Back in her time

by Patricia Corbett Bowman

  A tap on her shoulder told Taylor it was time to move forward. Sarge indicated by hand which direction Taylor, Whitey, and Mac should go. A wide circuit around the building. Yeah, we know the drill. The three silently crawled forward to the north side of the structure. Taylor could barely see other Allied soldiers in the dark doing the same on the south side.

  Mac had taken the lead, with Taylor close behind, Whitey in the rear. It was slow going and difficult not to make noise, dragging themselves over the rocky terrain. They stopped frequently when they thought they had been too loud.

  About ten feet from the farmhouse, Taylor saw a flash of light from an upstairs window. She grabbed Mac’s boot in front of her. Mac turned his head slightly. Taylor gestured to the window and put her fingers to her lips to indicate smoking. She hoped Mac could see what she was doing. Mac nodded his head, and they crawled up the last few feet as stealthily as possible, hearts pounding. Whitey was right behind Taylor, bumping into her occasionally. Mac raised a hand to stop and indicated a door on the side of the house. Taylor shook her head and pointed to a window beyond the doorway. The three advanced until they reached the window.

  Pulling himself up, Mac, the tallest of the three, peered over the sill. He gave an all-clear sign as he lowered his body to the ground. The three rested against the house, deciding what to do.

  Whitey pointed to the doorway, a couple of feet back. He made a quick wiping motion with his hands, suggesting they rush the house. Taylor put up a finger to get them to wait a minute. From around an old flower bed, she picked up a rock the size of her fist and made a throwing motion at the door. Mac and Whitey nodded their heads in agreement. Taylor signalled Mac to take the right side of the door and Whitey to take the left. She stood in front of the door and swung her arm back into a pitch that would have done a junior leaguer proud. Releasing the rock, she followed through and watched it thump the door loudly. Taylor threw herself into the flower bed near Whitey.

  The first sounds from the house were heavy boots pounding down stairs. The door opened bit by bit, and a rifle barrel jutted out. Mac jumped up and grabbed the rifle so hard he pulled the enemy right out of the house. Whitey whacked the guy in the face with his rifle butt, and the German collapsed with a grunt. Mac dragged the unconscious man over to the flower bed where Taylor sat amazed by the quick, silent, bloodless work.

  More heavy footsteps descended the stairs inside, with whispering in German, “What is happening?” The soldier came to the wide-open doorway and leaned out repeating his question. Taylor leaped up out of the dark and hit him with the butt of her rifle. The man staggered and reached for his sidearm, but Mac jumped him and beat him on the back until Whitey slammed his rifle into the German’s jaw. He fell solidly. Mac dragged this latest capture to the side, and the three waited long seconds to see if anyone else would appear.

  When no other sounds emanated from the house, Taylor slowly crouched forward, moving toward the doorway. Rapid shots rang out from behind her, hitting the low, tiled roof above her. Pieces of roof tile and wall stucco struck her, driving her down to the ground. More shots blazed around her and then nothing. Mac was the first to her side.

  “Junior, Junior! Are you hit?”

  “We got the third bugger over at the woodshed. He must have been out taking a piss. How’s Junior?” said Red running up to them.

  Taylor lifted her head slowly, blood streaming from her face in several places. “I don’t know. I’m bleeding. Does it look bad?”

  Sarge appeared from out of the darkness. He knelt beside Taylor, glowered at what he saw, and pulled her to her feet. Shaking Taylor by the shoulders, he growled, “Get the fluff out, soldier. You’ve just got a few scratches. Wipe your face off.” Sarge stomped away, muttering something about stupid head wounds looking worse than they were. Taylor wiped as told, using Alma’s handkerchief once again.

  “Hey, that’s the shrapnel you warned us about, Junior,” said Whitey.

  “Hit by building material is hardly shrapnel,” said Mac.

  “Look in here, men. I just found Able’s three scouts. They didn’t do as good as Junior,” said Red. “You did know what was going to happen, Junior. Able’s loss and us hit with shrapnel.”

  Pops didn’t tell me I’d be the one hit. And it wasn’t quite shrapnel. His memory must have deteriorated. Oh, well, it’s almost worth it if Whitey and Red are convinced I have some psychic ability. Will I ever make Pops a believer?

  Chapter Twelve

  Taylor rinsed the razor blade in the overturned German helmet and scraped her face with the dull back side, trying to avoid the scratches and deep gouges that she could see in the sliver of mirror she held. Ow. Mac had offered her the razor, saying maybe if she started to shave, something would grow. She couldn’t say no. This is what friends do. Sharing wasn’t Dieter’s thing. Why am I thinking of him now?

  “You’ll have to get beat up better than that if you want to visit that sister again,” Mac smiled as he smoothed a hand over his clean-shaven face. He was almost handsome, with that smirky smile, Taylor thought.

  “Thanks, but I’ll take this punishment instead of seeing the girl if it means I get to keep my limbs. Now all we need is a bath and a change of clothes to feel human,” said Taylor as she continued the painful scraping. Wonder if I’ll scar? Couldn’t be much worse than acne, could it?

  “Hey, ‘Man Who Sees the Future,’ any more inside information?” Mac said as looked out the farmhouse’s glassless window.

  “Inside information? Oh, yeah. I just remembered. Not only do you do well at cards, you’re going to do well in the stock market. Just watch out for insider trading.” Where did this tidbit materialize from? Pretty soon even I will believe I’m psychic.

  “I do like to play the ponies. You’re right. Numbers have always been my thing. Maybe when this damn war is over I’ll play the stock market, too. I’ve always been keen to try it. Couldn’t be any worse than those blokes in ’29.”

  “Do that, and you’ll remember me telling you this when you make lots of money and become a successful businessman.”

  “You’re a laugh a minute, Junior.”

  “What about on the war front? Any more deaths?” Mac cocked his head waiting for an answer, as if he might believe Taylor.

  “If I remember correctly, the Pats will soon report fifty-nine killed, over one hundred wounded, and a couple dozen taken prisoner. The Second Brigade will have about 150 killed, hundreds wounded, and lots taken prisoner, too. It will be the worst single-day loss for a brigade in the Italian campaign,” said Taylor.

  “You sound like a news report. Where do you get this stuff?” Mac smiled.

  “There’s more. I see a couple from our unit getting captured by the enemy nearby. One of us will escape and go get help.”

  Mac tossed his head back and laughed. “Junior. What an imagination.” With a play poke at Taylor’s sore face, he exited the farmhouse, still chuckling.

  At least he’s laughing now. When Pops and I go missing, he won’t be laughing then.

  * * *

  The river was icy cold, but the men didn’t care. Stripping off their uniforms, down to underwear for some, others buck naked, they toed the water and bravely submerged their sweat-soaked and dust-covered bodies in the cleansing current. Someone had a sliver of soap, and it was tossed about like a hot potato as they took turns lathering themselves quickly and racing to rinse so as not to turn into icicles. Whitey was the first finished and ran up to Taylor, splashing her where she was standing on the shoreline, fully clothed and looking as if she would like to be anywhere but here. Taylor, in turn, stepped into the water and splashed Whitey’s retreating back, and soon all the men were jumping, avoiding, whipping torrents at their comrades, having a good time despite the air and water temperature.

  Taylor and Whitey finally quit and collapsed on the sand. At least Taylor’s clothes had had a quick wash.
Whitey put his dirty clothes back on. They’d all have to wait until new ones arrived. Wouldn’t Dieter have had a fit wearing clothes this wet and dirty? Dieter was always meticulous with his cleanliness. Why am I thinking about Dieter now? I can see him clearly in his black clothes, jeans pressed. Was it this morning or days ago that I saw him last?

  “Junior, you collectin’ mothballs up there in that chicken brain of yours?” Red asked as he sauntered by. “Keep movin’ so your clothes have a chance to dry. Cook has some vittles on. Let’s go and chow down.”

  Taylor laughed and caught up to Red, cuffing him on the back of his head. “At least my head isn’t stuffed with hay from wrangling horses.” At school, if he called me names, I would have sworn at him or tried to punch him out.

  Legs crossed, seated in a circle, eating breakfast, Mac spoke. “Has anyone heard Junior’s latest prophecy?”

  I can’t tell if he’s starting to believe me or not.

  “If Junior said it, it will come true.” Whitey crossed his heart with the hand not shoving grub into his mouth.

  “What’s this one, Junior?” Red asked, talking with his full mouth open.

  “If you’re just going to make fun of me, then forget it.” Taylor put her spoon down.

  “Nah. Come on, they want to hear it.” Mac said.

  Taylor explained again her feeling that there would be lots of deaths and a couple of them would get captured. But one would escape and go for help.

  A new voice joined the group. It was Sarge. “We’ve captured our share of the enemy; it’s not inconceivable that they should take a prisoner or two. Now, tell me who exactly gets captured? And, who is the person who goes for help? Tell me that, and if it comes true, maybe I’ll start believing you have this ‘sixth sense,’ as you call it.”

  This is it. I’ll get Pops to believe me after this. “It’s you and me, Pops — I mean, Sarge. We get sidetracked away from the others, and the enemy catches up to us.”

  “And who gets away? You the hero, Junior?”

  “Is it so hard to believe? Trust me on this.”

  “Why don’t I make the escape instead of you?”

  “Because I can run faster than you, and have a better chance.”

  “Oh you can, can you?”

  “Well, sir, I am younger by a few years, and I’ve had to run away from a few situations back in my … city. So I know I’m the better choice. Besides, I can swim across a river to get away, and you never learned how.”

  “Who told you that I can’t swim?” Sarge abruptly turned and left the group.

  “Now you’ve done it, Junior. You’re on the bad side of Sarge, for sure. Sorry I brought it up.” Mac, too, left the circle.

  The others busied themselves cleaning their mess tins, eyes averted, and repacked their kits. Taylor wandered off by herself. This had better work, Pops, or you’ll never believe another story I tell you. Or I’ll never believe another story you tell me, if I ever get that chance again.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Taylor avoided the others for the next two days as they marched forward. I might as well be back in my time, for all the friends I have here. At home I was a freak. Here, I’m that crazy nut case. I’m not sure which one is worse.

  “Junior, Sarge is looking for you. He’s over talking to some Highlanders who caught up to us in the rear,” said Whitey. “Maybe they’re some of your unit?”

  My unit? They’ll know I’m not one of them as soon as they see me. I can’t go talk to them.

  “Come on, Junior. They’re waiting for you down the road.”

  Think, think! How do I get out of this? “Shit, Whitey. They’ll want me to go with them. I like it here with you guys. Can’t you go back and say you couldn’t find me?”

  “Orders are orders, Junior. Come on. Maybe they’ll let you stay.”

  After the court martial, sure. I’ll be staying around for a long time — in jail. I can’t let these guys see me. They’ll know I’m not this T. Reid guy as soon as they see my face.

  “Gee, you look like you’ve seen a ghost or something, Junior. Come on.” Whitey took Taylor’s arm in a firm grip and pulled her down the wagon track they were using as a road.

  Eyes downcast, Taylor let herself be led to the Highlanders.

  “Here he is now, gents. Recognize him?” Sarge stood back on his heels as if presenting a new prize bull.

  “Well, I’ll be. Reid, you trickster! You are alive. We thought you bought it back at Ortono after the mortars started flying,” said a burly man with corporal chevrons.

  “More like we thought you went AWOL,” said the other soldier, a private. “Captain nearly wrote your mother that you were missing in action. Where the heck did you get to?”

  Taylor stood, mouth hanging open. “You know me? You really know me?”

  “He does have it bad. You’re right, sergeant. He doesn’t have a clue who we are. Are you all right, son?”

  “He’s fine. He’s done some damn good soldiering since he joined my platoon. This boy is a natural leader. Tells some tall tales, though.”

  “That’s our Reid. Always joking around, half-lying but never hurting anybody. Glad to hear he’s toughened up, though. Knew this army would make a man out of you yet,” said the corporal as he pounded Taylor on the arm.

  They really know me. I’m here in the past in someone else’s body. Strange that I look like this guy. I saw myself in the mirror when I was shaving and it’s me, all right. Wait. How can that be? Unless I think I just see me. No. Could I be in the body of one of my ancestors? Like my own grandfather or even great-grandfather? Reid. Maybe that’s it. I’ve come back to the past and found the name of my biological family. Mom would never show me the papers. She just always said I was adopted and could see them when I turned eighteen. That was going to be next month back in my time.

  “Yoo-hoo, lost boy. We’re having a conversation here.” The private waved his hands in front of Taylor’s face.

  “Sorry. I was remembering something.”

  “He gets like this sometimes. You boys returning him to your unit?”

  That got Taylor’s attention. “No! I want to stay with you, Sarge, and the guys. I don’t even know these Highlanders.”

  “He should probably be in sick bay.” The corporal rubbed the stubble on his chin.

  Taylor’s sarge spoke, “You know we can’t spare any able-bodied men, corporal. And he is able-bodied. Just the other day he bragged he could beat me in a foot race.”

  “Yeah, Reid is always boasting about all the sprinting he did in high school.”

  “Please let me stay with the Sarge until my memory comes back.” Taylor looked from one face to another. “Please.”

  “Well, he’s a lot politer than I ever remember. It’s up to you, Sarge. I can submit the transfer. You might as well keep him until it goes through. He obviously doesn’t want to return with us.”

  “If you’ll do the paperwork, then it’s fine with me. We lost a couple of men earlier, and Junior here has stepped up nicely.”

  Taylor held her breath, waiting for the final pronouncement.

  “He’s all yours, then. We have enough on our hands without a ment — a man with memory problems.”

  “Thanks, corporal, Sarge. You have no idea what this means to me.” Taylor excused herself and went over to where Whitey was standing, whittling what was shaping into a bird. “I get to stay. Sarge stood up for me. Whew. I’m glad that’s over.”

  “So you don’t even remember your own corporal? You have it worse than I thought, Junior. But, I’m glad you’re staying with us. Who else can tell us the future?”

  “You mean that, Whitey? Not about having me stay. I mean about believing that I tell the future?”

  “Well, you don’t have to tell the other guys, but yeah, I do.”

  “Thanks, Whitey. It means
a lot that you believe me. Come on. Let’s go tell the others I’m here to stay.”

  At the next rest stop, Taylor approached Sarge to thank him again. “I don’t know what I would have done if I’d had to join those Highlanders, Sarge. It would be weird being with a unit where I didn’t know anyone all over again. Thanks for keeping me on.”

  “You’ve earned your place with us, Junior. You needn’t worry, though, you would have gone back into their fold as easily as you came into ours.”

  Taylor coughed to cover a choking feeling she felt in her throat. “Coming from you, Sarge, well, that’s — ” She waved a hand and turned her back, walking a few feet away to an olive grove, where she plunked down behind a tree.

  * * *

  Sarge was fiddling with a compass while the captain spoke on the radio inside a small tent erected for the purpose of a headquarters. The privates took turns passing the tent to pick up tidbits: possible tank action, a river crossing, minefields. The men wouldn’t be told too much until it was necessary.

  “Intelligence, they call it,” said Mac with a bitter laugh. “How can it be intelligent if we don’t know what’s going on?”

  “What we don’t know we can’t tell the enemy. Remember the papers we picked up from those dead Germans? I couldn’t read them, but they might be helping our side right now.”

  Taylor was sorry now she hadn’t chosen German as a language to study in high school. She didn’t even pay much attention in French class. The few swear words Dieter’s father yelled at them when they were at his house didn’t help in translating the written words Taylor had read in the papers they had discovered. Oh, well. An expert code-breaker or interpreter would have analyzed them by now.

  Taylor remembered the jam incident suddenly and smothered her mouth with a hand. Mac stared at her for a moment and then it was as if a light bulb went off and he too started to laugh.

  “What? What’s so funny?” Whitey asked.