Black Bear Blues

by Stephen Wishnevsky

  Barbara was a few minutes late; she wore an actual dress and seemed to have brushed her hair and put on lipstick. I was getting one of those inking things up and down my spine. Grease those wheels, girls, the male chump will never notice. Poor chump. I gave her a good solid look in the eye, she didn’t flinch, just smiled one of those patented inscrutable female smiles and went to the radios, put on a headset and checked the log sheet.

  I scanned the headlines for the last six-hours, the Pacific and Indian oceans were quiet, seemed no new developments except that a strong Persian station had signed on in English, Radio Persia, announcing the formation of a new Dynasty and promising free and fair parliamentary elections once the “borders were secure”. Good luck on that front. I ran down the stations, but all the English ones, the BBC, CBS, Mutual, NBC, were all content-free, as usual. “Barbara, run down the French stations, please, don’t waste your time on the Germans, they won’t have anything, at least not anything good for us.”

  She just nodded, and reached for the dial. I kept looking, all I have is English and childhood Russian, but there were a lot of new stations on the air, I suppose some nations were trying to either join up together for self-defense, or else curry favor with Patton and the Hoovers, for all the good that was liable to do. There were new voices from Australia, New Zealand, and the newly created state of South Africa. Nobody was saying much out loud, but it was nice to know they were alive and kicking. Everything was on hold, waiting for the battle for Canada to sort itself out. I knew that the French Canadiens had no chance, not with the two biggest armies in the world fighting over their lands, the proverb is, “when elephants fight, the grass gets trampled.” They might try to play one side against the other, but they really had no chips for this game.

  Just like us. Trapped in the middle. At any time, Patton could pull the plug, and the Germans would roll right over us like a steamroller. But we had to fight, we had no options left. With those cheerful thoughts itching my brain, I just kept doing my job, for whatever that might be worth. Six hours’ worth anyway.

  Barbara was taking notes, I read over her shoulder, there was not a lot of action in Quebec either. About five in the morning, the radio stations quieted down, the sun coming up over the Pacific, late afternoon on the East Coast of the USA. I caught Barbara studying me, as if I was important, like chocolate cake, or something valuable. “What? Have I grown another head or something?”

  “You know. You have to know. Are you going to make your move, or something?” her gaze would burn holes in steel. But I’m not made of metal.

  “My inclination is for the ‘something’.”

  “You do know what I am talking about.” Flat, no question.

  I stood and approached her, our desks were pushed together, I didn’t have far to go. “Look, Barbara. I don’t know what Peaches has hatched out with you, but if you want to… sleep with me, just say the word. Is that it?”

  “She said you needed someone. I’m someone.” She shrugged, her expression slipping. “I don’t know. You are older than me, but you are important enough to make me comfortable, if you want me to be cold about it. That Yelena is beautiful, isn’t she? And experienced. I’m just a kid. A college kid. You like the young stuff?”

  “I… Dear heart, I don’t even know what I like. I am not at all used to being desirable… desired for any reason, cold or warm. Your body, you tell me. You set the rules. I am lonely. All the time. I was just getting to really like Maeve, and then she was gone. Dead. I watched her plane crash and burn. I was glad I didn’t actually have to see her die in front of me. Is that cold? Inhuman? Do I want to do that again? Dare I?”

  “Look at it from my side.” She said, “I have to have somebody, one way or another. Some guy. I’m not interested in other women; I don’t think I am. As for people like Frankie, that is just a bit too weird for me. Do I want a lover that steals my underwear?” She sort of laughed, at her sort of joke.

  “All I can tell you is that you seem like a worthwhile person. Smart. You look like a woman at this range. You write well. All good points. I’m open to suggestions.”

  She stood and took my hand. “Let’s just sleep on it, and see how it looks in the morning.” And she kissed me. Oh. I get it.

  >>>>>>>

  Doyle and Mrs. Atkinson were right on time for the morning shift, I walked the platform with Barbara, doing my job, looking for trouble. We had to use outhouses off the platform, “Passengers will please refrain…” I sang her that song, she was amused, she did have a lovely smile and laugh. We ate something and went to my room. She stopped by her compartment and got her fancy robe and a pair of those white pajamas Frankie had bought her. There was a certain amount of dithering, eventually she turned out the lights, probably so she wouldn’t have to survey all my flab, and we set to the deed. It took a while, but we managed. All she said, later, was, “Just so you know, I was not looking for a daddy.”

  “A lover?” Rephrase. “A partner?”

  “That will do. Thank you.” She kissed my cheek.

  “For what?”

  “For not being a jerk about this, Miles. This… arrangement… Thingy.”

  “My pleasure. This is not quite in the ‘don’t screw the help’ department, but over in that general area.”

  “Politics and war make strange bedfellows.”

  “Point taken. You are not all that strange. I am. I promise I will try not to hurt you. Best get some sleep, we’re on duty at noon.”

  >>>>>>>>

  Our shift was quiet, most of the action was on the Spanish side, lots of chatter, no reports from the front. Rallies in many big cities to drum up volunteers for the battles in Mexico, some talk of denying the Panama Canal to the gringos. That was something they had never figured on when they set up the defense of the Canal, put that in the Oops File. All the defenses were set up against naval attack, not against land forces coming out of the jungle. The silence from Canada, from our forces in Mexico and from the North Atlantic in general was deafening. The Combined British and German fleets had no equal in the world, not even the combined Japanese and American fleets could challenge them, at least not in that hemisphere. The American fleets were in being, but were bottled up in port, and the Imperial Navy was not about to leave the Pacific and Indian Oceans. No matter how many ships they build or converted, they were not in the big leagues. It was a safe bet that the other European fleets, the French, the Italian, and the Ottoman had also been drafted into the Kaiserliche Marine. There had been a Russian navy too, but I had no idea what had happened to it, after the Revolution. If it hadn’t been scuttled, it was German. Eppi would know, but it wasn’t worth the phone call it would take to find out. Cobbler, stick to your last.

  Spain was the hold out, but they had no place to go and nothing to do once they got there. Franco owed his soul and other vital organs to Goering, so he best shut up and play nice.

  About three our time, dead of night back home, we got reports of shelling of all our East Coast Sea ports, there had been desultory shelling before, but this was a much higher level, hundreds of large caliber rounds impacting mostly military targets, tunnels, and bridges. Naval accuracy being what it was, damage was instant and severe. So severe that the radio blackout was broken, from the necessity of telling the populace which way to flee, which bridges were down, which streets blocked by burning bridges. Soon, within the hour, the authorities realized they were just providing targeting information for the enemy battleships, and shut everything down tight. We had heard that the Brooklyn Bridge and the Empire State Building had been hit, but every city up the coast had been plastered hard. Naval bombardment is the worst. There is no place to hide from them. They do navigation and range finding really well. If they can hit a five hundred long target traveling at twenty knots from twenty miles away, what chance does a building have?

  “What are they doing?” Barbara demanded, with a tear in her voice.

  “Trying to show that Patton is not in control of his own co
untry. Destroying civilian morale, and generally being dicks. Germans pride themselves on atrocity. You should know that by now.”

  “As a Jew?”

  “As a human. Sorry. You are still so young. Those of us who lived through this whole war, know what bastards they are.”

  “We haven’t lived through the whole war, not yet, we haven’t.”

  “I stand corrected by the educated lady.” I was trying to make her smile, but it didn’t work. Not a bit of it. A while later, we heard from an outlaw French station in northern Quebec that shelling could be heard all along the St. Lawrence, with the thrust of the attack aimed at Montreal, the main staging place for our forces in the invasion of Quebec. Toronto was firmly held, of course, but Montreal was a lot farther from our road and railroad nets. We gathered that Quebec City was German now, and it was closer to Montreal than Toronto was by a few miles. The radio went on to say that the Germans and English had been landing ground forces at Quebec City, and warned all listeners to take precautions, especially from armored vehicles.

  “They don’t sound scared,” Barbara noted, “The attacks on the East Coast must have been some sort of diversionary tactic.”

  “The General Staff is good at shit like that,” I replied. All in all, it sounded like a busy night in the Land of the Free. But that thought lead to another, and one more after that. I quick slammed out a report, and ran it up to the Signal Corps car, had it sent up the line to Hodges, then went back and woke Peaches and Frankie up, had them join us a little early. “Just a guess, but things might get exciting soon, we need to stay alert.” I also found Conductor Earl, had him pass the word to the crew and the Army on board. Things had been too quiet for whole weeks now. One might be tempted to think there wasn’t a war on. Thinking like that had gotten many a good man killed. And a whole lot of rotten sons of bitches too.

  >>>>>>>

  We treated ourselves to a big dinner, some sort of Mexican-Chinese concoction from Olga and Su-mi, and took ourselves right back to bed. Mostly chastely, as it turned out. I decided that it would be wise to indulge in a little precaution, we did not need to plant any seeds in a war zone. She didn’t know the usual work-arounds, I didn’t feel it was time to educate her this soon in our… romance? Whatever it was. Arrangement is a good word. And we were tired. We had a chance of a solid eight, and we took it. Stress and work and more stress. Only one cure, and that’s sleep. Booze just petrifies the pain; it does not relieve any of it. That’s another thing you have to learn the hard way. You can only heal when you sleep.

  Back on the job at midnight, The Quebec hams were trying to keep track of the Anglo-Germans, but all that was sure was that hell was breaking loose in Montreal. The land north of the river was flat, “La Prairie,” hedgerows and long narrow fields, like Normandy, I remembered from someplace, decent tank country, and the Germans wasted no time in deploying armor. All of Eastern Canada had been glaciated flat, so it was a giant playground for the bastards. Not a whole lot the poor froggies could do about it either, it takes trenches and landmines and massed artillery to stop tanks. They had hunting rifles and horses, some tin lizzies and tractors, not happening.

  On the other hand, they could play the Siberian game, melt back into to the forests and wait for winter. Like the Russians, they could never win, but they could never lose either. All the krauts had to do was to push them back out of the way, and go after the Americans. It all depended on what kind of a game they were playing. Were they trying to win Canada back for King Eddie, trying to distract Patton from Asia, or did they have more grandiose plans in train?

  Grosse Herman was nothing if not grandiose, so anybody’s guess was as good as anybody else’s. What was Canada good for? Timber, iron, coal, minerals, furs… Didn’t seem like enough to pay for a real war, but my references were limited to a couple of ancient encyclopedias and an atlas or two. The thought struck that Canada was a limited theater for war, and the St. Lawrence and the Great Lakes could be made very defensible. A few U-Boats could close the lakes to a large portion of our shipping, put a good cripple on our economy. Then I realized that calling it “our” economy was probably obsolete. We were on our own out here. Were we part of the Japanese economy? Was the salvage from Port Arthur buying our gas for your tanks? Who was actually paying for all this railroad construction? It sure wasn’t Patton and the Hoovers. The US economy was in the toilet, had been since the crash. So many questions, so few answers.

  So, if the plan was to hurt the US, this was as good a way as any. I put my feet up and settled into some serious cogitation, unscrewing the inscrutable. As good a time-waster as any. Could Goering be arrogant enough to think he could conquer the whole world? He was arrogant enough for anything, but could he convince himself it was possible? That was the question. He was many thinks, but insane was not one of them. Kaiser Bill was a fruitcake, or a Hapsburg, whatever is worse, but he did have the German General Staff behind him, and they were not any part of being fools. They had held off the whole world for decades, and were well on their way to conquering all of Asia, so don’t discount them. Goering was the face of a world-conquering machine. He might be a front man, or not, but he was doing a damn good job so far. He had Europe, European Russia, Africa, and as much of India as he thought he could digest. Speculation, but perhaps…

  I must have drifted off, thought fading into a drowse, but the whistle of the first bomb woke me even before it landed. A well-trained reflex. This car was just wood and tin, no place to be. “Follow me! Air raid!” I yelled. Felipe and Pablo were on their feet, they knew what was what, but Barbara was frozen in place, still rising from her seat. I grabbed her, beat feet for the caboose. The rest of that stick of bombs hit, going away, thank god. Hate that shit, but I had no time to cower in a corner. At the very damn least, I needed a better corner.

  Barbara proved a better person than me, she took the time to pound on compartment doors, yell, “Get under cover!” while I just ran. Another stick of bombs hit, right down one of the parallel siding tracks to our left and all the rules changed. Shrapnel peppered the thin-skinned cars, they rocked from the blast and the night lights went out. Babs lost her footing, I snatched her up and ran faster. Small bombs, had to be, we were alive, but too close for comfort. I hooked around the door of the vestibule and ran right out onto the platform. There were no steps at that door, a four foot drop, I landed badly, but didn’t slow down. The stuttering flashes of ruddy light from the bombs showed me a stack of ties a few yards further on, on the other side of the platform. Not good, but better than nothing. And it was away from the tracks, away from the trains. Close enough. A few people were milling about on the platform, I bellowed something and kept going.

  Even better, there was a fortuitous pile of ballast on the other side of the ties, I dropped Babs, flopped, and fought the urge to cower and blubber. God, I fucking hate this shit. I forced myself to look up at the sky. I could see some, a dozen, of those huge Gotha bombers, fitfully illuminated by the bomb blasts below. And far above them I could pick out the images of a few zeppelins, probably directing the bombing, finding targets, and radioing coordinates to the Gothas. And fuck them very kindly. I could hear our Air Service guys firing up their pursuits, trying to get off the ground to fight back, then the air raid sirens finally went off, and the ack-ack cut loose. It must have been only a few minutes since the first bombs fell, but too little, too late. Somebody had been complacent. Heads would roll.

  The next wave of Gothas churned in, higher this time, and they dumped lots of smaller incendiaries, a good choice against an airfield. Planes burn hot. Some of the bombs hit near us, a few even on the train, but the crew was on the job, they had brooms and buckets of sand, water does not work on magnesium fire. A scramble, but an organized one. The Signal Corps and Railway Troops had played these games before. Most of them were Regular Army, not exiles like the rest of us. I went back to modified cowering. That means keeping your head up enough to see what was coming at you.

  More of o
ur people joined us, Peaches and Doyle, the Mexicans, Su-mi. I guessed the rest of them were in the crummy, but I was not about to go check. Shit was falling everywhere, and me without a tin hat. A line of planes went up in flames, that illuminated scurrying ground troops trying to move the planes apart, keep the fire from spreading further. Far above, the indifferent enemy dropped disdain and death down on us. And thank you so very much. You fucking kraut bastards.

  One of the enemy sprouted a trail of flame, but didn’t swerve from its path, it must have been the last run, the Gothas all droned away into the night, the ack-ack fell silent, eventually the sirens growled down to silence. Shit, lived through another one. I felt like a dishrag, but Barbara tugged at my shoulder, “We need to go help. People are hurt.”

  Correct. I could hear the cries and moans. Drag yourself to your feet, do something useful. Your privileges, your duty. Time to pay for your cushy bed and starched linen sheets, asshole.

  >>>>>>>>

  It wasn’t as bad as it could have been, the airfield had slit trenches and sandbag bunkers, so personnel losses were only in the scores and dozens. The most discomforting thing was that they knew we were here, and could reach us. We lost a lot of planes, but not too many pilots. Not much for me to do, except supervise people who already knew what they were doing. All of our people were good, a few people beat up from panicking in the dark. I supposed I was in that inglorious number, I was plenty sore from my tumble off the train, but nothing a little liniment and a few bandages would not fix. Back to hurry up and wait.