied a villa overlooking the ocean. I don't know how nice it was for the WACs and GIs living in tents behind the villa, but the senior staff sure liked it.

  And a staff car was waiting for us. It brought me straight to headquarters, dropped me off, and took Big Mike and Sciafani to the tent they had assigned us. I walked up the front steps, returning the salutes of the two guards by the door. As I entered, I had to pass Uncle Ike's toughest guard post. That was the desk of Sergeant Sue Sarafian, secretary and receptionist to the general. With the general and other senior officers, Sue and the others were always formal, calling them by their rank. It had taken me a while, but I finally convinced her to call me Billy.

  "Welcome back, Billy," Sue said, gracing me with a smile. "The boss is expecting you."

  "Thanks, Sue. Who else is here from Algiers?"

  "Tex is with the boss, and I'm sure you know Ensign Seaton is here. She's at a briefing with General Clark but will be back this evening. There's going to be a dinner party. When the boss heard you were coming, he decided to go all out. Now get in there and don't keep him waiting!"

  This last part was delivered in a conspiratorial whisper. The girls in Uncle Ike's office worked around the clock. They were there when he showed up early in the morning and only left after he did, late in the evening. The mess tent was usually shut down by then, so food was a source of endless discussion. Especially any food different from the usual army fare. I knew Sue was glad to see me, but what she was excited about was the possibility of a real meal.

  I knocked on Uncle Ike's door and it was opened by Captain Tex Lee, the general's aide.

  "Go on in, Billy, we're all done," Tex said as he held the door for me.

  I stepped into the room and came to attention. "General," I said, standing as straight as I could. I never assumed he wanted to be informal. There were times when he was "the boss," as Sue called him, when he had to be the commanding officer and not a relative. I was careful to let him be the one to set the tone.

  "William," he said, standing up from his desk and crushing out a cigarette. "How are you, son? Sit, sit."

  He gestured to two chairs facing a window overlooking the courtyard. The white stucco gleamed in the bright sun against a deep blue sky. I sat, trying to stop myself from relaxing. The last week or so was catching up to me.

  "How are you feeling? I heard you'd lost your memory for a while. Are you all right now?"

  "Yes, sir, it all came back after a few days. I'm fine now."

  "When we met on the road in Sicily, how long was that after it happened?"

  "Not long, sir. I'm afraid I was a bit mixed up then. I knew who you were, but I still didn't have everything straightened out."

  "My God, William," Uncle Ike said, sitting back and lighting another one of the Lucky Strikes that he smoked by the gross. "Wandering around Sicily trying to figure out who you were, and you still completed your mission. Amazing. Patton went through the mountains to Palermo like a hot knife through butter after your visit with that Mafia fellow. I'm not saying it was all due to your efforts-- Georgie and his boys are doing a fine job--but not having to stop and clear out every mountain crossroads has saved us time and lives."

  "That's what I told Don Calo." As I said it, I wondered about Signora Patane and whether the tubercolosi had taken her yet. Was Signor Patane pressing the dried herbs in the kitchen to his nose right now, remembering the smell of them on her hands as she tied them?

  "Did it make a difference to him? Saving Allied lives?"

  I knew Uncle Ike didn't mean to leave out Sicilian lives. American and British were the ones he was responsible for, the lives he thought about every day. To add to them the burden of civilian lives in an enemy country was more than I could bear to think about.

  "Yes. Yes, it did."

  "William, are you sure you feel all right?"

  "Yes, sir. I'm OK. A good night's sleep and I'll be ready to go."

  "I'm sure the past week has put a lot of stress on you. Major Harding has you set for a medical exam tomorrow. Let the doctors check you out and tell me what they say. If you need a rest, you can stay here a while. Take Miss Seaton to the beach, go for a swim. How does that sound?"

  "Great, Uncle Ike. Thanks."

  He rose and placed a hand on my shoulder and stared out the window. It was something he did often, whether it was at Grosvenor Square in London, the St. George Hotel in Algiers, or here in Amilcar. It was as if he were watching for a sign or a judgment. I couldn't tell which, or if he hoped for or feared it.

  "We've come a long way, William , since London."

  "Yes, sir." I didn't think he meant the two of us.

  "We've occupied enemy soil and toppled Mussolini. The King of Italy has appointed Badoglio prime minister. Italians are surrendering everywhere. There's a good chance they'll come into the war
on our side. All because of our success in Sicily. And you played a vital role in that, William ."

  "Yes, sir."

  "You've already done more than most of my generals. I wish I could promise you more than a few days' rest. You've proved your worth to me, William . But it's still a long way to Berlin, and I'm going to need you to help us get there."

  "Every day, a little closer to Berlin, General," I said, remembering what I had told Remke, and trying not to think about what the future held for me. It came out choked, like a line you rehearsed a hundred times but blew when you tried to say it.

  "That's the spirit, William . The harder we work at this, the sooner more of us will be home again."

  "Yes, sir." I noticed he didn't say all of us. I thought about the Me110 bullet grazing my arm. How much longer would my Irish luck hold out?

  "Now, you be sure to write your mother," he said, looking me in the eye with an uncle's admonition. "I sent a note telling her you were fine and how proud I was of you. The invasion news may alarm her, so be sure to write soon. That's an order, William ."

  "Yes, sir, I will," I said as I rose from the chair and looked Uncle Ike in the eye. He nodded, and walked me to the door.

  "Come for dinner tonight with Miss Seaton. We 're putting on the feed bag for General Alexander and some of his group. Have some good food, enjoy yourself." He put his arm around my shoulder and smiled. I thanked him and walked down the hall, remembering how Kaz had looked when I put my arm around his shoulder to buck him up. I was glad there wasn't a mirror handy.

  I saw Diana on the balcony, turned away from everyone, touching up her lipstick, her eyes focused on the mirror in a gold compact. She clicked it shut, slid it into her uniform pocket. She glanced around the group gathered on the veranda, but didn't notice me coming up the stairs. She looked incredible. Her light brown tropical-weight FANY uniform fitted her perfectly, which meant she'd regained some weight since I'd last seen her. Her face was tanned, giving her a healthy, robust look. The honey-colored hair tucked under her FANY cap had been tinted blond by the North African sun, which lit the people on the veranda now with a glowing, horizontal light, making them look like characters in a painting. She waved to someone and smiled, and at that point I couldn't wait a second longer. I went to her and she turned, her face lighting up with a smile.

  "Billy," her lips said, without making a sound. We embraced, forgetting for a moment that the highest-ranking Allied generals in the Mediterranean were watching us. We forced ourselves apart, and she sheepishly looked at her shoes. We clung to each other's arms like dancers.

  "You look great," I said, feeling like a shy schoolchild.

  "You look like bloody hell," she said. "What's this?" She felt the bandage on my arm under the shirtsleeve.

  "A few stitches, that's all." I touched my forehead, where a bruise had spread from my hairline. "And a bump, nothing much."

  Diana ran her hands over my chest and arms. She bit her lip, tears leaking from her eyes.

  "You're a terrible liar. Come with me," she said, linking her arm in mine. We walked down steps inlaid with colorful tiles to the beach. White sand and palm trees stretched along the curving shore, a cool evening breeze blowing at our backs. It felt clean and fresh after Sicily.

  "I want to hear about it," she said.

  "I don't know where to start."

  "General Eisenhower told me what you managed to do. He's quite proud of you. But what I want to know is, what happened to you? You were injured and lost your memory, that's all I know."

  Her grip tightened on my arm as she spoke. We stopped.

  "I knew who you were. I remembered you. Not your name at first, but you came to me in my dreams. When I couldn't remember anything, you were there. I thought of you as the woman of my dreams. Then one night, I dreamed I couldn't find you."

  We leaned into each other, foreheads touching, hands clenched together. I felt tears on my cheeks, and I was embarrassed.

  "I had the same dream," she said. "I waited for you somewhere, and you didn't come back, from somewhere. You know how it is in dreams. I tried to find you, but I kept getting lost."

  I put my arm around her waist, and we walked through the soft sand.

  "When I was trying to figure out who I was, I ran into a Sicilian doctor. He told me about amnesia and said I was the most fortunate of men because I was about to discover who I was. He told me some philosopher once said the unexamined life is not worth living, and that I was being given the opportunity to examine mine."

  "How did he know you'd get your memory back?"

  "He had studied amnesia. He called mine psycho something and was sure I'd remember everything in time. The last thing to return, he said, would be the event that had caused it. He's a smart guy. I brought him back here with me."

  "Why?"

  "Listen," I said, "It's a long story. Right now I want to tell you something else."

  "What, Billy?" She stopped and put one hand on my arm, the other to her breast, as if holding me back and protecting her heart.

  "He was right. I did learn who I was. Some of it was a shock, mostly about how I treated you."

  "What do you mean?"

  "After Villard," I said.

  Then I started over. "After Villard raped you, all I wanted was revenge. But it was for what he'd done to me, not to you. I thought going after him would help, but it didn't."

  "I wanted him dead too," Diana said, her lips clenched.

  "I know. And he deserved it. But I should have let you know that what he did, whether he was dead or alive, it made no difference. It wasn't about us."

  We walked again, and she was silent for a while.

  "Does it?"

  "What?"

  "Make no difference, about us?"

  "No. What's done is done. It's real, it happened, and we can't forget about it, and I can't pretend killing Villard made it go away. But it's not who we are. I didn't tell you the truth about this," I said, touching the bandage on my arm. "It isn't serious, but it could have been. It was a shell from a German plane. One more inch and I would have lost my arm. Six more inches and it would have taken my head off."

  "What's done is done. No use pretending it didn't happen."

  "Right," I said. We walked some more, the sound of the surf enveloping us.

  "But no sense dwelling on it. Either of us could be killed tomorrow."

  "Right."

  "All right, Billy, all right." She leaned her head into my shoulder and held onto my arm with both of her hands, uncovering her heart. "All right."

  CHAPTER * FORTY

  WE MADE IT BACK to the party an hour later, after the sun had set and we'd shaken the sand out of our clothes. Everyone was still outside drinking cocktails. Candles lit the veranda, their flames reflected in all the polished brass.

  I spotted Sciafani. Big Mike had organized a suit for him to wear. I'd alerted Sue that a local doctor would be attending, and she got him past the guards after they'd given him the once-over. It wasn't exactly a lie, since he was local, now that he was here. I figured we had at least a chance, among all the American and British muckety-mucks getting gassed on Uncle Ike's booze, of getting someone to intervene for him.

  "Ah, so this is the Sicilian doctor who knows his Socrates," Diana said when I introduced them.

  "An honor, Miss Seaton," he said, bowing and kissing her hand. If I'd known he was going to show off like that, I would have left him to play cribbage in the tent with Big Mike. I got us drinks and scanned the crowd for a likely candidate. I didn't want to bother Uncle Ike for a personal favor if I could work it out myself. He had enough of that all day long. It looked like Enrico and Diana were hitting it off, so I buttonholed a British major with medical insignia on his uniform. Turned out he was a dentist and was being transferred to Cairo, so I gave up on him after apologizing for not listening to yet another story about tooth extractions gone bad. Then on to an American colonel who was on the G-1 staff at HQ, which meant personnel. No dice with hi
m either.

  I found Diana and Sciafani as the group filed in for dinner, talking with none other than Uncle Ike. I had to hand it to Diana, she took matters right to the top.

  "I was just telling Dr. Sciafani that civilian immigration is outside of my jurisdiction," Uncle Ike said. "I wish I could repay you for the help you've given William, but there's nothing I can do. Except, of course, to make certain you are well supplied for your duties in the POW facility."

  "Thank you, General. That is most generous. I am honored," Sciafani said, shaking Uncle Ike's hand.

  "Let Sergeant Sarafian know whatever you need. Now, excuse me, I have to play the gracious host." He gave us all his famous grin, that friendly gaze right into your eyes. It got me every time.

  "He is a great man, and gracious," Sciafani said.

  "Yes, runs in the family, they say," I said.

  "Tell me, Enrico, is it true that losing one's memory causes a swelled head?" Diana asked.

  By the time we explained the double meaning in English, we were seated, drinking fine red wine, and laughing like old friends. The room glittered, and Diana's voice was like champagne, sweet and heady, making me aware I was blessed every time her eyes turned to look at me. Once I saw Uncle Ike talking with General Alexander, and as he listened, he glanced toward us and smiled. We were blessed. Alive, together.

  Late that night, in Diana's quarters, we lay in tangled sheets under mosquito netting, our uniforms scattered on the floor where we had discarded them on our way to her bed. It was a small room in a local hotel that had been taken over for women officers. I was glad she wasn't in a tent with a rickety cot.

  "Billy?"

  "Yes, I'm here." I ran my hand down her back. Tiny beads of sweat decorated her backbone.