Back in her time

by Patricia Corbett Bowman

  “Put those away. I said I wanted a smoke but I don’t want to get my head blown off. Those Krauts see my lit cigarette and it’s like the Union Jack or the Red Ensign waving, ‘Here, come and get me!’ Don’t you know anything, Junior?”

  Taylor shoved the pack away and muttered, “You’re right. My thinking is still a little mired.”

  “If you mean mixed-up, yeah, it still is. You talk pretty good for a Highlander, Junior.”

  Taylor pointed the butt of her rifle in Whitey’s direction. “Don’t mess with us Highlanders, boy,” she said, grinning.

  Whitey laughed, “Okay, Junior, I surrender. I’m sure you can show this platoon a thing or two.”

  I hope you’re right.

  “We should reach the Gustav Line sometime tomorrow afternoon, men,” said the sergeant as he backtracked to Taylor and Whitey. Sarge cuffed Taylor’s shoulder patch in recognition. “Why didn’t I see that before?” he mumbled as he passed.

  The Liri Valley. Good. What do I remember Pops saying about this area?

  Chapter Four

  “Dig in,” said the Sarge. The ground was strewn with rubble and rocks. Taylor unhooked her shovel and looked up at the sky, still night-black with a paintbrush stroke of yellow light peeking in the east through the fog.

  “These tank ruts could make a start at a trench,” Taylor muttered to herself and started digging.

  “Good thinking, Junior,” Sarge smiled at Taylor for the first time.

  “Why would anyone want to live in this gawd-forsaken country?” Whitey grumbled as his shovel clanged against a boulder.

  “That lousy little slit in the ground will probably save your life, soldier,” Sarge said.

  “Yes, Sarge.” Whitey bent to the task after mock saluting Sarge’s turning back.

  A mortar whizzed over their heads just as Whitey was straightening up to stretch his back. Taylor flung herself at Whitey, shovel and all, throwing them both into the shallow indentation. The bomb exploded, spreading shrapnel around the perimeter but missing them.

  “Positions!” yelled Sarge.

  No one needed to be told. Whitey, smothered under Taylor, whispered, “You can get off me now. Thanks, I owe you.”

  Taylor rolled off Whitey and onto her stomach, panting, embarrassed at her fast reaction. She slid her hand over her ammo, loaded a clip into her rifle. If I’m going to war, I’d better be ready. Taylor whispered, “I’m glad they’re bad shots.”

  The peach-fuzz-faced soldier on her left spoke up. “Don’t count on them missing all the time. With enough tries they got to hit somethin’, sometime.”

  Red grunted. “I hope I find someone to write my letter home before they find me,” he said.

  “I can do that for you,” said Taylor, wondering why Red couldn’t write his own. “Where you from, Red?”

  “Alberta. I’m just a simple cowpoke. All I ever wanted was to ride horses and tend cattle. What about you, Junior? Where you rest your saddle?”

  “Toronto. The big bad city.” Did they say that about Toronto back in the past?

  “Never liked them big cities. Too noisy and too crowded for me. I like them wide-open spaces, ’specially down by the crick where I live.”

  Sporadic machine-gun firing shattered their conversation. The boys and Taylor fell into their trenches and fired back at the flash of light giving the gunner’s position away on a small rocky hill. Now exposed, despite the fog, they fired intermittently and then waited in quiet. Taylor had acted instinctively, firing as if trained. She didn’t even think about it; just acted. My gawd, I just shot at another human being.

  Sarge crawled over to them. “Junior and Red, take a circuitous route to their position and get the buggers from behind. We’ll keep ’em busy out here in front.”

  Red looked shocked that he’d been chosen. “But, Sarge — ”

  “No buts. Get going before they take us out, one at a time.”

  “Let’s go, Red,” said Taylor, with more bravery than she felt, as she belly-crawled away, bug-like, grasping her gun ahead of her in shaking hands. I have to try or die trying. Red followed her.

  Away from the platoon, Taylor felt exposed. I hope the dark covers us. How much longer before the sun lights the sky completely and burns off this fog? The two soldiers slowly dragged their way toward the back of the gunnery position.

  Taylor reached the rock rim first. She signalled with a hand to stop Red. Just then, light suffused the sky through the fog. Behind the short, rocky wall Taylor couldn’t see the sun peek above the horizon in front of them but knew it must be in the Germans’ eyes. She rushed up, ran full tilt (not even sure if Red was behind her), crashed over the wall, stumbled, but kept her balance — and came face to face with two startled German soldiers!

  “Frieren! Freeze!” Taylor yelled in German, surprised that she knew the words. Having a German friend back home was coming in handy.

  One of the Germans tried to swing the unwieldy machine gun toward Taylor, but a shot rang out, hitting the man in the hand. He yowled in pain. The other German raised his hands in surrender. Taylor kept her semi-automatic pointed at this man while Red rushed around to the wounded soldier and removed his weapons.

  “Rousse. Move.” Taylor gestured with her gun, and the German obediently went in the direction she indicated. After wrapping his hand in his handkerchief, the other German moved forward. With their weapons pointed at the prisoners, Taylor and Red marched back to their platoon.

  In the early morning light, Taylor could see the surprise on Whitey’s face as she and Red arrived with their catch as if they’d just been out fishing. Even the Sarge looked astounded as he ordered others to relieve them of their prisoners and pass them down the line. Sarge slapped Taylor on the back, nearly knocking her over, all one hundred and twenty pounds of her. He clipped Red on the chin lightly. “How the hell did you boys pull it off?” Sarge grinned.

  “It was Junior. He led the assault, Sarge.” Red smiled back.

  “We surprised them, Sarge, just as the sun hit them in the eyes. But it was Red who wounded the German who went for his gun.”

  “And Junior, here, speaks Kraut,” Red said. “He got them to come with us. What did you say, Junior?”

  The Sarge’s eyes squinted as he took a long look at Taylor. “You speak German?”

  “Yeah, back in Toronto there’s a German family I know. Their kid taught me a few words.” Taylor looked at the ground. Have I blown it? What will they think?

  “Imagine — Krauts living in Canada. Who knew? I suppose they’re in a detention camp now?” Sarge looked at Taylor with an impassive face.

  “Yeah, they were sent away, to Gravenhurst, I think, just as I shipped over.” Where did I get that information from?

  “Well, good job, soldiers. Good job. We’ve just heard from Charlie Company on our left flank, and the area seems clear; so we can take a well-earned rest, men.”

  With slaps to their backs, like they were football heroes, Taylor and Red headed back to their slit trench for a smoke. Taylor realized she was hungry, too. Capturing the enemy and winning the praise of Sarge was hungry work. Pops is starting to trust me. Gawd, if Red hadn’t of shot that German would I have been able to? Will I be in that position again?

  Chapter Five

  Hunkered down in her raincoat for warmth, Taylor watched the can of chicken soup boil on the firepit. She had laughed with the others when Red had chased the frightened chicken around, feathers flying, as it had escaped again and again. Watching Red wring its neck wasn’t as funny, but Taylor was surprised it hadn’t bothered her more. Campbell’s canned soup, it wasn’t. It was the real thing, sans noodles, and it smelled delicious even if the chicken was “borrowed” from a local farmer. Red promised this chow would taste better than M and V.

  “M and V?” Taylor said before she thought. “What’s that?”

&
nbsp; “Why, meat and vegetables — you know, the usual camp food.” Mac gave her an odd look.

  “Oh, that. We Highlanders just call it crap.”

  “That it is, Junior. You guys call it what it is.”

  Taylor rummaged around her pack to see what else there was to eat and to cover her near blunder. Why do I always speak before I think? It always got me in trouble at school. I’d better watch it here. She put her hand on a square, flat tin and pulled it out. There was a picture of a short-horned cow on it and the words, “Alas my poor brother.”

  “Hey, Junior’s got bully beef. Second course,” said Mac.

  “No hamburgers and milkshakes today, Junior.” Sarge squatted down beside Taylor and handed her a copy of the army newspaper, The Maple Leaf. “Thought you might want to catch up on your reading and see if it helps your memory,” he said.

  Taylor glanced at the date: May 10, 1944. It was probably not the latest news. Now Taylor knew the month, at least. Warm days and cool nights, not unlike May in Canada. The mosquitoes are just as bad here as the black flies in the countryside back home.

  “Thanks, Sarge. I appreciate it.”

  “You did a fine job back there, Junior. You made me proud.”

  Taylor swallowed a lump in her throat. Her grandfather had never said that to her back home. “I did my best, Sarge.”

  “And I hear you’re writing a letter to Red’s girl for him. That’s nice of you. Don’t make it too mushy, though. Red’s a cowboy, not a Casanova.” Taylor nodded. “Do you have a steady girl, Junior?”

  “No, sir.” Taylor answered too fast. “Oh, there is a girl I like, but she’s too cool for me.” Does that sound like something a guy would say?

  “Cool? Well, get her to wear a wrap. Evenings can be cool in the spring.”

  Taylor shook her head at her faux pas. “What about you, Sarge? Wait, let me guess. You’re married. Recently. You got married before training at Ipperwash,” said Taylor.

  “How did you know that? Oh, the guys must have been talking.” The Sarge laughed.

  “Actually, sir, I just thought because you said you were twenty-four and so many guys get married before they come overseas. I kind of make a game of it, you know — guess things about people. For instance, I bet your wife’s name is Mary.” Is this going to work?

  “Who told you? Mac?”

  “No one, sir. It’s just a common name today. A good guess, is all. And I bet I know what job you had as a civilian. Let me see … good vocabulary … You told Red and me to take a ‘circuitous route’ to the gunnery position. Bet you’ve got plans to go to university and become an educated gentleman farmer.”

  “Well, you’re either one of those seers that my grandmother believed in around Houdini’s day or someone’s been flapping their lips around here pretty good. Only thing is I don’t remember telling anyone I farmed. I’d love to play more games, Junior, but I’ve got to confer with the loo and the captain.” The Sarge stood up, touched Taylor briefly on the shoulder, and walked away.

  Taylor started at the touch. Has Pops ever acknowledged me like that?

  Taylor had more important things to think about now. The guessing game was really something she did do. Guessing what people did by their clothes, the style of their haircut, or the way they spoke was something she was good at. Now, here she could pretend to play the game, because she did know things about her grandfather from back in his own time.

  I’ve got it now. When I get the chance, I’ll tell Pops things that only he would know. He’ll think I’m one of those seers. That’s how I’ll get him to believe me about who we are in the future. Simple, right?

  * * *

  “What’s on at the theatres?” Mac peered over Taylor’s shoulder at the paper.

  “The army show has Wayne and Shuster, Alan and Blanche Lund, and Fred Davis,” Taylor read off the names from the entertainment section.

  “I hear those Wayne and Shuster guys are really funny. Have you seen them yet?” Whitey tossed a rock at a mosquito and missed. He pulled his helmet netting tighter.

  “No, not for a while. My grandfather used to watch them on TV.”

  “TV? Where’s that?”

  “Oh, a theatre in Toronto,” Taylor thought fast.

  “Oh, yeah, Toronto. You get all them old vaudeville acts. Have you heard that Lorne Greene do that Voice of Doom? He scares me to death,” said Red.

  “Don’t think I have. Wasn’t he the Pa on that show Ponderosa my grandfather used to watch?” Uh-oh, did it again …

  “Guess you Toronto folk don’t need to listen to radio with all them theatres.”

  “Yeah, something like that.”

  “Hey, Red. This soup smells done. You pouring?” Whitey, whittling a stick, wandered over. “We better eat then get some shut-eye before we head to Pontecorvo.

  What did Pops tell me about that town?

  Chapter Six

  The men stayed a few feet apart according to regulations. If you bunched together, the enemy could take out several at once. Spread out, you’re not such a target. Taylor mouse-holed from house to house — or what was left of some of them after the shelling that had preceded their arrival. Find a safe spot, check for snipers, aim, shoot. Pops/Sarge had repeated and repeated these instructions until they were embedded in their brains. Run to the next spot before they found your position. Not seeing the snipers up close made it easier to fire at them. Taylor didn’t want to see their faces clearly. After all, it was her or them. They didn’t care that she was from the future. She thought briefly of finding a house and squatting there, but the others would find out and call her a coward. I’ve been called enough names in my life. I’m no chicken. Besides, this was war.

  Sarge yelled from behind her somewhere, “Keep moving, men.” They did.

  A movement on the red tiled roof of what was left of a two-storey stone structure caught Taylor’s eye. She aimed and fired. She ducked behind a door hanging from its hinges as a return bullet whipped into the wall where she’d been standing. Now she was the target. A bullet whistled by from behind her. That must be Whitey. A scream from the second storey and then silence. Taylor didn’t think about what the quiet on the rooftop meant. She surged forward. Now Whitey and I are even.

  Taylor continued searching. She wasn’t sure if it had been Lancasters or Mosquitoes that had strafed the town first, sending the enemy on the run, the civilians long gone to the hills. The roar of the piston engines were just a memory now. These last snipers were not pulling out without a fight. Surely there couldn’t be more than one or two left?

  At the end of the row of houses, Taylor dashed across the road to an outbuilding. She looked up at a church on a slight rise. The chapel. Of course. Pops had talked about it. The sniper in the church. Hadn’t they been warned? Who warned them? I guess it was me.

  Chapter Seven

  “We should check the church,” Taylor whispered to Whitey behind her. She heard Whitey repeat what she’d said to the next soldier, on down the line, like the game “Pass the Secret.” Except this was no game.

  The order came up the line for Junior to approach the church with caution. Great. Me and my big mouth. I get to be first. Taylor zigzagged across the open town square toward the church. No shots were fired at her. Her heart played a staccato beat in her chest. Keep your head. You can do this. Leaving the shelter of a fire-blackened fruit tree, she sped toward the side door of the still-intact church. He’s in the sanctuary. He’s just as scared as me.

  Inside, Taylor scanned the vestibule. There were two doors in front of her. One must lead to the church itself. The other is the one I want. Taylor felt as if she were on a game show. Which door should she choose? She crept up to the door on the left. No. It’s not this one. Taking large strides she reached the other door, kicked it open, gun ready. Just as Pops has told the story so many times, there he is, a boy really, cow
ering in the corner. His rifle lying beside him. Taylor rushed up to the boy, toed the rifle further from the enemy.

  “Lauf zu. Move,” Taylor ordered. The German began whimpering as he rose unsteadily. From behind, Taylor heard the sounds of heavy boots on the wooden floors.

  “Well, look what Junior bagged,” said Mac, running his tongue over his lips. “He doesn’t look any older than you, Junior.” And he wasn’t.

  Sarge burst into the room followed by Whitey. “Hand him down the line, Whitey,” he ordered.

  Taylor noticed for the first time the German’s trousers were wet in front.

  “Poor bugger. He’s peed his pants, he’s so scared,” said Taylor.

  “Don’t start feeling sorry for him, Junior.” Sarge frowned at Taylor.

  “Yes, sir. Sorry, Sarge. It won’t happen again.” Great. Now Pops thinks I’m a sympathizer. “I’d have shot him, sir, but he was unarmed. It wouldn’t have been a clean kill.”

  “All right, soldier. Let’s check the rest of this place. Carefully. It could be booby-trapped.”

  “I have a gut feeling he was the last of them, Sarge.”

  “Let’s hope so. And, Junior …”

  “Yes, Sarge?”

  “You keep up like this, we’ll have to put you in for a promotion.”

  Taylor hid her smile as she picked up the German’s rifle and slid the magazine open. It was empty, as she knew it would be. She threw the gun down and started to exit when she saw something in a corner. It was a brown leather box. Taylor picked it up and examined it. A box camera, like Pops has in the attic. She packed it into her web kit.

  The rest of the church turned up nothing. No explosives. No booby traps. No hidden soldiers. Nothing. Even the bell tower, which was so small only Taylor could crawl into it, was empty.

  “Junior, how’d you know there was someone in that church?” Mac asked later.