Fatal Incident

by Jim Proebstle

  “All bills are unmarked?”

  “Yes.”

  Using the few seconds of distraction needed by the operative to count the money, Vladimir reached into his pack for the Nagant revolver. The silencer was already in place. One shot to the heart and one to the head finished his end of the business. He pondered his own detachment during the cleanup of the blood spatters on the wall and the money from the ground. An out-of-body experience oriented him through an efficient routine, which culminated in vomiting, but only after the realization that the mission was complete. It was always that way with Vladimir.

  With the remaining time and some additional effort, he was able to muscle the dead man’s body to the beach where the pickup was scheduled. He hid in a clump of shrubs at the base of the bluff for two hours before delivering the three short bursts on his flashlight at 0400. The body came with them to the sub, as he knew its discovery in Yoshida would initiate an investigation that would compromise other Soviet comrades.

  CHAPTER 30

  Most of the discussion in Elmendorf flight ops that morning among the men centered on the hard-fought battles in Italy. It was January 1944, and the euphoria over the successes in North Africa and Sicily had vanished with the realization that defeating Hitler and the fascists under Mussolini was coming at a tremendous cost of American lives. It was all the army could do to hold its ground against violent assaults. In the Pacific theater, the Marines had exerted dominance in amphibious warfare tactics on Tarawa. Thankfully, a shift took place from a heavy loss of life on both sides with the Marine movement in the Battle of Cape Gloucester on the island of New Britain in New Guinea. Reports of swamps and mosquitoes worse than Guadalcanal received as much headlines as the capture of the Japanese airfield in New Gloucester.

  “We haven’t seen the worst of it yet, in my opinion,” Cricket said. Most of the men agreed.

  When Nick entered, it was his first contact with operations since his return from Christmas. He had the luxury of being a passenger on the flight back. “Happy New Year,” he called to everyone on both sides of the counter. The familiar clackity-clack of the Teletype machines blending with the banter of the men and the clouds of cigarette smoke felt like home.

  “Hey, Nick.” The general chorus of welcomes and “Happy New Years” was enthusiastic. “We thought maybe you went AWOL,” one of the men said.

  “I’ve got Cricket to thank for that,” he replied, tipping his hat in genuine appreciation.

  “I’d like to take full credit, but timing is everything. Besides, the army owed you one after that stunt they pulled in Bethel, leaving you high and dry without a plane.” While the decision on Cricket’s part was motivated as much out of practicality as it was out of retribution, it reflected his skill at balancing the needs and emotions of his pilots with the ridiculous schedules they were often asked to fly.

  “Maybe. But I still appreciate it.” Nick went on to describe what had become a hilarious story about his surprise announcement at home with Martha that ended with him explaining, “took me my entire furlough to get my ass out of the doghouse.”

  The men rolled with laughter at the absurdity of the circumstances.

  “Maybe I need to issue an instruction kit with these little favors,” Cricket said, smiling. “All you pilots seem to know about is flying planes. Between your wives, your girlfriends, and the mechanics, I could become a full-time advice columnist.”

  Nick got down to business checking the duty roster for pilots and was surprised to learn that he was scheduled for training in Billings. Unfortunately, pilots can’t rest on their laurels. Nick knew that, but the drudgery of studying new devices and methods, in addition to the instrument-training sessions with the Link Trainer, could become tense, depending on the disposition of the master instructor. To the uninitiated, the Link Trainer could rival Chinese water torture. It is a box set on a pedestal and is designed to resemble a real plane. In the simulated cockpit the deception is quite complete. All of the controls and instruments are duplicated, and once under way the sensation of actual flight becomes quite genuine, even down to the sound of the slipstream and engines. The device is governed by a godlike instructor who can create headwinds, tailwinds, crosswinds, fire, engine and radio failure, and ultimately, all manners of deception. If he’s having a bad day, he can combine the curses for an ugly rendition of pilot hell in fiendish proportions. Every pilot accepts the reality that almost half their time is spent in training, both for the safety of the crew and passengers and the knowledge necessary to maintain pace with the changes in technology. All would agree, however, they would rather be flying.

  Cricket caught Nick’s attention before his departure for a word in private. This was not like Cricket.

  “Have you run into PFC Endo yet?”

  “No,” Nick replied. “Why?”

  “Not entirely sure, except he’s been pretty withdrawn over the holidays.”

  “You’re aware that his mother died recently? Maybe it’s connected with the holidays and his dad in Manzanar.”

  “Maybe, but he and I usually grab a beer every now and then. No contact at all lately. It’s not so much that he’s moody, more like he’s secretive.”

  “I’ll keep an eye on him and let you know. It’s odd, though, because Red and I were commenting just the opposite on the last trip out to the Flats.”

  “Maybe it’s my imagination. Say hello to Billings for me. Oh, by the way, we’ve had reports of new activity in encrypted RF traffic to the motherland. The politics of Russia’s ally status is confusing to everyone. Anyway, the source can’t be pinpointed, but they appear to be reporting air movements. Read these new security briefs from senior command on procedures and information clearances.”

  “You got it.”

  It was at lunch about an hour later while Nick was attending to paperwork in preparation for his Billings trip that he ran into Robert. “Why don’t you join me while we eat and fill me in on the holidays?”

  “They were depressing. Stayed pretty much to myself, actually, after receiving the bad news.”

  “I’m truly sorry to hear about your mother. Cricket told me. Any word from your father?”

  “Just a card telling me not to worry about him and that mom is in a better place. That part I agreed with.”

  “What about him?”

  “It’s tough not to think that he’ll never leave that place.”

  “If it’s any consolation, there are a lot of people, important people, who believe that what we’re doing with Americans like your parents is wrong. Unfortunately, it’s one of those overreactions that will take some time to undo.”

  “Do you really believe that?” Robert said, pulling his head back from his food, curling his lip to reveal his resentment.

  “Yes, I do.” Nick recognized the isolation Cricket saw in Robert as he struggled to make conversation. Maybe depression is an acceptable reaction considering his state of affairs, he thought, reflecting on how he might deal with similar circumstances. While certainly not to the same degree, he saw comparable bouts with depression in Martha as she struggled with the reality of being pregnant and alone. Nick related the broken-nose story to Robert hoping to make him laugh and to pick up his spirits.

  “At least your wife has someone,” Robert said, neglecting to even acknowledge the coincidence of broken noses.

  “You have friends. What about Cricket?”

  “What do you mean?” he responded sharply. “Who told you about him?”

  “Relax, Robert. I don’t mean anything other than I thought he was a friend. Nobody told me anything.”

  He didn’t respond. After a few moments Robert lit a cigarette and said, “What do you think that trip to Yukon Flats was all about?” He wanted to stay clear from any more conversation about Cricket.

  “Hard to say. We’re not on the ‘need to know’ list.”

  “But what could they be doing so far away from civilization?”

  “Red and I talked about the same th
ing on the flight back and concluded that our speculation wasn’t going to get us any closer to the truth.” He could tell that Robert wanted to pursue the discussion further, but Nick felt that such a discussion would go against protocol, as a captain second-guessing the nature of a top-secret mission. “Let sleeping dogs lie.”

  Robert desperately wanted to tell the captain about the note, but the warnings from Vladimir rang like a gong in his head. Instead, he went back into his shell, making up an obligation that required him to leave.

  Nick wasn’t convinced he learned anything new as to why Robert was depressed, or for that matter, anything that might raise his spirits.

  Conversely, Robert was more convinced than ever that the system he belonged to no longer held his trust. The captain was his only hope in the system for an answer, and Robert truthfully felt that Vladimir offered a more honest assessment of the facts. Probably best to just stick to myself and my job from here on out, he thought.

  En Route to Billings, Montana

  January 22, 1944

  My Dear Martha,

  On my way to Billings for Captain check-up training. The studying and training becomes monotonous, but the duty is easy, with extra time for activities. I’d like to do some more dogsledding. I really enjoyed that day with John.

  The army is giving this ship to Inland Airways when we arrive at Billings, so we decided to take the scenic route in. We went down along the Beartooth Mountains to Red Lodge, then over to Yellowstone to the Geyser Basins, which were steaming and spouting. On to Shoshone Lake and dam to Cody, the Jap concentration camp at Heart Mountain, and finally into Billings. The Crow Indians live out in the hilly plateau region southeast of Billings in a really primitive manner.

  Give George a pat on the belly for me.

  Yours,

  Nick

  Nick and Martha had started referring to the new baby as George. It wasn’t a name they had decided on yet, but an endearment they used to show their preference for a baby boy.

  “Holy shit,” Nick said under his breath while having coffee the next afternoon in the mess hall. He couldn’t believe it. The front page of the Sunday Billings Gazette held a quarter-page picture showing the devastation of the town of Cassino, Italy. It featured the concrete skeletons of the town, its buildings completely destroyed and shrouded in smoke from cannon fire and bombs. Nick wasn’t used to having access to current events like this and was stunned to read that the 36th Infantry Division was decimated after sunset on January 20. The article went on to describe the scene:

  THE LACK OF TIME TO PREPARE THEIR RETREAT MEANT THE SOLDIERS HAD TO MAKE AN APPROACH TO THE RIVER THROUGH HAZARDOUS UNCLEARED MINES AND BOOBY TRAPS IN THEIR PATH. THEY LACKED THE NECESSARY TRAINING TO CROSS AN OPPOSED RIVER. MANY MEN WERE ISOLATED AND VULNERABLE TO THE COUNTERATTACKING 15TH PANZER DIVISION TANKS. THERE WAS NO ALLIED ARMOR SUPPORT. BY THE EVENING OF JANUARY 22 THE 141ST REGIMENT HAD VIRTUALLY CEASED TO EXIST, WITH ONLY FORTY MEN MAKING IT BACK TO THE ALLIED LINES. THE ASSAULT HAD BEEN A COSTLY FAILURE, WITH THE 36TH INFANTRY DIVISION LOSING 2,100 MEN KILLED, WOUNDED, AND MISSING DURING THE 48-HOUR CONFLICT.

  The story was like a surprise punch to the stomach, as the curse of Nick’s unfailing memory recalled that Tom, Anne’s fiancé, was with the 36th Division. He left immediately after Link Training the next day to find her at the base hospital.

  CHAPTER 31

  Several months had passed since her reassignment to the hospital in Billings and Anne thoroughly enjoyed her duty. Rather than dealing with the immediate stress and pressure of battlefield casualties, as she did in the Aleutians, the day-to-day routine involved recovery and treatment planning to get the wounded back home. Montana was about as far away from the war as one could get. The doctors and other nurses were great to work with, and the eight-hour schedule was fair to everyone since they all pulled duty during the various shifts.

  Pilot training was at an all-time high, so living quarters on the small base were at a premium, which caused some nurses like Anne to be temporarily housed at the MacDonald Hotel. It was elegant compared to the barracks on the base, so Anne wasn’t about to complain. Plus, having her own room afforded her a level of privacy that provided a pleasant break from constantly being surrounded by other nurses.

  The extra pilots at the training center, coupled with the traffic from the Northern Pacific Railroad, injected vitality to the normally quiet cowboy town in the Yellowstone River Valley. The airstrip was in the shadow of the Beartooth Mountains, and the constant drone of the planes landing and taking off was like having audio-Christmas wrapping around the town. One got used to it, though.

  Outdoor activities were the mainstay during the summer and fall, with mountain hiking, trout fishing on the river, and elk hunting on the range; but the winter cold and snow kept things pretty shut down. Anne stayed busy at the hospital, for the most part, and generally took in a movie with her nurse friends once a week. The single nurses were happy to entertain the soldiers, but most of Anne’s friends were married or engaged. They wanted to keep their social lives separate from the men stationed temporarily at the base and supported each other through the disturbing news reports received via mail, radio, or newspaper.

  One of the doctors heard of the 36th Division’s decimation on the radio the night of January 23 and approached Anne at the end of her shift with the news. “I don’t want to alarm you, but the word on the 36th isn’t very good,” he said quietly. Anne had talked frequently of Tom, just as all hospital personnel did of loved ones in the war. It was a way to keep them safe. The more she talked about Tom, the more real his existence remained, giving her a sense of control.

  “I hope it didn’t affect the 141st Regiment,” she said, stunned but reluctant to connect the bad news with Tom without all the facts. It would be easy to spend the majority of your time worrying if you just focused on the bad news. Anne had learned that the reality of war yielded more survivors then dead. She held to this tenet not only for Tom but also for all the injured she had nursed. She hated partial news like this and struggled sleeping that night. She went about her duties the next day on target with her responsibilities, but she was noticeably removed from the interaction among the staff.

  The afternoon Gazette on January 24th identified the 141st as being the hardest hit.

  Nick found her early that evening holed up in her room desperately hanging onto hope but fearing the worse. He knocked quietly.

  No answer.

  “Anne. I know you’re in there. It’s Nick.”

  “Please go away. I just want to be by myself.”

  “C’mon, Anne. You need a friend. Let’s talk.”

  He heard some movement and then the shuffling of footsteps from inside the room. The handle rattled as she unlocked and opened the door. Her puffy, red eyes peered around the edge of the door. She looked like a child banished to her room for disobeying.

  “I wanted to see how you’re doing, Anne. It’s not good for you to be alone right now.”

  “I know that Tom was one of the ones that made it out. I can just feel it,” she said, clinging onto a wish she had no jurisdiction over. “Everything will be okay.” There were no lights, which gave the room a depressed effect in contradiction to the thin veil of hope presented in her words. In truth, she knew the darkness was a cover to a potential reality she desperately hoped would not find her.

  “I hope to God you’re right, Anne. Have his parents sent any information?” Nick knew that not enough time had elapsed in order to communicate specific casualties in any other way than a telegraph, but he wanted to get Anne to talk.

  “No … nothing.”

  “I’m sure you’ll hear from them when they have something.” Nick walked into her room as she relaxed her grip on the door.

  She threw her arms around him and just sobbed. “I miss him so much. I just can’t bear never seeing him again,” she said between gasps for air. The strength of his body comforted her—his arms helped her feel safe.

  “It’s
been almost a day since the radio broadcast. Shouldn’t they have word to people by now?” Anne knew better than to expect the unrealistic and understood that many days, sometimes weeks could go by before next-of-kin were notified. The longer the wait, in fact, was sometimes better, as the ones who made it through had to rely on their own letters to communicate with loved ones back home.

  “You know the military. Everything has to be confirmed. Even if he’s okay, he may show up on the missing-in-action list for a few days.”

  “That just means he’s dead, and his body hasn’t been found,” she said in anguish. The tears flowed all the more as she clung to Nick for support. He was the only source of strength she had accepted since receiving the news. Despite the number of times she lent her shoulder to other nurses receiving bad news, she had shut herself off.

  “Let’s get out of the room for a while. Some fresh air and a meal would do you good.”

  “I don’t feel like going out; besides, I look a mess.”

  “I’m the captain here,” Nick replied. “Just splash some cold water on your face and you’ll be fine. Staying holed up is the worst thing for you. You know that.”

  She knew he was right and began to push back the tears from the corner of her brown eyes. “Okay, but I don’t want to see people. They’ll just ask questions that will make me cry all over again.” She departed for the bathroom to get presentable. When she returned, her brunette hair had been brushed and some rouge had been applied to add color. A flicker of a smile was offered as a sign to Nick that she cherished his encouragement.

  “Chinese?” he asked.

  “How about Wong’s on Fourth Street?” she replied.

  The influence of the Chinese migrant workers in the construction of the transcontinental railroad decades earlier had left a wide swath of communities with a wonderful selection of restaurants run by first and second generation Chinese. Wong’s was new and somewhat undiscovered, about a fifteen minute walk away.